Chapter 5 Elena's POV

I wake up to cold, snowy morning light seeping through the door, as if it has gone through ice. My head aches, beats, and my heart is racing too. I don't stir, hearing the hum of the air conditioner. I'm in Dominic's penthouse, in a bed that seems endless compared to any bed I've ever slept in. I take a deep breath and recall: this is now my life.

I rest my feet on the bed and sit. Sheets are cool against my skin. Yesterday's gray dress is draped across a chair. I run my hand over the fabric and think of Percival's advice: "Dress for success. Confidence is derived from how you carry yourself."

I comb and walk over to the mirror. My anxious and exhausted face stares back. I push my ponytail further back and comb out the front of my blouse. I breathe in deeply and remind myself, "You belong here."

A soft beep against my ear informs me that it is Percival. "Good morning, Ms. Hart," he announces. He sounds calm and comforting. "I will wait for you in the study in ten minutes."

"Thank you," I say.

I walk into the bathroom and slap cold water across my face. I brush my teeth and pull back my hair more tightly in a ponytail. I pick out tiny silver earrings from the jewelry box on the counter. I dress in the gray dress and black flats. My legs shake. I practice standing up straight in front of the mirror, shoulders set, head held high.

"Stand like you own the joint," I mouth wordlessly.

I move down into the hallway. The penthouse is silent and motionless. I go through the living area to the office. There is a small stack of papers on the desk beside a nameplate glittered to a shine with filets: Elena Hart, Executive Assistant. I feel my stomach knot up. I sit on the leather cushion and push down my skirt.

The door groans open and Percival comes in, carrying a leather portfolio. He grins at me. "Good morning."

"Good morning," I say, attempting to appear tranquil.

He places the portfolio on the desk. "Now I'm going to show you corporate procedure. This is basics."

He opens the portfolio and pulls out a booklet. "This is the employee handbook. Dress code, communications policy, chain of command, email decorum."

I nod and grab it. "Thanks."

He points to the chair to my left. "Sit."

I move over and toss the book open. Professionalism and precision are what we do at Blackwood Industries. You will address me as Mr. Blackwood, never Dominic. You will refer to your work as 'my role' or 'my responsibilities,' but never 'my job.' Mannerisms are everything.

I scribble furious notes. "Yes, sir."

He grins. "Good. Now you're going with me to the executive floor. I should like to show you how to strut down the corridor, how to nod at employees, and how to open an office door confidently."

I rise. My knees ache, but I nod. "I'm ready.".

Percival escorts me out. We proceed down the long corridor. He nods to a group of assistants standing near the elevators. "See them? Shoulders-width feet, not crossed. Hands at sides or folder. One nod, no smile, to greet superiors."

I observe and follow. I enter their line and stand. Percival softly cautions, "Feet apart. Hands at your sides. Unclench your shoulders."

I oblige and nod to a passing director. The director nods back, never losing pace. Percival thumbs up quickly.

We proceed. "Now, throwing our voice," Percival tells us. He stops us in front of a door marked 'Mr. Blackwood, CEO.' Percival knocks at the door. "We knock once, announce our name and business, and then go in after permission."

He demonstrates: he knocks, he retreats, and he waits. He nods as if the individual within had said 'come in.' He opens the door and enters. I glance about Dominic and see that he sits before an enormous desk studying a report. Percival proceeds to the chair and sits down without stumbling.

Percival closes the door and addresses me. "Your turn."

My throat tightens, but I go on. I put my hand up and knock once. I retreat. My heart is pounding. I advance and push against the door. I recite, "Mr. Blackwood, Elena Hart, nine-thirty briefing, sir."

Dominic's eyes rise to his report. His eyes flash to me, then to his papers. I retreat and close the door. I stand facing Percival.

His eyebrows go up in surprise. "Great. Clear, concise, no apologetic tone. You are where you're supposed to be."

I feel a sigh of relief.

He stands up. "Practice greeting guests. When you have a guest come to your home to visit you, you rise, you invite the guest to sit and welcome and say, 'Welcome. Please take a seat. How can I help you today?' Practice."

I nod. I am seeing a guest in the chair across from me. I straighten, put one hand on the arm of the chair, and extend, "Welcome. Sit down. How may I help you today?"

Percival nods. "Good pitch. Not too hard, not too soft. Now walk across the room."

He shows a walk-high steps, raised head, loosely facing arms. I imitate and draw in great breaths. My legs are long and straight as I push off from both heels. I thrust at the other end and turn, setting my feet firmly.

"Again," Percival orders.

I do it twice more. Each time, I am more steady.

He looks at his watch. "Ten minutes to brief time. I need you to review these notes on the agenda board. You'll be standing behind Mr. Blackwood and will pass him the documents when he says 'Elena, please.'"

I grab the pile of papers and sit down at the study table. I scan through the agenda: marketing review, budget readjustments, investor relations. I jot down important words. A soft beep in my ear and Percival's voice warn me, "Maintain eye contact with Mr. Blackwood, but only when addressed. Only respond when addressed."

I nod quietly.

Percival stands and claps unenthusiastically. "You're doing great. Now, just one more thing-small talk. We don't have a lot of small talk at Blackwood Industries, but we reserve it to build rapport. Talk about the weather, make some comment about some recent innocuous event, such as the charity auction that you went to."

I look at him. "So I'd say, 'Good morning, Mr. Blackwood. I hope you had a good time last night at the fundraiser.'"

He smiles. "Just exactly that. And then wait for his answer. Don't reply."

I practice: "Good morning, Mr. Blackwood. I hope you had a good time at the fundraiser."

Percival nods. "Excellent. Under five seconds just right."

I turn off the stopwatch application on my phone. I'm more prepared than I used to be.

He glances at the clock. "Time."

We go to the study. I place the folder on the desk. He closes the handbook and shoves it into his pocket. He claps my shoulder. "Ready?"

I swallow. "Yes."

He takes me down the hall again to the large conference room. I grip the folder in my hands. My heart is racing, yet I stand perfectly erect. I smile with a couple of assistants. They kindly smile back. I nod back.

I follow Dominic into the room. He turns and gazes at me. I say, "Good morning, Mr. Blackwood. I hope you had a good time for the fundraiser."

He nods and utters in one, "Thank you, Elena."

I stand behind him, exactly where Percival told me to stand. The room falls silent. Staff members take their seats. I place the agenda folder on the table beside Dominic's nameplate.

Percival retreats behind me and inclines his head.

"You're on," Dominic says, opening the folder and flipping to the front page. He readsjustifies his cufflinks and begins to type. His tone is level, even.

I sit down and rest on pen and paper, hearing Percival's instruction in my mind. I can feel my own confidence building minute by minute. I stay on course with my pen: backup, watch, and fill in as needed.

It doesn't take half an hour to finish the briefing. Dominic glances at me and tells me, "Elena, distribute the final copy to everybody."

I walk over and hand out copies from my folder. I make eye contact with each of them as I state his or her name and tell him or her, "Here is the final agenda copy, Ms. Langley. Mr. Fischer, here you are."

They smile and thank me as they take it.

When they hand us all copies, I return to my seat in back of Dominic. I fold my arms. My face burns. I experience a guilty shiver: I am home.

At last, Percival by the door greets me. He is talking in a low voice: "You did well. You did just as practiced."

"Thanks," I reply with a strained smile.

He nods. "You'll have it in a jiffy."

I escort him back to the penthouse on trembling legs, but stubborn heart. Percival mentions lunch and office gossip. I sit and reply when spoken to, a good light conversation.

Outside of the elevator, I stand my ground. "I thank you for your services, Mr. Blackwood."

He looks surprised. "Call me Percival, if you would."

I hesitate, then reply, "Percival, thank you."

He smiles. "You're welcome.".

I step inside the penthouse and close the door. I lean against it with my back and exhale.

I recall this morning: my voice strong, my step measured, my words elected. I recall my mother's expectation of good news. I recall Dominic's nods and Percival's advice.

I mutter to myself, "I am where I belong."