My Secretary’s Real-Life Business Game
I hired a new executive assistant, Anna Vance.
She's beautiful, quiet, and a little bit lazy. She clocks in on the dot, clocks out on the dot, and wouldn't stay a second longer if the building was on fire. A classic nine-to-fiver.
The company's head of sales, Vince Carter, took a liking to her. He started a full-blown campaign of flowers and breakfast deliveries, making sure everyone in the office knew.
I know Vince's type. He'd scrapped his way up from a small town. He was capable, but his ambition had a nasty edge. He was always looking for a ladder to climb.
He saw a girl like Annapretty and a little spaced-outas the perfect rung.
I was mostly just an observer, occasionally stepping in to rescue Anna from one of his advances.
Until the day Vince stormed into my office holding a paternity test, marched over to Anna's desk in front of everyone, and slammed it down.
"Anna! What do you have to say for yourself now? This baby is Leo's!"
I was completely floored.
But what I didn't expect was Anna's reaction. She just slowly looked up, glanced at the report, and then picked up her phone.
"Hello? Mr. Wallace? Yes, it's me. I'm done playing. Buy out this company 'Voyager Tech,' I think it's called. I want it done in ten minutes."
And just like that, my entire worldview shattered.
1
My name is Leo Grant. I started my own company, a modest internet firm with about a hundred employees. In my circle, people show me some respect and call me Mr. Grant.
Three months ago, I hired a new assistant, Anna.
On the day of her interview, she showed up in a simple white shirt and jeans, no makeup. Her rsum was shockingly sparse, listing only her graduation from a state university.
When HR handed it to me, they were planning to reject her.
"Mr. Grant, she has almost no experience."
I was in the middle of a headache induced by a group of investors and just waved my hand dismissively. "Her. Hire her. She looks quiet."
And just like that, Anna became my assistant.
And she was, indeed, quiet.
She appeared at her desk every morning at nine o'clock sharp. Not a minute early, not a minute late.
The first thing she'd do was brew a cup of tea. Then, she'd leisurely turn on her computer and start sifting through emails.
She was efficient. Every task I gave her was completed perfectly, exactly as requested, but never with an ounce of extra effort.
If you asked her to summarize meeting notes, she would never take the initiative to create a supplementary PowerPoint.
If you told her to book the conference room for 3 PM, she would never ask if you wanted coffee and pastries arranged beforehand.
Zero initiative.
The second the clock hit 6 PM, her computer was off before anyone else's. She'd grab the canvas tote bag that looked like it had seen better years and vanish.
Once, at a company team-building event, everyone was singing karaoke until midnight. She was the only one who announced at nine that she was going home to sleep.
My head of administration joked, "Mr. Grant, your new assistant is the definition of someone who is just coasting."
I had to agree.
She was a young woman with no apparent career ambition, perfectly content with the status quo, probably just looking for a stable job to pass the time.
She was beautiful, though. A clean, fresh kind of pretty. Pale skin, bright eyes that always seemed to look at you through a thin veil of mist, creating a sense of distance.
Plenty of the young guys in the office were interested, but she treated everyone the same: polite, but remote.
Until Vince Carter from the sales department made his move.
Vince was our top salesman. He was sharp, a smooth talker, a real go-getter. He'd fought his way out of a small town, had an incredible work ethic, and an even more incredible desire to get ahead.
The way he looked at Anna was different.
It was the look of a hunter spotting its prey, filled with a cold, calculated certainty.
He probably figured that a beautiful girl like her, seemingly without connections and with an air of otherworldly detachment, was the perfect target.
Conquering her would satisfy his male ego without any messy complications.
And so, what I mentally dubbed the "Office Drone Mating Ritual" began.
I just never imagined the script would take such a bizarre turn.
2
Vince's pursuit began with a bouquet of roses.
I walked into the office one morning to find a massive bouquet of red roses on Anna's desk. The aggressively, almost tackily red kind.
Anna hadn't arrived yet.
Colleagues from the surrounding desks were whispering.
"Wow, who sent those?"
"Has to be Vince. It's not like he's subtle."
"That's gotta be ninety-nine roses, right? He's really going all out."
I listened and shook my head. This kind of grand gesture might work on a fresh-faced intern, but it felt like he was trying way too hard.
At nine o'clock on the dot, Anna arrived.
She saw the flowers and paused for a beat, her face a blank canvas. No surprise, no blush, nothing.
She stood there for a single second, then walked around the bouquet, sat down in her chair, turned on her computer, and brewed her tea. Her movements were fluid, practiced.
It was as if the flowers were just an oddly shaped humidifier.
Vince chose that moment to wander over from the sales department, two cups of coffee in hand.
He placed them on her desk, his smile blindingly bright. "Morning, Anna. Do you like the flowers? I was passing by a florist this morning, and they just seemed so you."
A smooth line. Not a premeditated purchase, just a spontaneous "passing by" thought.
The entire office was craning their necks, watching the show.
Anna lifted her eyes and looked at him.
"Thank you, but I don't like roses. I'm allergic to pollen."
Her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion.
Vince's smile froze. "Oh. Allergic? I'm... I'm so sorry, I had no idea."
"It's fine," Anna said, taking a sip from her own mug. "Also, I don't drink coffee. Only tea."
The look on Vince's face went from awkward to mortified.
He just stood there, completely at a loss.
Anna, having delivered her statement, went back to her emails, not sparing him another glance.
I was watching from my glass-walled office, trying my best not to laugh out loud.
This girl was interesting.
She wasn't playing hard to get, nor was she delivering a dramatic rejection.
She was... simply stating facts.
I don't like them. I'm allergic. I don't drink that.
There was no emotion, no accusation, but it was more devastating than any angry tirade could ever be.
Vince clearly hadn't anticipated this. He let out a weak chuckle, trying to save face.
"Well... what should I do with the flowers, then? It's a shame to throw them out."
Anna didn't even look up. "The front desk could probably use them."
The receptionist loved decorating her desk with flowers.
Vince's face cycled through shades of red and white. In the end, he had no choice but to awkwardly scoop up the massive bouquet and, under the stifled laughter of his colleagues, deliver them to the front desk.
I thought that would be the end of it.
But then, at lunch, Vince reappeared.
He carried his tray straight to Anna's table and sat down opposite her.
"Anna, I'm sorry about this morning. I was being pushy. I just think you're a really great person, and I'd like to be friends."
Anna was in the middle of eating a piece of broccoli. She looked up.
"Aren't we already colleagues?"
Another direct hit. Vince was speechless.
She was right. Aren't colleagues a type of friend? What other kind of "friend" was he trying to be?
I sat a few tables away, watching Vince's constipated expression, and thought for the first time that maybe my "coasting" assistant wasn't really coasting at all.
She just couldn't be bothered to entertain pointless people and their pointless games.
3
Vince's greatest strength, or perhaps his greatest flaw, was his thick skin and boundless self-confidence.
The failure of the rose gambit didn't deter him in the slightest.
He probably interpreted it as a test. A woman's coyness.
So, he doubled down.
His offensive escalated from daily breakfast deliveries to afternoon tea, accompanied by a rotating cast of small gifts.
Artisanal cupcakes, limited-edition bubble tea, handmade hair clips... they started piling up on the corner of Anna's desk.
Anna's method of dealing with them was simple.
Anything shareable was distributed among the department.
Anything that wasn't, she left untouched until Vince eventually came to collect it himself.
She never touched a single item.
Thanks to Vince, the entire administrative department's afternoon snack budget was reduced to zero. They started looking forward to what treat he would bring next.
Vince didn't seem to mind; in fact, he seemed proud.
He likely believed this "winning over her friends" approach would show Anna his sincerity and popularity.
Once, I overheard him bragging to another colleague in the breakroom.
"Girls, you know? They're shy. They don't want to accept things in front of everyone. But look, she hasn't thrown any of my gifts away, right? That means I've got a shot."
I was getting water and nearly choked.
How did this man's brain even work?
She was giving the stuff away to her coworkers, and he twisted it into "she didn't throw it away, so there's hope."
That level of self-delusion was a skill in itself.
The moment Vince truly started to get on my nerves was last Friday.
That afternoon, Anna got a call from her family about an emergency and needed to leave early.
She came to my office to ask for leave, and I approved it.
Not long after she left, the heavens opened up in a torrential downpour.
I stood by my floor-to-ceiling window, watching the sheets of rain, wondering how she was going to get home.
Just then, I saw Vince, holding an umbrella, dash into the storm.
He ran to the curb, flagged down a taxi, and then ran back to the entrance of our building, apparently waiting for Anna.
About ten minutes later, Anna appeared.
She was holding a simple, clear umbrella, walking at her usual unhurried pace.
Vince immediately rushed to her, trying to guide her toward the waiting taxi.
I couldn't see their expressions or hear what they were saying, but I could see Anna repeatedly shaking her head, trying to walk around him.
Vince was persistent. He even grabbed her arm.
Anna stopped walking.
She closed her umbrella, letting the downpour soak her completely. Then, she looked up and said something to him.
Vince's expression froze.
Then, Anna walked past him, went to the curb herself, and raised her hand.
A black Rolls-Royce, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, glided to a silent stop in front of her.
A chauffeur in a suit and white gloves got out, respectfully opened the rear door for her, and shielded her head with an enormous black umbrella.
Anna got in, and the car pulled away smoothly.
Vince was left standing alone in the rain, holding his umbrella, looking like a complete joke.
And I, watching from my office on the 28th floor, was just as stunned.
I had a feeling my understanding of my assistant was, and always had been, seriously flawed.
4
After the Rolls-Royce incident, whispers started circulating through the office.
"Is Anna's family secretly rich?"
"Doesn't seem like it. Look at her clothes, her bag. It's all so basic."
"So what was with the car? A rental, probably. You know how some girls are, they'll do anything to keep up appearances."
Vince was a firm believer in that last theory.
Not only did he not back down, but he became even more convinced of his narrative: Anna was putting on an act. She was just an ordinary girl who craved luxury, and that car was a prop she'd rented to reject him.
In his mind, he was the hero in a cheesy drama about a poor girl trying to maintain her dignity while a rich suitor tested her with money.
And he was the one who could save her from it all.
His imagination was truly something to behold.
His "heroic rescue" plan was soon set in motion.
The company was in the middle of negotiating a major deal with a new client. The head of their company, a Mr. Huang, had a notorious reputation for being a lech.
Vince was the lead on this project.
On Wednesday afternoon, Vince knocked on my office door.
"Mr. Grant, about the dinner with Mr. Huang tonight... I was thinking... would it be possible for Anna to join us?"
I frowned. "Why would she go? She's not in sales."
Vince put on his slimiest smile. "Mr. Huang specifically requested we bring along a pretty assistant to liven things up. You know how these dinners are, having a woman there can help smooth things over. As your assistant, Anna represents the company's image. She's the perfect choice."
A wave of disgust washed over me.
I would never parade my female employees in front of clients to "liven things up."
"No," I said flatly. "Find someone else, or go by yourself."
Vince seemed to have expected this. He sighed dramatically.
"Mr. Grant, I know you look out for your employees. But this client is crucial for us. If we lose this deal, our next quarter's numbers will look grim. Don't worry, I'll be there. I won't let anything happen to Anna. I just... I want her to see me in my element, fighting for this company. To show her that a man's worth is based on his abilities."
That last line revealed his true motive.
He wanted to stage a scene for Anna: "Vince Carter, protector of women, fending off a sleazy client."
A pathetic attempt to elevate himself by denigrating others.
"My assistant," I said, my voice turning cold, "does not need to attend these kinds of dinners. Vince, understand your role, and understand the company's rules."
Vince's expression flickered, but he eventually nodded and left.
I thought that was the end of it.
But I had underestimated Vince's gall.
Around 5 PM, Anna came in to drop off some documents.
As she set them down, she asked casually, "Mr. Grant, is there a dinner meeting tonight? Mr. Carter told me to get ready and said you would be there too."
My stomach dropped.
Vince had dared to use my name.
"No," I said, looking directly into Anna's eyes. "I never said you should go. From now on, if anyone gives you an order like that, unless it comes directly from my mouth, you ignore it."
Anna just said, "Oh," and nodded, her face showing no particular emotion.
"Understood, Mr. Grant. If there's nothing else, I'll be heading out now."
She turned and left.
I watched her go, then picked up my phone and sent a text to Vince.
"You're off the project. Hand everything over to the associate director tomorrow."
I tossed my phone aside and rubbed my temples.
I was starting to think Vince wasn't just thick-skinned. He was an idiot.
And a stupid, arrogant man is capable of the most destructive things.
5
Being pulled from a major project was a significant blow for Vince.
He was subdued for the next two days, avoiding my gaze whenever we passed in the hallway.
I thought he had finally learned his lesson.
I was, once again, proven wrong.
On Friday afternoon, a commotion erupted downstairs.
I was in a meeting, and the noise was getting distracting. I asked Anna to go see what was going on.
She was gone for two minutes. When she returned, her expression was odd.
"Mr. Grant, Vince he's downstairs with heart-shaped candles and a banner. It looks like he's proposing to someone."
Every executive in the conference room fell silent, their eyes turning to me.
A stampede of a million wild animals thundered through my mind.
"To whom?" I asked through gritted teeth.
Anna's gaze flickered away for a second. "The banner has my name on it."
Pfft
Our CTO, a balding man in his forties, couldn't hold it in and sprayed a mouthful of water across the table.
I could feel my blood pressure skyrocketing.
I rushed to the window and looked down.
Oh, this was fantastic.
In the plaza below our building, a gigantic heart had been formed out of red candles. In the center, in candles, was the name "ANNA."
Vince stood in the middle of the heart, holding an even tackier bouquet of roses than the last one, and was shouting something through a megaphone.
A large crowd of onlookers had gathered, all pointing up at our building.
In that single moment, he had single-handedly obliterated our company's professional image.
"Get security down there and get rid of him!" I roared at Anna.
But Anna was perfectly calm. She glanced at her phone.
"Don't worry, Mr. Grant. The police should be here any minute."
"The police?" I was taken aback.
"Yes," she nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Someone is holding an illegal public assembly with open flames, creating a fire hazard and disrupting our business operations. I've already called them."
She said it with the same casual tone someone might use to say, "I just ordered takeout."
Once again, a dead silence fell over the conference room.
Everyone was staring at Anna as if she'd just grown a second head.
Looking at her unfazed expression, I suddenly realized that my previous assessments of her as "quiet" and "coasting" were colossally wrong.
This woman's brain operated on a completely different frequency from normal people.
Her problem-solving method was simple, direct, efficient, and... entirely by the book.
Sure enough, less than five minutes later, two police cars pulled up, sirens blaring.
As the crowd watched in stunned silence, a few officers calmly approached Vince, had a "friendly" chat, and then "escorted" him and his flowers into the back of a squad car.
The scene was hilariously anticlimactic.
The building's maintenance crew arrived and efficiently extinguished the giant candle heart with a fire extinguisher.
A grand, romantic gesture ended in a spectacular public humiliation.
After the commotion died down, Anna returned to my side as if nothing had happened.
"Mr. Grant, shall we continue the meeting?"
I looked at her, opened my mouth, but no words came out.
I waved my hand. "Meeting's adjourned."
The executives fled the room as if granted a pardon, each of them giving Anna a look of pure awe on their way out.
Soon, it was just the two of us.
"You're not..." I chose my words carefully, "...angry?"
"Why would I be angry?" she asked, her expression sincere. "If a fly keeps buzzing in your ear, do you get angry at the fly?"
"..."
"You just find a way to make it stop," she added.
I had no response.
Later that afternoon, the police station called and asked the company to send someone to pick Vince up.
I sent the head of administration.
I heard Vince got off with a verbal warning and a five-hundred-dollar fine for disturbing the peace.
It wasn't a lot of money, but for someone as obsessed with his image as Vince, it was a fate worse than death.
He couldn't show his face at the company again.
The next day, his resignation letter was on my desk.
I thought that was the end of it.
But I had no idea that it was only the beginning.
A much crazier, more unhinged act of revenge was already brewing.
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