L. A. Candy Read Online Free PDF Page B

magnificent corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked downtown L.A. There were no dark gold walls, no New Age-y music, and no lavender smells. Instead, there was a sleek silver desk (with one perfectly straight, neat pile of papers), some 1950s-style chairs (they reminded Jane of funky old diners…which reminded her that she had forgotten to eat breakfast), and a shelf full of books with titles like Your Party, Your Way! and Unforgettable Celebrations.
    Fiona sat down behind the desk and waved to one of the chairs. “Let me start by explaining our philosophy at Fiona Chen Events,” she began without waiting for Jane to sit down. “We have worked diligently to create a calm, stress-free atmosphere for our clients. Hosting a party is a huge undertaking. That’s where we come in. We take the burden off the client’s shoulders. We take care of the client. We take on all the details, big and small, so the client can just enjoy the party. That being said, you will be answering to me and only me. I am, at the moment, between assistants. But as soon as I hire a new one, which should be very shortly, you will be answering to that person as well. As far as your duties are concerned…I like my coffee half-caf, half-decaf, with just a touch of soy milk…”
    She stopped abruptly and glared at Jane. “Why aren’t you writing this down?”
    “Oh! I’m sorry!” Jane pulled a blue Mead notebook out of her purse. Now, all she needed was a pen. She felt Fiona’s eyes burning through her skin as she rummaged through her purse. Where the hell was a pen? She had, like, three in there. Pen! Crap, it was her Winnie the Pooh pen. It was the most unfortunate option of the three, but it did write. She glanced up at Fiona with an “I’m ready to go!” expression.
    Fiona continued. “A touch of soy milk and a level, not heaped, teaspoon of raw organic honey. I believe in hard copies of absolutely everything, so you will need to learn our filing system, which is not alphabetical but chronological, and by type of event, with a separate area for filing research on vendors and locations for future reference. Until I get a new assistant, you will need to answer my phone, screen my calls, and take messages as necessary. In order to ensure that my clients receive my utmost personalized attention, I take on only one event per day, up to three hundred sixty-five per year. Which means that on any given day, I might have up to three hundred sixty-five clients calling me, along with each and every one of their caterers, florists, stylists, photographers, mothers, mothers-in-law, et cetera, et cetera. I am, as you can see, an extremely busy woman.”
    As Jane listened to Fiona go through her list of duties, she felt a frisson of disappointment. Fetching coffee? (With raw honey? Did people cook honey?) Filing? Answering the phone? When she first got this job, she had envisionedlong but satisfying days of helping anxious celebrities, selecting gourmet menus, and scouting fabulous venues.
    But every career had to start somewhere, right? And “somewhere” usually meant fetching coffee, filing, and answering the phone. Jane reminded herself yet again that she was fortunate just to be here, even if she was basically the office bitch. So many girls would kill for her job. After all, Fiona Chen was one of the biggest event planners in L.A. And most of her clients were super-famous. It really was a big deal.
    Fiona’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Do you have any questions for me?”
    Jane began tapping her foot. Fiona narrowed her eyes at Jane’s silver ballet flat moving furiously on her pristine white carpet.
    Jane willed her foot to stop and plastered on her most enthusiastic, positive, worker-bee smile. “I think I got it,” she said brightly. “I just wanted to say again how happy I am to be here. This is what I’ve always wanted to do. So thanks again for having me.”
    Fiona smiled back—except that her smile was