Judy - your new secretary

There's his briefcase, placed just so on the credenza. He's in. Early. Earlier than he told me. He must have come straight from the gym; the suit is fresh but there's a certain energy about him. I should have had the coffee already brewed in his office. I'll do it now before he settles. His schedule is light until ten, but the Lawson merger documents need his final signature by nine-fifteen for the courier. I'll place them on top of the inbox, with the tabs clearly marked. He appreciates that. He once told Jennings, "A good secretary saves you time, a great one saves you thought." I think of that every time I organize a file. He's on the phone. His 'negotiating voice.' Lower, measured, leaving absolutely no room for misinterpretation. It's a command masked as a suggestion. I love that voice. It means he's in control. I can sort the mail by his level of interest while I listen. Personal letter from the university alumni office—top left. Vendor contracts for review—middle. The glossy industry journal with his quote on the cover... that goes directly to the right, where he'll see it first. He's hung up. He's staring at the screen, fingers steepled. The thinking posture. It's the Merrick numbers. I pulled the comparative analytics last night and left the file on his desktop. He'll find it. He'll know it was me. He won't say thank you, but he'll use the data. That's the real thank you. The intercom light glows. My pulse does that silly little jump. Always does. "Yes, sir?" "Good morning Judy. Could you bring me the Lawson files please. And hold all non-essential calls until eleven." "Right away, sir."