Richard stepped out of the lift feeling lighter than he had in years. The kind of looseness that came from sun-warmed days and nights under foreign skies, from laughter with his children that still echoed inside him.
Three weeks in Egypt had left him glowing. The heat, the colour, the awe of the pyramids towering above them in the orange light of dawn… It had been everything he'd hoped for and more. A mending of something that had frayed for too long.
As he crossed the office floor of Hale & Partners, the junior staff straightened instinctively. He was quick to realise it was not because of him, but because of the woman standing beside Isabelle's desk.
"Good morning, Mr Hale," she said sharply, as though announcing the arrival of a student late to class.
Richard blinked.
His new assistant was… formidable. Mid-forties, hair pulled so tightly into a bun it created its own kind of authority, spine straight, expression set in no-nonsense clarity. Her blouse was crisp enough to cut paper. She looked like she'd been carved from granite and discipline.
"Ah, hello," he said, shifting his briefcase to his left hand so he could offer his right hand to greet her. "You must be —"
"Wendy," she supplied, adjusting her glasses and stepping toward him with brisk efficiency. "Your new assistant. Isabelle has briefed me thoroughly. I run a tight ship, Mr Hale. You will not need to repeat yourself, chase information, or worry about anything slipping through the cracks."
She said it like a promise and a warning all at once.
Richard felt both impressed and mildly frightened. "That's… excellent. Thank you."
She nodded once, precisely once, then returned to reviewing a thick binder that already bore colour-coded tabs. The junior staff scurried past her with extra speed, as though afraid she might assess their posture.
Isabelle was seated at the desk to Wendy's left, with her swollen belly brushing against the edge. She smiled up at him with amused eyes. "See? I told you she'd be perfect."
"She might run the building before the week is over," Richard murmured.
"Probably," Isabelle agreed cheerfully. "But it'll be running smoothly."
He laughed. God, he'd missed her steadiness. "Thank you, Isabelle. Truly. And now it's time for you to go home and put your feet up. You're due any day now."
"Oh please," she waved a hand. "If this baby had their way, I'd be pregnant for another month." But she began gathering her things anyway. "I'll call Robert. He's insisting on picking me up every time I leave a room at this point."
As she reached for her phone, the lift chimed and opened; and out stepped Robert, already striding toward them with that particular mixture of worry and adoration he reserved exclusively for his fiancée.
"There you are," he exhaled, moving to her side. "I told you I'd come up."
"You just want to see Richard," she teased.
Robert turned to Richard, eyes bright. "How was Egypt? Did you all enjoy it?"
Richard beamed. "It was incredible. Honestly; I don't even know where to start." He opened his phone before he'd even finished the sentence. "We saw the pyramids at sunrise, look, that's Chloe pretending she's not terrified of heights and Drew insisted on riding a camel twice even though he complained the entire time: and this is us at the Khan el-Khalili market, where I nearly lost Drew in a carpet shop —"
He flipped through photo after photo, narrating every chaotic, golden, wonderful moment. Isabelle and Robert stood close, smiling at his excitement, sharing in the warmth that seemed to radiate from him now. It was the happiest they'd seen him in a long time.
"Well," Robert said softly when Richard finally paused for breath, "It looks like you had a great time."
"Yes," Isabelle agreed, touching Richard's arm. "Honestly… it's lovely seeing you like this."
Richard's chest tightened. Not painfully, but with gratitude. "Thank you. Both of you. I wouldn't have gotten here without either of you."
He leaned forward and gave her a gentle hug, mindful of her stomach. She hugged him back, warm and familiar.
"Go home," he whispered. "Rest."
"Boss's orders," she joked, slipping her arm through Robert's so he could support her as she walked toward the lift.
Richard watched them go, feeling a quiet swell of affection for them both. Then he turned back to his office, feeling the buzz of the building, the weight of responsibility again settling on his shoulders.
But beneath it all, still lingering like desert warmth, was the memory of his children's laughter; and the certainty that he was finally building something real with them.
Something that mattered.
Something he would never again take for granted.
Richard barely had time to pull his chair out before Wendy appeared in his doorway, a clipboard in one hand and a pen poised like a weapon.
"Your schedule for the day," she announced. "I've moved your meetings so they don't overlap, and I've set alerts to prevent anyone from detaining you unnecessarily."
"Detaining?" Richard echoed.
"Yes," Wendy said without humour. "Some people linger. I do not allow lingering."
Then she pivoted and vanished.
Richard stared after her. Good grief.
Within an hour, he began to understand what working with Wendy actually meant.
She accompanied him to his first meeting; a quarterly review with two partners known for inflating five-minute points into twenty-minute speeches. Wendy opened her notebook, sat down… and simply looked at them.
A single glance over her glasses.
The partners straightened, cleared their throats, and ricocheted through their updates like auctioneers fearing divine retribution. Whenever someone strayed, even slightly, Wendy clicked her pen once.
Just once.
They corrected course immediately.
The entire meeting, which usually ran fifty minutes, finished in seventeen.
"Efficient," Richard murmured as they exited.
Wendy sniffed. "People are capable of great things when they realise wasting time is a choice."
He wasn't sure whether to applaud or apologise on behalf of the human race.
By the second week, the office had transformed.
Junior staff who once huddled in corners chatting now worked in crisp, terrified silence. Wendy didn't raise her voice; she didn't need to. A single raised eyebrow from her carried the weight of a thousand lectures. Legend had it she'd made an intern cry on her first day. But the rumour lost credibility because she had done nothing at all except ask him when the report he'd forgotten to write would be completed.
The intern produced it in twenty minutes flat.
Richard found himself constantly startled by his own newfound freedom. Meetings ended early. Emails were filtered before ever reaching him. Wendy "discouraged interruptions"; a phrase she delivered in the tone of someone describing pest control.
On a Thursday afternoon, as he was returning from a client meeting, she intercepted him with her clipboard once again.
"Mr Hale, all your obligations for today are completed."
"I — what?" He checked his watch. "It's only four forty."
"Precisely." Wendy handed him a printout. "I've structured your weeks so your last meeting ends at four forty-five. No one works well after that, no matter what they claim."
"That's… very considerate," Richard said.
"It's practical," Wendy corrected. "In twenty-five years of executive support, I've found two truths. One: no one's ego is so important that others should suffer for it. Two: work-life balance is not a myth, it's a system. A system most people refuse to implement."
Richard wasn't sure if he felt enlightened or disciplined.
"Go home," Wendy instructed, turning back toward her desk. "Your children will appreciate it. And you will be more productive tomorrow."
Richard blinked after her, bemused. He had just been dismissed by his own assistant. Firmly. Respectfully. Successfully.
He left at 4:43.
As weeks passed, the entire building adjusted to the Wendy Effect.
Conversations shortened. Footsteps quickened. Break-room loafers became rare, like a species that had not adapted to a sudden environmental shift. Even the coffee machine ran more efficiently, though Richard suspected that was a coincidence, not Wendy's doing. Still, he wouldn't have been surprised if she'd stared it into optimal performance.
But the thing was, no one complained.
Because Wendy wasn't unkind.
Just direct. Fair. And impossibly good at her job.
When a junior analyst timidly approached her to say she was overwhelmed with a client spreadsheet, Wendy didn't admonish her. She adjusted her glasses, reviewed the document for twenty seconds, and said, "You are not overwhelmed. You are under-trained. Sit. I'll show you."
The analyst left ten minutes later with newfound confidence and perfect formulas.
Richard watched all of this with growing awe.
He had thought Isabelle was irreplaceable.
And she was, no one could replace her warmth, her intuition, her quiet understanding of him.
But Wendy didn't replace Isabelle.
She rebuilt the office around efficiency, structure, and a work ethic that bordered on supernatural.
Richard found himself going home early at least twice a week. Sometimes three. He made dinner with the kids. He watched films with them. He actually lived.
And every time he walked out at 4:45, he'd glance back to see Wendy in the background, arms folded, surveying the office like a general ensuring her troops weren't slacking.
He suspected she might actually scare laziness out of the building entirely.
But for the first time in his career, Richard didn't mind.
Because Wendy was giving him something he'd never managed to create for himself:
More time.
More balance.
More life.
And the quiet, steady reassurance that everything at Hale & Partners was running exactly as it should.
Thanks to a woman with a clipboard, a spine of steel…
…and the most intimidating spectacles in London.