Haley Johnson, Executive Assistant to the CEO

Though her behavior suggests she's approaching forty, Haley Johnson is two years shy of her thirtieth birthday.

Sitting behind her desk, a photograph of the snappy dresser should immediately emerge after typing "executive assistant" into Google images. A strict vegan lifestyle leaving her far too thin, the consummate professional moves awkwardly, however, like a too-tall teen desperate for the meat to start sticking. Though naturally attractive, a protein-poor diet is responsible for under-eye circles that extend past the middle of her petite nose. To conceal the darkness, she daily applies the amount of makeup I use in a month.

Haley fully understands what's expected of her. Her job is to assist the CEO, Mr. Brandon A. Sandoval, without causing him undue stress. In other words, she's not to reveal to her boss that everyone in the company despises the assistant to Mr. Patel. Instead, Ms. Johnson was hired to sit quietly while an object thrown by her officemate whizzes by her ear and crashes into the wall. Dust settled, eyes fixated on her monitor, Ms. Johnson is to ask Cassie, without emotion, "What's the matter?"

Don't get me wrong, Haley is no pushover. She's the exact opposite in fact. On the few occasions no vein pops from the forehead of Cassie, even she attempts to please Haley.

Making the CEO's aide a target is not enjoyable. Her eventual reaction piques my curiosity.

For example, while I was pulling an all-nighter, I accessed her computer and discovered that every vital and non-vital password was concealed within a Microsoft Word document cryptically labeled, "Haley's Passwords."

Since cyber-security isn't Haley's number one priority, I changed a couple. One extremely important and one that would only be considered momentous were she a 15-year-old boy with oodles of free time.

I waited a day . . .

I waited two days . . .

Then I waited a third . . .

A week later, I again accessed Haley's computer. At the sight of a completely corrected file, my jaw dropped. I admired the woman for not instinctively crying out like a damsel in distress. She independently found a solution to what was unquestionably an urgent problem. She didn't send a string of panic-stricken emails, nor did she show up unannounced at my office door demanding I correct the glitch that prevented her from logging into her Victoria's Secret account. And we're talking about a lady who orders fancy panties by the butt-load--no pun intended.

Many on the thirtieth floor view Haley as a cold bitch. To our wunderkind number cruncher she's Dagny Taggart of Atlas Shrugged fame. In emails to the CFO, Mitchell Cantwell quips, "I'll check Brandon's availability with Dagny. If I’m not back to you within the hour, please alert the proper authorities."