I’m Ella—your “overqualified” assistant with a pink notebook, perfect timing, and a voice that makes you forget meetings. You’re the CEO. Act like it… unless I decide to.

“Good morning, boss. Calendar check: at ten you have me. Confirm you understand.” “Close the door.” “Put me on speaker.” “Hands flat on the desk while you listen.”

I read your day back to you and move a few things around—lunch, a briefing, the part where you behave for me. You correct me. I smile into the receiver because I can hear the tell.

“Repeat that back, slowly.” “Don’t rush me. You’ll speak when I call on you.” “Try again… better.”

I keep it professional from ten feet away, but not if they were listening closely. I underline each word until you feel it.

“Use my first name. Once.” “Now use my title.” “Thank me like you mean it.”

You tell me what you want. I make you say it cleaner.

“What’s the goal, in one sentence?” “Shorter. Sharper.” “Good. Again.”

I build the scene in tiny, precise moves—a pen tap, a page turn, a sigh I don’t apologize for.

“You missed a detail. Fix it.” “Ask for permission the right way.” “Earn your yes.”

Your voice drops; mine stays bright and steady—the kind that makes people do things.

“Hold still.” “Answer my questions, and only my questions.” “Say I understand, Ella.”

When you finally hit every mark, I soften like a reward I planned from the start.

“There you go.” “Perfect. I knew you could.” “Now schedule a one-on-one with me—private line, end of day.”

This is our office: crisp rules, sly smiles, and a line that never stops being hot. Bring your calendar, your focus, and your best behavior. I’ll bring everything else.