an eyebrow. “Would this be for Mrs. Emerson?”
Fan-freaking-tastic. It’s never a good thing when even the coffee shop clerk knows your boss simply from the order and your look of sheer trepidation , I thought.
“It is.” I nodded, and she tossed the cup in a wastebasket under the counter, grabbed another, and began rewriting the order.
“I swear, I’m not bossing you around, but she’ll send you back in a heartbeat if it’s not a double shot.”
Heat prickled the back of my neck. Dammit. I was so flustered that I was a coffee order away from fucking up even more with Margaret. “Thanks,” I breathed, and the barista smiled sympathetically.
“Mrs. E is a longtime customer. We like to see her happy. I’ll have this ready for you ASAP.”
With three minutes to spare, I raced back to work, walking as fast as I could in my unforgiving dress and coming dangerously close several times to drenching myself with Margaret’s molten-hot drink order. It wouldn’t be the first time coffee had burned me, and I shivered at the memory of accidentally pulling my father’s coffee on me when I was a little girl.
“You’re late,” Margaret told me flatly the second I stepped into her black and white office. She flicked her hand at the chair positioned in front of her half-moon shaped desk. An image of the giant mahogany desk that was there many years ago flashed in my mind, and I swallowed hard at yet another recollection of my father. Noticing my hesitation to move, Margaret leaned forward, her voice impatient as she snapped me out of the memory. “Sit, Ms. Connelly.”
My legs felt shaky as I moved forward, and I was almost thankful for the seat as I slid the coffee in front of her. “I’m sorry I was late. I’ve never been to The Grind—”
“I’ll forgive it this time.” She took a sip of the latte before setting it on a silver coaster a few inches from her laptop. “What I absolutely cannot forgive is personal calls at work. When you come through that door downstairs, you are at work. Do you understand that, Ms. Connelly?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“I typically handpick my assistants; however, my recent schedule made that impossible. I trusted Isadora to find me a qualified applicant, and she assured me you were highly recommended.”
My teeth sunk down on the inside of my cheek. I hated being talked to like this, and the few times I had a client who’d treated me like a child, I’d promptly collected my belongings and left. But this ... this was different. There was no gathering my things and leaving because then I’d never get my answers. The only way to get what I wanted—what I’d been desperate enough to break the law for—was to sit here and let the woman who had her lawyer turn me away years ago verbally pummel me.
I dragged in a painful breath. “Yes, I was highly—”
“I don’t want to hear your virtues, Ms. Connelly. I’ve already looked at your resume. What I want is for you to do your job. That starts with—not only leaving your personal life at home—but also not intermingling with mine.” Linking her fingers together and setting her hands on her desk, she speared me with a flash of her porcelain veneers. “My son is off -limits.”
Instantly, the need to defend myself kicked in, and I cleared my throat. “I was thanking him. We...bumped into each other the other day, and I broke my phone. Oliver insisted on replacing it.
“How kind of him,” Margaret said, and the deliberate sarcasm in her voice made me curl my fingernails into my palms. Inside, I was seething, but I beamed at her agreeably. Sweetly. As if the word bitch wasn’t rolling through my mind like movie credits.
“And now that you’ve expressed your gratitude, you can get to work. I’m usually here by nine-thirty, so I’ll expect you in here with my coffee no later than then.”
“Same order as today?”
With a brisk nod, she pushed a sheet of paper across the desk to me. Turning it around,
Fan-freaking-tastic. It’s never a good thing when even the coffee shop clerk knows your boss simply from the order and your look of sheer trepidation , I thought.
“It is.” I nodded, and she tossed the cup in a wastebasket under the counter, grabbed another, and began rewriting the order.
“I swear, I’m not bossing you around, but she’ll send you back in a heartbeat if it’s not a double shot.”
Heat prickled the back of my neck. Dammit. I was so flustered that I was a coffee order away from fucking up even more with Margaret. “Thanks,” I breathed, and the barista smiled sympathetically.
“Mrs. E is a longtime customer. We like to see her happy. I’ll have this ready for you ASAP.”
With three minutes to spare, I raced back to work, walking as fast as I could in my unforgiving dress and coming dangerously close several times to drenching myself with Margaret’s molten-hot drink order. It wouldn’t be the first time coffee had burned me, and I shivered at the memory of accidentally pulling my father’s coffee on me when I was a little girl.
“You’re late,” Margaret told me flatly the second I stepped into her black and white office. She flicked her hand at the chair positioned in front of her half-moon shaped desk. An image of the giant mahogany desk that was there many years ago flashed in my mind, and I swallowed hard at yet another recollection of my father. Noticing my hesitation to move, Margaret leaned forward, her voice impatient as she snapped me out of the memory. “Sit, Ms. Connelly.”
My legs felt shaky as I moved forward, and I was almost thankful for the seat as I slid the coffee in front of her. “I’m sorry I was late. I’ve never been to The Grind—”
“I’ll forgive it this time.” She took a sip of the latte before setting it on a silver coaster a few inches from her laptop. “What I absolutely cannot forgive is personal calls at work. When you come through that door downstairs, you are at work. Do you understand that, Ms. Connelly?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“I typically handpick my assistants; however, my recent schedule made that impossible. I trusted Isadora to find me a qualified applicant, and she assured me you were highly recommended.”
My teeth sunk down on the inside of my cheek. I hated being talked to like this, and the few times I had a client who’d treated me like a child, I’d promptly collected my belongings and left. But this ... this was different. There was no gathering my things and leaving because then I’d never get my answers. The only way to get what I wanted—what I’d been desperate enough to break the law for—was to sit here and let the woman who had her lawyer turn me away years ago verbally pummel me.
I dragged in a painful breath. “Yes, I was highly—”
“I don’t want to hear your virtues, Ms. Connelly. I’ve already looked at your resume. What I want is for you to do your job. That starts with—not only leaving your personal life at home—but also not intermingling with mine.” Linking her fingers together and setting her hands on her desk, she speared me with a flash of her porcelain veneers. “My son is off -limits.”
Instantly, the need to defend myself kicked in, and I cleared my throat. “I was thanking him. We...bumped into each other the other day, and I broke my phone. Oliver insisted on replacing it.
“How kind of him,” Margaret said, and the deliberate sarcasm in her voice made me curl my fingernails into my palms. Inside, I was seething, but I beamed at her agreeably. Sweetly. As if the word bitch wasn’t rolling through my mind like movie credits.
“And now that you’ve expressed your gratitude, you can get to work. I’m usually here by nine-thirty, so I’ll expect you in here with my coffee no later than then.”
“Same order as today?”
With a brisk nod, she pushed a sheet of paper across the desk to me. Turning it around,
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