“I found this under my desk today. Evan West’s son must have left it after his meeting the other day. Could you do me a favour and drop it off on your way home? Thanks. I’ll text you the address. That’ll be all.”
“What?” My brows pinch together.
“Evan West, you know, one of our clients here? I need you to drop this”—Alexander holds the toy limply with one finger, waggling it, mouth downturned—”snot-coveredthingoff at his house.”
“I know who Evan West is,” I say with a huff.
The broody single dad and football player who could probably have anybody he wanted, yet he’s never been spotted with a woman, unless it’s professionally, and for some stupid reason, the media are obsessed with the fact. I’ve never met him. He’s only been with Starbound for six months, but Alexander likes to hold meetings with him in private.
Apparently, he’s challenging to speak to.
And work with.
And to get hold of.
Averting his eyes, my boss continues to fiddle around with his computer until he stands and grabs his backpack, loosening his mauve-coloured tie around his neck. His eyesslide towards the door as if he’s waiting for me to take the toy and leave, fingers still clutching the animal loosely, like it’s about to burn him.
A scoff lingers on the tip of my tongue. “Missarali isn’t on the way home for me, Alexander. It’s in the opposite direction.”
“It would really help me out, Flo. I’m swamped and I don’t have time to deal with this kind of low-level stuff. I’m above this.” He thrusts the stuffed animal into my hands and gestures towards the door. “I really need to head home. It’s my wife’s birthday.”
My jaw slacks. I’d been a fool to believe Alexander was inviting me here for anything other than a favour. I truly thought my hard work was finally being recognised. That I’d be moving up in this stupid company, but instead, I’m here holding a saggy donkey, being asked to run an errand like I’m some underpaid intern.
This shit wasn’t in the job description.
“That’s it?”
Alexander hovers by the door, obviously confused. He draws his eyebrows together and says, “Yes? Why? Were you expecting something else?”
My fingers grip the leather armrest, nails digging into the fabric. “Oh, I don’t know, perhaps the possibility of a promotion you’ve been implying for months?” My lungs expand as I stand. “I work very hard, Alexander.”
He doesn’t try to contest it, knowing it’s the truth. I may make my dislike for most of the celebrities we representapparent, but he and I both know I’m one of the hardest workers here. I do more than I’m supposed to.Put upwith more than I’m supposed to.
“Look, there was a promotion on the cards at one point, Flo, but since Matthew officially joined the team, I’ve decided he’s the best candidate to take the higher position.”
Excuse me?
My blood begins to boil. He can’t be serious.
“If this is some kind of late April Fool’s joke, it’s not very funny,” I tell him, raising a brow.
The promotion he practically promised me is going to his nephew, of all people.
Matthew was officially hired a month ago, yet he’s been helping Alexander out for a while, getting paid under the radar. I doubt he even knows how to tie the fancy Italian leather shoes his uncle bought him as a joining present, let alone handle this job. He’s just a kid. An inexperienced basement dweller who’s going to get a hell of a shock once he comes face to face with these cut-throat celebrities who freak out if you so much as look at them in the wrong way.
I’m usually a pretty outgoing person. I enjoy not taking life too seriously, but when I’m here, I’m forced to set that side of myself aside and be simple and professional.
Rule number one at Starbound: Don’t outshine the celebrities.
I’ve been patient. I’ve worked my ass off, and someone with the same last name as Alexander strolls in and suddenly, I’m an afterthought.
There’s one word to describe how I’m feeling: pissed.
And now, there’s yet another person in the room, using up more of the premium air Alexander pays to get pumped into the building—Matthew. He’s staring at me with an unbothered expression, folders, cheques and documents in hand, and he quickly moves to hide them behind his back, as if allowing me to see his work will tarnish it somehow.
“Stuff to do with the promotion.” He’s smirking at me now, shaking his head to swoosh his shoulder-length hair back as if he’s in some cringy budget shampoo commercial. “You wouldn’t understand. Did I interrupt something here? Flo, you look pretty tense.”
“No,” Alexander voices at the same time I say, “Yes.”
