Elspeth’s black coffee. Paloma’s green tea, perfectly steeped. Nico’s coffee, one sugar, no cream.
I take an extra thirty seconds to arrange everything perfectly. Then another thirty just because I can.
For a brief, glorious moment, I consider what would happen if I just...strategically contaminatedeach cup. Nothing dramatic. Just a little something extrafrom my mouth. A personal contribution to the beverage service.
The fantasy is vivid and satisfying. Nico mid-sip, that controlled expression faltering. Paloma pausing mid-gesture. The dawning horror.
But then I’d be that person. The bitter assistant who literally spat in her boss’s coffee because he’s a condescending asshole. I’d be confirming every dismissive assumption they’ve already made about me. Poor Bree, so emotional. So unprofessional.
Also,gross.
I may be many things. Underemployed, underappreciated, possibly losing my mind one coffee order at a time, but I’m not going to sabotage my own integrity over a man who doesn’t deserve my time and energy.
Even if he really,reallydeserves a little spit in his coffee.
When I finally return to the conference room, the conversation has moved on. They’re discussing the transparency review. Catherine Wang is nodding along. Tiberius Brody is taking notes of his own.
I distribute the drinks silently to the local members of the meeting. Elspeth gives me a small, grateful smile. Paloma mouths “thank you.” Nico doesn’t acknowledge me at all.
Then Tiberius Brody asks: “The foundation restructuring you proposed. Can you walk us through the governance model? Specifically the independent oversight mechanisms?”
He answers the question with my framework, but I say nothing, and return instead to my corner seat. I open my laptop and resume taking notes.
Professional note taker.
That’s what I am.
The meeting ends with the donors cautiously optimistic. They promise to recommend to their respective boards that funding should continue, pending implementation of the restructuring proposal.
“Nico’s” proposal.
As the video call disconnects, Nico stands, already looking at his phone, already moving on to the next crisis. Elspeth gathers her materials. Paloma looks exhausted but relieved.
I pack up my laptop and leave. When I reach my desk, I set the device down and pull out my emergency makeup kit. The one I started keeping in my desk after the first week of working for Nico.
Then I keep walking. Past Cressida’s desk outside Elspeth’s office. Past the break room where I just stood counting to ten so I wouldn’t cry. Past Piper at main reception, who gives me her usual fake-sweet smile.
The bathroom door closes behind me and I finally let myself breathe.
There’s only one other person in here. A woman from accounting, washing her hands. I smile politely, wait for her to leave, then I check under all the stall doors.
Empty.
I lock myself in the last stall, sit on the closed toilet lid, and press my palms against my eyes.
Don’t cry.
If you cry, your mascara will run, and you’ll have to redo your makeup.
The tears come anyway.
It’s the dismissiveness that does it. The way Nico looked right through me when he told me to get coffee. The casual cruelty of it, the assumption that my purpose begins and ends with beverage service.
And suddenly I’m twenty-four again, standing in Dr. Kendrick’s office while he explains that my thesis ideas are “derivative” and “lacking rigor,” like he’s doing me a favor by tearing apart original work we both know I developed. The same voice he used when—
No.
Not this again.
