On the way back to the office, Gabby dialed Justin, who had no clue that he’d created such an uproar. “How’s everything going?” she asked.
“You are going to love this party. All my queens are coming through. These bankers are going to be en-ter-tained!”
Gabby could see it now, Justin sashaying into the party and giving the actual mob tips on how to be more mob-like. As long as they survived the night.
“Thanks, Justin. You are the best best friend that ever existed in the history of best friends.”
“Maybe we should get BFF necklaces?” he suggested.
She was definitely getting necklaces.
Back at the office, Gabby had a clear objective: figure out how to get into the damn safe. Markus was right. Her best wasn’t good enough. She needed to do better if she was going to save her family.
“Mr. Kramer, I’m going to work on getting the stain out of this rug.”
“Fine. Just stay out of the way.”
On her hands and knees, she started in on the carpet. After twenty minutes of scrubbing and surreptitiously glancing at Kramer, he was still on the phone, showing no signs of leaving the office. So far this week, he hadn’t left his seat for longer than the time it took to pee.
“Mr. Kramer, have you thought about having a lunch meeting with your clients? That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
He glared, but she went on. “There is a great Italian place just down the street.”
“Camille, I don’t need any suggestions.”
Frustrated, she went back to her desk for a breather. She sat in the chair for just a second and rubbed her temples.
“You doing okay?” Fran looked up from her computer.
“Ugh. Just having one of those days.” She shut her eyes before diving into another hour of pretending to clean the carpet in case Kramer actually left the room. “Do you ever get sick of this, Fran?”
Fran looked right at Gabby. “Yes. I’ve been trying so hard for so many years, working late, anticipating his every need.” She shook her head. “The things I have done for that man.”
“How long have you worked here?”
Fran sighed. “Oh, it’s been a while. It’s a boys’ club.”
“So you want to be a financial analyst?” Fran seemed happy to serve Kramer’s every need, but she hadn’t talked about actual finances at all.
“I want to be at the top. I want to make real money.”
“I’m feeling pretty9 to 5about him today.”
“What?” Fran flashed a blank look.
“Oh, you have to see that movie. It’s a classic.” She got fired up just thinking of Dolly Parton, Jane Fonda, and Lily Tomlin taking out their sexist boss with rat poison in his coffee. Fifty years later and Kramer was pretty much a Franklin Hart Jr. Maybe Gabby wasn’t going to murder him with rat poison, but she was going to take this guy out for her and Fran and all the women out there who were underutilized and underpaid, coming home to sinks full of dishes.
She raised her coffee mug. “Here’s to us, Fran!” After a fortifying gulp of lukewarm coffee, she dove back into the carpet cleaning. Sometime later—god knows how long, because her brain had shut down—Kramer stood up. The jerk was finally going to leave the room.
Instead of leaving, he stood over her and glared at her dumb project. “What in the hell are you doing over here?”
She pointed to the stain. “This is a tricky one. I was thinking of renting a carpet shampooer. I could run down to the hardware store right now, if you don’t mind me staying a little late.”
“Camille, I’m not going to pay you overtime for something the cleaning crew will do anyway.”
“Okay, I can do it tomorrow during the day. It’ll be easy.” Anything to give her extra time in the office.
“I have a full schedule tomorrow and I don’t need you underfoot.And Friday, the security team is coming in to upgrade things around here. Finally.”
