She was the worst of them all, trying to undermine my authority behind my back. Although I’d made it clear on her very first day that she wasmyassistant, she always made everyone’s problem her own.
It would be easy for her to stay in her lane, clock in and out like a regular employee, but instead, she went around the office trying to involve herself in everyone’s damn business.
“Ms. Burns,” she said as she walked in. The row of gold bracelets on her left hand jangled as she pushed the door shut behind her. She was dressed rather festively today in a green and black checked vest with a white collared shirt. A pencil skirt stopped modestly at her knees.
Her best accessory, as always, was her scent. Some might say it was disarming, but I wouldn’t be among their ranks.
The sweet note that clung to her skin was warm and familiar, a mix of something fruity like peach crescents floating in honey—the kind of scent that human technology would never be able to replicate in a lab.
I had spent far too much time wondering if she knew how others responded to her sweetness. How could shenotknow? There was a distinct possibility that she used biology to her advantage.
Maybe that was why she carried herself the way she did—always so damn sure of everything and so maddeningly confident. It was likely that she knew her pheromones worked in her favor.
“You wanted to see me, Ms. Burns?” she asked, clasping her notepad in her hands. An impractical pen with a dangling gold chain was poised between her fingers.
“Don’t you meanMs. Burnzilla?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.
I watched as she stilled, her lips parting in surprise.
“Excuse me?”
I rested my forearms on the leather armrest.
“I heard what you said to Ms. Jacques.”
She glanced over her shoulder as though trying to understandhowI’d caught their conversation. She didn’t need to know about the security cameras that were fully equipped with sound.
“How?” she blurted, fingers tightening on the notepad.
Interesting.I’d been convinced she’d deny what she’d said.
I ignored her question and got straight to my point instead.
“Would you care to explain your behavior?”
“Explain?” I watched her throat work.
“It’s not your job to console Ms. Jacques,” I said. “Especially not at my expenseandon my time.”
“It was the right thing to do,” she began.
My brow rose, mocking her. “The right thing to do would have beenyour job.”
“Look,” she said, pushing her curls behind her ears. “Josephine is a hard worker. She works harder than any of us combined. I don’t think she deserved to be chewed up and spat out just because she wasn’t able to fulfill your arbitrary numbers.”
“Arbitrary?” I echoed her word. “Arbitrary implies that the quotas I’ve set are inconsequential—”
“I don’t think they are inconsequential—”
“I’m not finished, Ms. Nayak.” I watched as gloss-lined lips narrowed to a slash at my rebuke. “You are in no position to decide whether my goals for this company arearbitraryor not. The Winter Solstice campaign was launched for a reason, and I am accountable to shareholders for increased production numbers. The cost of raw materials have also increased by five percent in the last six months, and minimum wage requirements have gone up. Where do you think your paychecks are coming from, if not from the success of campaigns like these?”
She had the good sense to remain quiet, although I could tell by the way she bit her bottom lip that she wanted to say something—badly.
I pushed my sleeves further up my forearm as she squirmed.
“That’s strike two, Ms. Nayak.”
“Two? When did I even get strike one—” she paused, choking on the question. “You mean from three years ago? When I first started working here?”
