“You were late coming back from lunch.”
“Three years ago.” Her voice rose incredulously.
“So youdoremember it.” I nodded once. “Please do not put me in a position to dismiss you. It would be a shame.”
Something in her gaze told me I had pushed her too far. A flicker of something darkened her gaze—resentment? Disappointment?Fear?Before I could examine the way it creased her skin, she buried it deep.
Instead, anger tightened her jaw.
When she closed the distance between us, her heels were sharp on the marble.
“You know what,Ms. Burns?” she said, slapping the notepad down on my desk with a distinctthwack.“I dare you. Idareyou to fire me. Idareyou to find someone—anyone—in this town who can do a better job for you than I do. Because I guarantee you can’t.”
“You must think very highly of yourself.” The barb landed where I’d wanted it to. “You’re not irreplaceable, Ms. Nayak. I have seen many assistants come and go.”
“You’ve seen themgo,” she said pointedly. “They’ve all left because you’re an unbelievably arrogant tyrant to work for.”
“Then why are you still here?”
There was a pause as her lips parted slightly. No words emerged. Perhaps her brain was scrambling to catch up.
Her brows twitched, caught between shock, irritation and the creeping realization that she didn’t have an answer to my question.
Odd.Ms. Nayak was a feisty one. I’d assumed she’d retort with a response like‘because I need a paycheck’or better yet,‘someone needs to clean up your mess’.Instead, she chose silence.
I wondered why I felt a stab of regret at her less-than-feisty response.
“One more strike and you’re out, Ms. Nayak,” I glanced down at my paperwork, rifling through her meticulous notes. “It would be a shame to lose you.”
My tone made it clear that I wouldn’t care either way.
“Dismissed.”
Chapter Four
Dessi
The conversation with Burnzilla trailed me for the rest of the day. I fumed as I ate my lunch, stabbing at my spiced broccoli salad as though it was her unreasonable face. She seemed to sense my anger because she didn’t request my help for the next few hours after threatening to fire me for consoling a coworker.
I stared at the screen in front of me, barely registering the emails that came in, or the administrative tasks that had piled up. My fingers cupped the mouse, but they didn’t move. A part of my brain—the part that still seethed—was stuck in that tense glass office with Burnzilla’s voice digging into me.
I forced a breath out of my lungs and caught my reflection in a small mirror at the edge of my desk. The creases on my forehead were entirely unacceptable. How was I supposed to keep myself from aging too quickly if my boss forced these deep craters into my skin?
A shadow fell over my desk at five in the evening. I glanced up to find Angie standing near my cubicle, wringing her hands.
“What’s wrong?” I asked quickly.
Angie hesitated, her eyes darting towards the closed double doors where Burnzilla was meeting with a contractor.
She leaned in slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Could I ask you for a favor?”
A sinking feeling settled in my belly.
“Of course,” I said, even though I didn’t feel quite as certain. “Go on.”
She sighed, running her fingers through her frizzy bob.
