“Hello, Andrea.”
“Hello, Lorraine.”
“That’s Ms. Ashtor to you.”
“Sure it is.”
Her mouth thinned. She walked to my desk and stood over it, looking down, using every inch of height she had on me.
“Is Finneas in?”
“He’s got a call in ten. Make it quick.”
“I’ll take as long as I need. I’m not an appointment.”
“Everyone’s an appointment. That’s literally how offices work.”
She ignored that. Her eyes moved over me, slow, dismissive. Pink blouse, floral print, pencil skirt. I could feel her cataloguing every piece of fabric.
“You know, Drea, I keep hoping you’ll eventually dress like a professional.”
“That must be devastating for you. My condolences.”
“It reflects badly on Finneas. You’re his assistant, not a kindergarten teacher.”
“And you’re what exactly? Remind me what your title is? Because I handle his calendar, his files, his meetings, his correspondence, and I have never once seen your name on any of it.”
Her eyes flashed. Jaw going tight. I kept my face sweet.
She leaned in, her perfume way too strong for 9 am. “You should be careful, Andrea. Assistants are replaceable. One bad review, one complaint to the right person, and you’re out.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s advice.”
“How generous. I’ll file it with the wardrobe tips I’ve been ignoring for two years.”
She straightened up with a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Finneas and I go back a long way. Our families are close. Very close.” She let that hang. “He’s not available, sweetheart. Not for someone like you. So whatever little crush you think you’re hiding, I’d suggest you get over it.”
My pulse was spiking, jaw tight, but I kept the pleasant face because I’d be damned if she saw me flinch. Two years of this, of her dropping hints, implying a relationship, marking territory. Before last week it used to eat at me, used to keep me up wondering if she and Finneas were actually together and I was the idiot pining after a taken man. Now I knew the truth and I couldn’t say a goddamn word about it. Couldn’t tell her he’d been in my bed last night, couldn’t tell her the man she was claiming had his mouth on my wrist two hours ago. Couldn’t tell her shit.
“Noted. Anything else, or can I get back to work?”
She held my stare, then turned and walked into Finneas’s office without knocking.
Twenty minutes. I watched through the glass even though I told myself not to. Lorraine was animated in there, leaning in, laughing. She touched his arm at one point, left her hand there, and my pen creaked in my grip. Finneas was behind the desk, stiff, keeping distance. He spoke, brief and flat. Her hand dropped, her laugh faded.
She came out and I braced for the parting shot because Lorraine always had one. But she just looked at me, then kept walking. No jab, no smirk, no last word.
That was new.
Finneas came out a few minutes later and stood by my desk. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I wasn’t fine. My hands were shaking under the desk and my jaw ached from clenching it. “She’s charming as always.”
He looked at me like he wanted to say more. He knew exactly what Lorraine was like, but I would never become the snitching jealous girlfriend, so I kept looking at my screen.
“I’ll handle it,” he said.
