“I can’t believe Grayson didn’t trust me to do this for him. I’m his secretary,” Anthym finally cried, turning away from me.
“He probably assumed you were going to take off yesterday. And today and tomorrow. You know, like everyone else on the big Europe trip.”
“He was supposed to be here,” she said tersely. “I came in in case he needed anything. He doesn’t take breaks or vacations. This girl must be a master manipulator.”
“It’s good Mr. Richmond is taking some time for himself,” I argued.
McKenna was sitting ramrod straight in her chair, carefully typing, trying not to draw Anthym’s attention.
The secretary clenched her jaw.
“I don’t trust it.”
“Where are those Girl Scout cookies?” I asked, rummaging in McKenna’s drawer after Anthym left.
“You watched a Disney movie with Grayson and made him breakfast?” my friend hissed. “The whole office is talking about the woman he’s supposedly met in France.”
We looked over to Brittney Dawn’s office, where she and Anthym and two of the female accountants were chatting.
“They’re going to find out.”
“What am I supposed to do? I have to throw her off the trail,” I squeaked to McKenna.
“You need to find a new job.”
Would Grayson be hurt though? Maybe he would think I was trying to get distance from him. After he had bared so much of his past to me, I didn’t want him to think I wanted to leave him because of it like Sam had.
“Hey, who ate all these Thin Mints?” I looked down at the half-empty packet.
McKenna wordlessly pointed to the crumbs on my shirt.
“I’m stressed; this is a stressful situation. But I have cookies,” I said, trying to calm myself. “And I have Grayson, and it’s all going to work itself out.”
Three more cookies disappeared.
“The power of positive thinking.”
“Oh, by the way,” McKenna informed me, “the landlord just issued notices to all the residents that they’ll be making improvements on the pipes and shutting off the water to the building during the day, and the only time we can use water is between two and five a.m.”
I paced aroundthe studio apartment, on hold with the city.
Finally a woman came on the phone.
“Yes, I would like to report a violation at the apartment building on Thirty-Eighth Street, number 1502.”
“There have been a number of complaints. The landlord has assured us he is addressing them.” The woman did not sound like she believed my call was urgent.
“He’s not,” I protested. “He’s been threatening people, and he’s turned off the water.”
“We have paperwork filed from him, and he’s allowed to complete work on the building, ma’am.” That last word had an aggressive undertone.
She has a stressful job; don’t assume the worst.
“Then he needs to put us in a hotel.”
“He says he has the water on at certain hours, which complies with the code.” The woman sounded annoyed. “But we’ll make a note on the file.” She hung up.
“This is exactly why we need to go to Brooklyn where that landlord is hiding and break some kneecaps.” Grenadine shook her fist. “We’re going down there tomorrow to his house, and we need to tell him he needs to fix the building. Protest! You make a good sign, Lexi, and you have markers and poster board.”
