Ignoring him, I wave the intern over. “Here, pet the corgi.” Pepper, who has just inhaled a cream-filled donut, is drooly.
“Maybe not the corgi. I think she’s going to puke.” Jess makes a face.
The intern is making those heaving noises when you’re trying not to cry.
“Come here—you have a little donut glaze.” Pulling out a napkin, I reach out to rub his face with it, because tending to the interns is going to be the closest I ever get to motherhood.
Salinger’s annoyance has turned to premeditative murder. Anger and testosterone practically waft off him as I clean the intern’s face.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” the intern whimpers.
“I believe in you, and I’m proud you made it this far! Lots of people apply to this internship. It’s very competitive.”
Behind me, Salinger makes a disgusted noise. “And now he’s crying.”
I shove a donut and some tissues in the sobbing intern’s hand. “Fifth floor on the left. The exhaust fan in the IT closet disguises noise.”
“Yeah, and no one should be using it for a quickie,” Jess adds, “because it’s before lunch.”
“I better not see you on this floor again unless you’re about to bring me a contract,” Salinger bellows after the intern. “Who the fuck is hiring these losers?”
“I’m sure you’ll break them down and build them back up in your image, boss.” Jess salutes him.
My inner mama bear with no other outlet is itching to slash things.
“You don’t have to be nice to the interns, but you don’t have to be so much of a dick to them,” I snap at Salinger. “Just let him bring the donuts then send him on his way.”
Salinger’s large hand comes down, crushing the box and the pastries inside. Little flecks of obsidian glint in his gray eyes as he looms over me.
“Do not,” he hisses through bared teeth, “ever tell me how to run my business. If I want to terrorize my interns, I will. If I want to fire them, I will. If I want to make them feel like scum under my boot, I will. Because that is what I pay them for. I am not running a day care—I am runninga finance firm. You are not their babysitter—you are my assistant. Do you understand, Mandy?”
I don’t avert my gaze. “Yes,” I say then add “sir” for good measure.
He shoves the box of donuts toward me. “Clean up that mess. Then finish the presentation for the all-hands meeting today.”
2
SALINGER
I’m so fucking sick of her neediness.
No, not Mandy. My assistant is aggravatingly self-sufficient, despite the donut brigade. And she won’t quit. She’s breaking my streak. She already cost me ten thousand dollars in lost bets.
The text messages from my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend come in, rapid and emotional and whiny. So whiny.
Alma:I love you.
Alma:I want to have your babies.
Alma:We’re perfect together.
I’m so sick of dating twenty-somethings.
My pen scratches on the memo pad as I jot down a reminder to have Mandy break up withAlma. Again. Am I one of those men who likes a young college student on his arm because it makes him feel powerful?
Of course not.
I was only with Alma to get her to convince her grandfather to hire my investment company as the manager for the trust he had set up for his family.
