“Sir, this is my personal phone. I’m on vacation. Remember? Two weeks off for Christmas?” I say this gently, though my fingers tighten around the phone.
“This will just take a minute,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken.
I turn away, feeling two pairs of eyes watching me from the kitchen. For once, I don’t immediately cave. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ashcroft, but I’m not at my computer. I can send you the presentation in a few minutes, but Janet from HR is covering my desk—she should be able to assist you going forward.”
The silence on the other end of the line is deafening. Finally, he says, “Fine. But I may need to call you for emergencies.”
“Of course,” I reply automatically, hating myself a little for not drawing a firmer boundary. “Have a good day, sir.”
When I hang up, I turn to find Gabe and Finn watching me with identical expressions of distaste.
“That’s the boss you were ranting about?” Finn asks.
I nod, embarrassed. “Marcus Ashcroft. CEO of Ashcroft Media.”
“You called him the ‘alpha-hole boss from hell’ last night,” Gabe says, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Did I?” I can’t help the small smile that forms. “Well, not inaccurate.”
“Why do you work for him?” Gabe’s question is direct, his gaze unwavering.
The smile fades from my face. “My aunt pulled strings to get me the job. It was a big opportunity. Executive assistant to the CEO…” I trail off, hearing how hollow the explanation sounds.
“But you hate it,” Finn observes, not unkindly.
“It’s complicated.”
He slides a mug of coffee toward me. “Cream? Sugar? A new job?”
“All of the above,” I mumble, accepting the mug gratefully.
Finn laughs and adds cream and sugar to my coffee.
I take a sip. It’s perfect.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For the coffee. And for… not being serial killers, I guess.”
Gabe makes a sound that might be a chuckle. “Low bar.”
Finn pats my arm sympathetically. “Eat something. You’ll feel more human.”
Gabe places a plate in front of me. Three perfect pancakes stacked high, with a pat of butter melting on top.
“There’s syrup and berries,” he says, gesturing to small bowls on the counter. He’s oddly gentle for someone who looks like he could bench-press a refrigerator.
“Why are you being nice to me? I threatened you with Alpha-Away.”
Finn snorts into his coffee. “That’s not Alpha-Away. It’s your dry shampoo.”
I look down at the canister. Sure enough, the label reads “Fresh Start Dry Shampoo: For Hair Emergencies.”
“Oh,” I say weakly. “Well, in my defense, I was prepared to make your hair very, very fresh.”
This elicits a deep, rumbling laugh from Gabe.
Perhaps having unexpected roommates is precisely what I need—a fresh perspective.
6
