“Three egos,” she corrects. “It’s a talent.”
The older man nods at me. “Geoff. Been here twenty-two years. You’re the one who fixed the supply closet.”
“Guilty.”
“Sandra from accounting hates it.”
My stomach drops. “Oh.”
“Sandra hates everything,” Priya says. “She once complained that the new hand soap in the women’s restroom smelled too happy. Ignore her.”
We settle into the break-room chairs, and I realize this is the first time since starting here that I’ve completely relaxed around other people. Kenji shows me photos of his cat. Priya explains the complex web of executive rivalries I need to navigate. Geoff shares which vending machines actually work and which ones eat your money.
“The one on the sixth floor is cursed,” he says. “Don’t trust it.”
“Noted.”
My phone buzzes with a reminder. Pierce’s nine a.m. meeting needs preparation.
“Duty calls,” I say, standing. “But this was really nice. Thank you. For the coffee tips and the…everything.”
Kenji waves me off. “We assistants have to stick together. It’s us against the executives.”
“And Sandra,” Priya adds.
Kenji and Geoff raise their coffee cups to that.
I’m smiling as I head upstairs to my desk, coffee successfullyin hand. Through the glass walls, I see Pierce already at his computer, frowning at something on the screen. I’ve started keeping a small sketchbook in my desk drawer, and during quiet moments, I draw little scenes from the office. Pierce frowning at his computer. Pierce on the phone, tie loosened. Pierce reaching for his coffee cup. There might be a theme developing.
The morning passes in a blur of learning names, memorizing schedules, and trying to look busy whenever Pierce glances through his glass walls. Which he does. Often. I’m not sure if he’s checking on me or checking me out, but either way, it makes my skin tingle.
I’m updating Pierce’s calendar when my work phone buzzes with a message.
The order I placed yesterday—my first official order—has arrived!
I rush to the loading dock where Roberto from maintenance is standing next to a pallet of the most aggressively orange paper I’ve ever seen.
“No, no, no, no, no.” Instead of the fifty reams of premium printer paper Pierce specifically requested for the quarterly reports, there are fifty reams of—I check the delivery notice twice—bright orange construction paper.
“This isn’t right,” I say, panic rising. “I ordered white. Premium white. For the quarterly reports. Pier—Mr. Dellcourt is going to kill me. Actually kill me. They’ll never find my body.”
Roberto pats my shoulder sympathetically. “I’ve already contacted the supplier, and they admitted to an admin error. They’ll replace the order, but the white paper won’t arrive until next week.”
“But the reports are due tomorrow!”
I pace back and forth, mind racing. The quarterly reportsneed to be printed today. Pierce told me he’s been working on them for weeks. The board meeting is tomorrow morning. If I mess this up, I’m done. More than done. I’ll be a cautionary tale that other assistants tell new hires.
Think, Meatball. Think.
I rush back to the break room where Kenji and Priya are on their lunch break.
“I need help,” I blurt out. “Paper emergency. Fifty reams of premium white needed by the end of the day. The supplier sent orange construction paper instead.”
“Orange?” Kenji’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Like, neon orange. Aggressive orange. The kind of orange that hurts your eyes.”
Priya’s already on her phone. “I know a guy at Office Depot. Let me check.”
