I know a lot of people, both in my line of work and social scene, but when it comes to actual support, my bench isn’t that deep. And I need someone who will listen to me vent. It’s been a shitty day.
Chapter 2
Olivia
It’s a shitty day.
Fridays are always painful—I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and the hours start to drag out into years. But today is particularly bad.
I spilled Mr. Keller’s coffee on my shirt on my way in, and now there’s a fist-sized stain on the hem. The elevator was broken when I got to it, and I had to come up the stairs, carefully balancing his replacement coffee in the foam tray.
And the second I arrive in his office, he lays into me.
“I don’t pay you to belate,“ he sneers, snatching his coffee—double espresso with a flavor shot of vanilla; I’ve had to memorize the order—and taking a sip. “I pay you to be prompt and ready-to-go no later than eight forty-five. If I’m here before you, you’re late.”
I glance at the digital clock on his desk. It’s eight forty-six. Keller’s still wearing his jacket; he clearly just got here.
Rather than argue, I nod, my eyes on the floor. “Yes, sir. I apologize for my lateness. The elevator?—”
“I don’t want to hear your petty excuses,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve been full of excuses since the moment I hired you. It’s just laziness—nothing more, nothing less. Step it up, MissQuinn, because there’s a long line of people ready to replace you if you get lax, understood?”
I inhale through my nose to stifle my frustration. “Of course, sir,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Get to work, then.”
I leave his office, heading over to the desk out front where I work. Mr. Keller is a businessman, and for the past few years, I’ve been his assistant—scheduling his meetings, keeping him on track, and sending all of his emails.
Or, at least, that’s what’s in my job description. In reality, his demands are a lot more all-encompassing than that. He can’t seem to decide whether I’m his professional assistant, his secretary, his intern or his maid.
He makes me get him coffee in the morning. He makes me call restaurants to make reservations for him, as if he’s allergic to the phone receiver. He puts the burden of some of his business decisions on my shoulders, but he also makes me clean his office at the end of the week, claiming that maintenance does a poor job.
I settle in at my desk, closing my eyes for a second to cool off from my interaction with Keller. Once my head is clear, I boot up the desktop computer and open up Keller’s email inbox, drafting replies to a few of the newer messages.
I get into the groove of my work, as always, grateful for the closed door that separates me from my boss. However, he’s never content to leave me alone for long. I’ve only been working for an hour when he opens the door and leans out.
“Miss Quinn, I need you to come see something in here.”
Stifling my sigh, I turn on the desktop’s screensaver and get to my feet without a word. When I step into Keller’s office, he closes the door behind me.
“Pull up a chair,” he says, nodding at the extra chair in the corner of his office. I oblige, sitting where I can see his computer screen, which displays a neatly-organized resume.
“What do you need, sir?” I ask.
“I’m trying to evaluate this job application,” he says, sinking into his leather chair beside me. “There could be a better candidate, so I’m on the fence. I needed a second set of eyes on it.”
That’s not in my job description, but as with everything else, I don’t really have the wherewithal to refuse. I nod silently, leaning forward to scan the information on the screen.
I’m just getting to the applicant’s education section when I feel his hand on my thigh.
Immediately, I stiffen, my shoulders going rigid. I give him a second to remove it—maybe it’s an accident. Maybe he just brushed against me without meaning to.
But he lingers far too long. His rough fingers squeeze, and then his hand moves up?—
“No,” I blurt out, jumping to my feet. I take several steps back, putting as much distance as possible between us. “What—what the hell are you doing?”
Keller bites his lip, his gaze raking my body. I fold my arms over my chest. I never dress immodestly at work, but right about now, I’m regretting my skirt and wishing that I’d put on my cardigan before coming in here.
“Oh, come on,” he says slyly, with a wink. “You can’t deny there’s been tension between us. Why not just go with the flow?”
