"Mrs S, I'm Matty, and I'm going to be working with you for now. So, tell me what you need."
Gloria was about to make a comment about the state of her attire, but the question threw her.
"Breakfast would be a good start," she said flippantly, as she switched on the TV and turned up the volume.
"And what would you like for breakfast?"
Gloria stared at her, then smirked and said, "Eggs Florentine."
"Excellent choice. Toast and jam, it is." Matty grinned before turning on her heel and heading to where she assumed the kitchen would be.
She returned with the toast on a plate and the jar of peach jam beside it. She placed everything down in front of Gloria.
"What's that?" Gloria spat, the disdain dripping like hot lard on a chip.
"Toast and peach jam, as requested."
Gloria glowered at the already jammed bread and the pot beside it.
“Pointless,” she muttered as her good hand shot out and picked up a triangle of toast. Before Matty knew what was happening, Gloria launched it at her. The heavier, sticky side landed perfectly on the front pocket of her dungarees.
Matty stared at it, then at Gloria, whose smirk wasn't even hidden.
"I'm not sure that's how a lady behaves, Mrs S. Shall we try again?"
"Why? Did that not get the right effect?"
"Well, if you're trying to tell me you're not hungry, I would have thought using your words would be the better option, but maybe I'm not working for a lady?"
"Insolent brat...just you wait, you'll soon get the heave-ho."
"The fundamental difference here, Mrs S, is that I'm employed by Sloan, not an agency. And more importantly, I'm poor... This job is essential. You can be as rude as you like, but I’m not going anywhere. So, we can do this the hard way, wasting both our times...or we can work out a way to get what we both want."
Chapter eleven
Sloan picked up the phone, then set it back down. It was gone ten and Matty hadn't called.
Her computer pinged—a new email. She opened it, read it and responded, and then sat back, thinking.
Maybe you should call. Check in. Picking up the phone again, she suddenly realised she didn't have Matty's number.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. "Come," she said, and looked up at the door as it opened.
"Sorry to bother you, Ms Slater. Your meeting for ten thirty has been moved to eleven," Dawn said.
"Why?"
Sloan's expression didn't change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop. She set her pen down with deliberate precision and folded her hands on the desk.
“I think something to do with traffic and—"
"Tell Jerry," she said, her voice calm, measured, and cold as steel, "that the meeting is at ten thirty, as arranged. I do not rearrange my schedule because he cannot manage his own. If he is stuck in traffic, he can Zoom in from his car. If he cannot do that, he will send his second, but the meeting will proceed at 10.30, with or without him."
Dawn shifted slightly. "Of course, Ms Slater.I'll pass that on."
"And Dawn?" Sloan's eyes didn't leave her assistant's face. "In future, when someone asks to move a meeting at the last minute, the answer is no. My time is not negotiable."
"Understood." Dawn nodded, assuring Sloan she’d understood the directive, and retreated quickly, closing the door behind her.
