“Yes, she will be.”
“She’d better be.” She ended the call, and before I could put my phone away, it rang again.
“This is Tara Lauren of Parker International speaking,” I answered.
“Miss Lauren, this is Raymond Oliver with Buvette. I apologize for calling you so early, but I saw that you recently changed Mr. Parker’s breakfast order. I wanted to make sure that it was correct before asking the chef to make it.”
“It’s correct,” I said. “One almond croissant with butter, two crepes, and whatever egg dish was featured in GQ last week. He wants to try it, but don’t overdo it on the pepper. His doctor doesn’t want him to have too much of that.”
“As you wish, Miss Lauren. I’ll have it to his office soon.”
I ended the call and stared at the screen, waiting for the next call that always came in like clockwork.
The second the time changed, Preston’s town car driver called my phone.
“Good morning, Simon.”
“Good morning, Miss Lauren,” he said. “I’m calling to let you know I’ll be arriving at Mr. Parker’s door in five minutes, as he wants to arrive to work early today. Is there any urgent news I need to report?”
“Not at this time, Simon. Thank you for calling.” I ended the call and returned my attention to Michael. He was pacing the floor, letting out long sighs every few seconds.
“I’m really sorry about that,” I said. “What were you saying?”
“I was saying that I don’t think this is going to work out.” His words were cut and dry. “I can’t take this shit anymore.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“We haven’t fucked since you got this job, Tara. Every time we sit down to dinner or something as simple as lunch, your boss—or someone connected to your goddamn boss calls and you drop everything and start running.”
“I do not drop everything and start running,” I said. “I’m just trying to make the most of this opportunity and save up as much money as I can. You know I don’t plan to work for him forever.”
“You said you were quitting last month when you worked one hundred and twenty hours in a single week. And let’s not forget about five days ago when he called you at two in the morning to read him a damn email, as if he was blind and couldn’t read it himself.”
That was the first time I used my vibrator against his voice …
“You also claimed that you were done last week when he made you stay at work until three in the morning, asking you to rewrite the same report twenty times.”
“Look. I know my boss can be difficult.”
“No, your boss is not difficult, Tara. He’s an asshole. I know it, you know it, everyone in fucking New York knows it.”
“Okay, fine. He’s an asshole. I think you’re being unfair about this, though. It’s not like I haven’t been trying to get another job. No one has called me back despite all the interviews, so it doesn’t make sense to quit until I have something else set up.”
“With your salary, I think you have more than enough money in the bank to find something within the next three months, Tara.” He looked into my eyes. “I don’t mean to be blunt or give you an ultimatum, but I have no choice. It’s your boss or me.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said, stepping closer. “Your boss or me. Choose.”
Before I could give him an answer, my phone sounded with Preston’s signature ringtone.
“Can you hold that thought for one second?” I asked, stepping into my office to take the call privately. “Hello?”
“Is there any reason why the Dawson files weren’t delivered to my condo this morning?” Preston asked, his voice deep.
“It’s because there were too many typos, so I asked them to redo it. You’ll have it this afternoon.”
“What about your notes on the Anderson presentation?”
“I printed it last night, and it’s with Simon. I figured you’d want to read them on your way to work, since you have eight newspaper articles to get through.”
“Hmmm.” He hung up in my face, as usual, without saying anything else.
If there was anything that infuriated me about him the most, it was the fact that he never said thank you, never even implied that he was grateful for my work.
My phone vibrated with an email from him seconds later.
* * *
Subject: Your Anderson Presentation Notes
Hopefully, this version of your notes will have the proper spelling of “annuities.” Otherwise, I’ll need you to redo it, preferably with spellcheck. (You do know that all the computers in my company have this feature, correct?)
Preston Parker
CEO & Owner of Parker International
* * *
Ugh!
I tossed my phone across the room and returned to the lobby to finish talking to Michael, but he was long gone. The only thing that remained was a post-it note he’d left on top of Cynthia’s desk.
We’re over.
Go fuck your boss.
—Michael
Several hours later, I sent Michael another string of text messages—asking if we could talk things out or at least be friends, but he didn’t respond. I decided to message him on Facebook, but when I logged in, I noticed that he’d changed his relationship status. It wasn’t to “single,” though. He was now in a relationship with someone else.
What?
I waited for my heart to ache, but it didn’t. The only emotions I felt were anger with a slight side of relief.
Checking the time, I decided to skip today’s mandatory executive meeting and go for a post-breakup drink with Ava instead. I made my way to the elevator and hit the down button.
When the doors opened, I saw Mr. Parker and one of his financial advisors talking. Stepping onto the car, I hit the G button.
“I believe you’re mistaken, Miss Lauren,” Preston said, “This afternoon’s meeting is on the T level.”
“I’m well aware of where it is, Mr. Parker.” I turned to face him and shrugged. “I don’t feel like going.”
“It’s not optional.”
“In that case, I’ll have someone set a tape recorder in my chair. Better yet, since you feel like going there, can you do it for me?”
He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes at me.
“Um, I think I forgot something …” His advisor hit a random floor button and rushed off once the doors opened.
The second they shut, Preston hit the emergency stop button and the elevator jolted to a sudden and jerky stop. Then he stepped closer to me. “Do I need to help you understand your job description, Miss Lauren?”
“Yes.” I glared at him. “Please help me find the clause where it says I have to put up with the boss’s assholery twenty-four seven.”
“I believe that falls under clause five.”
I rolled my eyes and tried to push the S button, so the elevator could move again, but he blocked me.
“I haven’t received any flagged emails from your boyfriend lately,” he said. “Is it because he’s spending some much-needed time working on his vocabulary?”