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Indie
I GROAN AS I CLOSE my apartment door and head out onto the street, making my way to the subway. It’s Monday morning, and although I slept most of the day yesterday, it wasn’t enough to catch up on all that I had lost over the past few weeks. Just like Roman said, my pay hit my account Friday night. I nearly fell over when I saw the amount he paid me. Two thousand dollars for two weeks of work. That’s more than I would make working every night for two months at the diner.
Once the shock wore off, the anger set in. If I was being paid this amount, exactly how much was being deducted from my wage to pay off my debt to Roman? It couldn’t possibly be much. There’s no way an unqualified assistant would earn that kind of money to begin with, which means it will take me longer to pay off the asshole than I’d hoped.
After the shock and anger, came my embarrassment. I feel like a charity case. Poor little Cinderella in her rags. I already feel like mutton dressed as lamb in these over-expensive clothes.
Then came confusion. Why? Why is Roman helping me? I owe him, not the other way around. So, I don’t understand his motive to help me. This only brings me back to anger because I don’t like being in this position. Although, I have to admit, it was a nice feeling paying my rent and bills and having enough left over to fill our refrigerator with some decent food. Austin couldn’t believe his eyes when he opened the door to it on Sunday afternoon. His eyes widened, and his big smile brought tears to my eyes. This is what his life should have always been like for him. A kid his age should not have to worry about how much food he is taking to eat. He always considered what was left for me, and that broke my heart, knowing my brother was going hungry so I didn’t starve.
I stop in my tracks the moment I see Pharrell at the curb outside my building, leaning against Romans Mercedes casually with ankles crossed in front of him. As soon as he sees me, he straightens.
“Good morning, Miss Johnson.”
“What are you doing here?” I skip the hello and cut straight to the chase.
Pharrell smiles at me and opens the back door, gesturing with his hand to get in the car. “Mr. Judge no longer wishes for you to take the subway, so he asked that I pick you up and bring you home from now on.”
“Did he now?” I snarl, brushing past him and getting into the back seat. I know better now than to argue. If Roman has decided I will now have a chauffeur, I now have a chauffeur. My submission, however, does not mean I won’t have something to say about it when I get into the office.
The longer I work for Roman, the more control he has over me. Yet as I sit in the comfort of the back seat of the car, passing by the bustling streets of Boston and its busy commuters, I breathe in the fresh air rather than the stench of someone I am cramped next to on the subway. My annoyance fades, and I decide I will let Roman win this one. This one I don’t mind so much.
“I NEED THIS COPIED and signed by accounts within the hour,” he pauses, handing me a piece of paper, “please.” As he pulls his hand away, his finger ever so slightly brushes mine, making me suck in a breath. I’d smile if I wasn’t so shocked. Shocked by the fact he actually asked me nicely to do something rather than bark an order at me or send me a message. And, shocked at how affected I am by the simplest of his touches.
His eyes meet mine briefly before he walks away. Did he do that deliberately, or was it accidental? Who can tell with Roman? With eyes of steel and emotions of stone, his ability to hide his expression when needed deserves a Golden Globe. I find it so hard to read him.
I’m giddy. Breathless even. One touch from him, and I’m butter. Soft spreadable melted butter. I hate it. I hate that he can make me feel like this. I don’t like the man. Everything about him is undeniably unlikeable... except, here I am sitting in my chair, liquid butter.
The glass doors to the office open. I look at the clock. I wasn’t expecting anyone this late in the afternoon, but then again, I was not expecting to be butter either.
A young woman walks through the entrance; she is beautiful. I can tell just by the amount of confidence oozing from her, she knows it too. There is an air of arrogance about her as she waltzes over to my desk. June is gone for the afternoon. She had to leave early for a medical appointment, so it’s just me who’s here to greet her.
“Who are you? Where is June?” she cuts right to it. I ignore her question but not her blunt rudeness. She looks down at me like I am a piece of used gum on her shoe.
“Mr. Judge is not expecting anyone this afternoon. Do you need to make an appointment?” I say politely, although I don’t smile.
“I do not need an appointment. Don’t you know who I am?” She curls her lips up at me.
“Should I?” I reply and regret it immediately. That was not very professional, even though it was very much warranted.
The woman huffs at me. She friggin huffs at me, rolling her eyes. “Does he have anyone in his office, or is he alone?”
“If you let me know who you are and what your business is today, I will gladly let him know you are here.” I avert her question again. This time I offer her a cheesy smile. This woman is getting on my nerves, and I can’t hide it from her. Some people just have this natural ability to bring out the bitch in a person, and she is definitely on course.
She purses her Botox lips at me, seemingly taken back a little that I am not standing for her I’m better than you bullshit. “You’re obviously new. Tell Roman, Georgina is here.”
I’m not stupid, but clearly, the way she is looking at me, she thinks I am. She’s trying to push me back down a level by using Roman’s first name. She may know him well. She may be his sister, for all I am aware, but I’m not about to casually let her into Roman’s office without his permission. If she knew him as well as she is letting on, then she’d know that Roman does not take surprise visits well.
I pick up the phone and dial Roman’s office line.
“Yes,” he answers after three rings.
“A Georgina is here to see you, Sir. Shall I let her through?”
The line is quiet for a long moment before he sighs. “Send her in.” He doesn’t appear eager to see her, which makes me smile wide. I look up at Georgina, and she’s frowning at me. My smile quickly straightens.
“Yes, Sir.” I hang up the phone.
“Mr. Judge says he has ten minutes before a Zoom meeting is scheduled. So, if you can make it brief, you can head on in,” I lie. I can’t help it. I just really wanted to see the look on her face as she realizes she’s not as important as she thinks.
