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“No problem.” My job shouldn’t starve my roommate too. “Thanks for making food.”
She stands. “Are you just getting off work?”
I nod.
“Yes, and my feet are killing me.” I pick up my foot, unstrap her heel, let it fall to the floor, and then take off the other shoe. “Tell me I’ll get used to these things?”
She gives me a pained smile, and I wonder if generously loaning them wasn’t her only reason for letting them go.
“So, have you really been at work all those times I texted at night?” she asks. “I was about to file a missing person’s report!”
“Unfortunately,” I say, walking to the couch. I drop down, suddenly boneless. “He sends a driver for me every morning. I’m at the office by five. One morning, the driver came at four, because he had half a dozen stops he wanted me to make before work.”
“Holy shit. You must be starving. Let me get you a plate.” She heads for the kitchen and comes back a minute later with a plate piled high with lasagna, salad, and garlic bread.
Yeah, I’m ready to eat my own weight in good Italian food.
I dive in and don’t stop, letting the TV wash over us until I’m almost half-done.
“Paige...I’m having an orgasm. I can’t believe I forgot how good you cook when you’ve got the time. Thank gawd, too. It’s the first real meal I’ve eaten since I started this job. It’s nice to chomp on something that isn’t frozen.”
She laughs and sits back down on the couch beside me after fetching us a couple glasses of wine.
“I’m kinda worried about you,” she whispers. “If you’re going to work at five every day...what time are you coming home? I know you’re not here at eleven most nights when I crash.”
“Well, I’m supposed to be done by midnight, but it’s usually closer to one a.m. Though, I think it might be better soon. First week’s the hardest, right? I’m getting the hang of it. In a week or two, I could totally be rolling in a couple hours earlier.”
“You’re literally working, what, fifteen hours a day? The man seems horrible. I still can’t believe you’re taking his shit after the way he talked down to you, girl.”
I smile at Paige doing what Paige does best—getting angry for me.
Of course, she’d never need to work for someone like Magnus Heron who shows his coffee cup more respect than any person.
“But a couple hundred grand a year is an insane amount of money,” she tells me, taking a long sip of wine. “My dad barely makes twice that and he’s been working for decades.”
Paige is a rich kid, no question.
But if her dad only makes a little more in a top role after thirty-something years, ugh. I can never quit this job. I’m stuck with Lucifer.
I sigh. “I’m not sure he’s paying me enough to deal with his BS forever. I’m not the only one to think that. He has a hard time keeping assistants.”
“Is it that bad? We knew it was weird when we scoped it out after they randomly asked you to interview, but...I was hoping it wouldn’t be horrendous. You’re there all day. You should snoop around and find out what made this jackass such a raving loon.”
I give her a tired smile.
“When would I find the time? I’m there by five responding to emails and sorting through client files to see who needs what. Some days, I forget to eat lunch. If I do, it’s at my desk, and this is the first time I’ve gotten home before I turn into a very tired pumpkin. I don’t have time to care about why he’s a mega-prick.” I shovel a forkful of lasagna in my mouth, burying my rage in delicious food. “I’m so drained, Paige. Like if I don’t get twelve hours of sleep this weekend, you’re gonna find me with no pulse.”
She winces. “Hey, at least you have a weekend?”
“Careful.” I flood my mouth with sorely needed wine. “Don’t jinx me.”
“You know what, screw it.” Paige picks up her phone. “I’m Googling your boss. We’re going to get to the bottom of this. Maybe we’ll find the asshat’s kryptonite.”
I swallow a chunk of lasagna and laugh. “I thought we already did that before I started working there?”
She shrugs. “I did a preliminary search just to see if it was legit. Time to find out why people are so scared of him.” She taps away at her phone while I eat. “Oohhh, read this.”
“What?” As soon as the word falls out, I bite off a chunk of warm garlic bread.
“I just sent you an article. The Magnum of Advertising. Apparently, that’s what they call your jerk-wad boss.”
My eyes roll so hard it hurts.
“I’m finishing dinner before I read anything that puffs up his ego,” I say. “Magnus Heron has gotten enough of my time this week. I deserve one good meal before he steals more attention.”
