“Like what?”
“Like that, Bea. Like that,” he answers, annoyed, pointing his index finger at Noah’s closed door.
I shrug in response, because what can I say to Noah’s brother without offending their whole bloodline? Ezra watches me for a few long moments before shaking his head again and heading into Noah’s office.
I book the meeting in ten minutes by chatting up the zoning board’s receptionist who I quickly find out happens to like vintage bags, and I happen to have one Chanel bag no one can find anywhere anymore. I left the island with this bag, and it’s the only thing from my family that I still consider valuable—and not just for how much it cost. Her price for the same-day meeting is that bag, so I promise it to her with a deal that she will still owe me one. Because that bag costs way more than just one meeting.
I say goodbye to my beloved bag so the tyrant can have his meeting today and I can keep my job. That bag could have paid three months of my rent, but I didn’t want to part ways with my grandmother’s bag for the roof over my head. Dignity and pride, on the other hand, are worth it, but the realization doesn’t come to me right away. I lock myself with the bag in the office bathroom, hugging it and asking myself if I really want to wipe that smug smile from Noah’s face.
Turns out I do. When I imagine that triumphant feeling I’ll experience when I tell him thatwe are all set, the decision is made.
Getting him the mysterious lunch takes longer since it also involves solving a puzzle. No one can remember what the mighty King ate last month, so I have to go down to the security team and ask them to run through the footage and see what his assistant brought him, hoping the bag in their hands had a logo.
But before that, I have to go to HR and ask who Noah’s assistant was last month. He had three. Armed with their pictures, I head to the security guys, and after many smiles and a shed tear or two over my bully boss, I have the name of the sushi place across town.
I place an order and tell the host over the phone that I’ll give him a hundred bucks if he meets me halfway. There’s no way I can go all the way there and back before lunch in rush hour. Heagrees to do it for two hundred. Which means I’ll have to borrow some of that office food to go home with me because even ramen might be too expensive for me after I part ways with my last two hundred.
By two thirty, I dump the sushi bag on his desk. Sweat pours down my temples, my white blouse is drenched. I undid two buttons and forgot to put them back, and now his eyes are stuck on the skin below my neck. I feel a heavy drop of sweat running down between my boobs at an excruciatingly slow speed. My underarms probably have two giant wet spots, but the tyrant has his sushi.
“Anything else, boss?”
His eyes snap back to my face. Fast, very fast. But the quick move of his neck doesn’t escape me.
“Does it have salmon?”
“Yes.”
“I hate salmon,” he deadpans, not moving his eyes from mine.
I pull another bag from behind my back and dump it on his desk, even louder this time. I grab the old bag back, and say, “Here you go.”
“What’s that?” he asks, eyeing the new bag like a clown might jump out of it to scare him off.
“My lunch, and now it’s your lunch. No salmon.”
“You don’t like salmon?”
I shake my head, agreeing too easily because I don’t want to engage in more of this conversation. I just want to go and eat my lunch that his card paid for, preferably in peace.
“Anything else, boss?”
He watches my face for a few moments before giving me a subtle shake of his head and turning his attention back to the bag, clearly dismissing me.
I go to the bathroom to fix my appearance, and boy do I need it. Raccoon eyes from running mascara and streaks of sweat through my blush suggest that I might need to forgo makeup on this job since I spend half the day on some crazy-goose chase.
By four, Martin walks toward me from his part of the building. It was a very smart idea to separate two Kings by a whole floor because if not, Ezra would have murdered Noah by now, I’m sure, and the company would have been without his apparent genius everyone keeps talking about.
“Bea, you’re still alive! Even after the zoning meeting!” he exclaims, spinning the cup in his hands. “I knew you would survive.”
“You did not.”
“I did not,” he laughs, planting his butt on the chair across from me. “When Julian decided to take you on for his agency, I didn’t know you’d be assigned to Noah at first. I swear, I wouldn’t have sent you there if I knew.”
“Yeah, I should have taken the printer cleaner gig,” I mumble under my breath.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I laugh sharply, typing an email. “I’m just trying to survive his toddler tantrums.”
