Page 4 of Scoring Eden

Considering “the team” consists of me, Anderson, and Angela, his dental assistant—who I’m certain he’s sleeping with despite being married—that statement is at least one-third incorrect.

Alex shakes his hand. “Well, my regular dentist is on extended leave and didn’t think to let me know, so really I should thank you for being able to see me so quickly.”

Ha. That’s generous.

This practice is the only one in the city that is scrambling for clients. And it will likely remain that way, despite Anderson’s confidence that the overpriced maroon monstrosity Alex is sitting on will be enough to attract new clients. Spoiler alert: it won’t.

“You’re most welcome.” Anderson preens. “I’ll leave you to finish those forms, and Edith here”—he waves in my direction—“will point you where you need to go when you’re done. I don’t usually come down to see the clients here myself, but in extraordinary circumstances…” He trails off, raising his hands in the air as if in worship.

I hide a laugh at his expense in the crook of my elbow.

“Edith.” His sharp eyes shoot to me, and I recoil from the darkness in them. “What’s all over your hands?”

My heart sinks. Knowing my boss, he’ll use my unkempt appearance as justification to make me work late without proper compensation. “Ink.”

“And what is wrong with your eye?” He grimaces, as if my face causes him visceral disgust.

On instinct, I blink a few times. It’s less irritated now, but I gauge from Anderson’s reaction that it still looks like shit. “I sprayed myself with some cleaning product.”

Some bosses may show concern for their employees if they get hurt. They might even send them home for the day with a compassionate pat on the back and well wishes.

Mine doesn’t.

Mine glares at me like I’m a stain on his life that he wishes he could exterminate.

He turns his back on me without a word, his message clear. I am the dirt beneath his shoe, the sole reason for his failing business, and the vermin infestation in his basement.

In my periphery, Alex looks between us with concern. “Is everything okay here?”

“Mr. Wolfe, please accept my deepest apologies for the unprofessionalism of my secretary. She is not indicative of the rest of the team at the practice. A bad apple, if you will. One who is easily replaceable, should her employment here be any reason you wouldn’t wish to visit us again.”

Easily replaceable.

Did he just insinuate that he’ll fire me if Alex were to request it?

What a sleazy, sniveling, ass-kissing idiot. And yet, he’s a sleazy, sniveling, ass-kissing idiot that I need in order to keep the roof over my son’s and my heads. “Sir—” I start but am silenced by another death glare.

“You are not a part of this conversation, Edith. I suggest you stay quiet and make yourself useful while the gentlemen talk. It would do you well not to make things worse for yourself.”

Gentlemen. I almost snort. His level of egotism is almost as bad as his rampant misogyny.

You’re doing this for Macon, I remember as I nod my head in a soul-destroying display of submission. This job is the reason you’re still able to feed your son, Eden. Suck it the fuck up.

After dropping out of high school to take care of a new baby, I have no diploma, no college degree, nothing of note to put on my paltry resume. I was lucky to even land this job, so I’m under no illusions that I could find something better elsewhere.

“That’s not necessary,” Alex says, his tone pacifying, yet underlined with an edge of something darker that falls on Anderson’s deaf ears. His gaze flits to mine for the briefest second, as if checking if I’m okay. “Edith has been nothing but professional since I arrived. The ink was an unfortunate accident, and truthfully, I’m responsible for the damage to her eye. I surprised her while she was cleaning, that’s all.”

He’s lying for me. Why? Why would he help me when I’ve been nothing but the opposite of professional since the moment he arrived? Let’s be real here. I’ve cried in front of him, checked him out, and insulted him, all in the space of ten minutes.

Anderson, thankfully, accepts Alex’s explanation, and with a few more gushes and fawning sentiments, he excuses himself from the room. His footsteps echo around us as he retreats back up the stairs, leaving us in a silence heavier than it was before.

I’m the first to break it. “My name is Eden, not Edith.”

Alex’s brows raise in surprise before satisfaction rolls over his face. “That makes more sense.”

“Oh?”

“You’re too pretty for a name like Edith.”