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A beep told me my pages were done copying.
“Oh!” I surged to my feet, unable to believe I’d forgotten about the papers and, ack! The meeting started in… Holy oops, nine minutes! Could I staple seventy-six copies of Lana’s four-page market report in time?
Hey, I was Kaitlynn Marcella Judge, daughter of the late Arthur K. Judge, original proprietor of Judge Fashions Industry. Hell yes, I could.
CHAPTER TWO
I wasn’t going to get my work done in time for the meeting.
No, wait, yes. Yes, I was. Positivity, Kaitlynn, have some positivity.
Bolstering myself with a mental chant of yes you can, I glanced at the time. Six minutes to sort and staple. I was cutting it close, but I had every confidence I’d make the deadline.
That was until the door flew open and Lana flounced inside. Proportioned like a model, she wore stiletto heels, a knee-length pencil-thin skirt, and a form-fitting wool-knit sleeveless blouse. The haughty demeanor suited her perfectly, which was too bad, because she overused it big-time, making it seem bitchily sinister instead of coolly confident.
“What the hell is this?” She shoved her teacup at me, spilling just enough to splash the front of my shirt.
With a gasp, I lurched to my feet and tugged my blouse away from my chest, but thank goodness nothing soaked through the cloth.
“It’s tea,” I said, staring at her incredulously. “What do you think it is?” It was the same exact brew I’d been making her every morning for the past six months, except for the fact it had steeped thirty seconds shorter than it usually did.
Holy geez, did thirty seconds really make that much of a difference?
Except the strength of brew ended up not being her issue at all.
“I meant the debris floating inside it, you imbecile. Are you trying to kill me?”
Blinking, I peered down into the cup. Then I blinked again. Not sure what she was referring to, I slid her a sidelong glance.
Had the woman taken her medicine this morning?
With a sniff, she pointed a French-tipped fingernail to a spot close to the side of the cup. “Right… There.”
Leaning closer, I squinted until I could make out what looked like a microscopic speck of lint that had most likely floated through the air off someone’s—probably her own wool—clothing, and landed in there after I’d delivered it. When I looked up at her with an expression that clearly let her know she’d lost her ever-loving mind, she narrowed her eyes and slammed the cup onto my desk, splashing more tea over the side and all over half the pile of papers I had lying there.
My mouth fell open, and a squeak of denial left me. “No! Those were the market reports for the meeting.”
Lana looked momentarily disjointed. I could tell she knew she’d messed up. But then the moment passed, and she snarled at me as if she’d discovered a way to blame me for her error.
“Make me a decent cup of tea.” She pointed to the mess she’d made. “And be sure there are no stains on any of the reports passed out at the meeting. I won’t have Nash thinking I’m incompetent.”
Spinning on her heels, she marched right back out of the room and past a pale-faced Shyla, who stood frozen just inside the doorway watching us.
Fuming, I fisted my hands at my sides and stormed after my father’s widow, ready to relieve her of some of her bleached-blonde hair. But Shyla jumped in front of me, her eyes huge with alarm and hands lifted to halt me.
“No! Please, no. With the mood she’s in, she’ll fire you. We both know she will. And I can’t lose you.”
Wrinkling my nose, I blew out a breath and nodded, not wanting to distress Shyla further… And definitely not ready to lose my internship. Then I forced a smile to let her know I wouldn’t let her down. Besides, I was supposed to project a cool, unaffected image to my stepmother if I ever wanted to prove to her I could be the best employee she’d ever hired.
It took her a second, but finally, Shyla relaxed and glanced at the mess on my desk. “Oh, Kaitlynn. I’m so sorry. Let me—”
I held up a hand as she rushed to assist me. “No, it’s okay. I’ve got this.” Technically, my duty here was to be her assistant, even though I had to show her how to do most of her tasks and Lana assigned me with more projects than she did Shyla. Still, I had to prove I could handle whatever was thrown my way. I could do this on my own. “She only ruined, like, half the sheets.” Which meant roughly a hundred and fifty more copies to make, and I couldn’t even start stapling until they were finished.
I had three minutes until the meeting was scheduled to start.
“I’ll bring the reports to you in the conference room as soon as they’re ready,” I assured. “Okay?”
Shyla nodded and then shifted nervously. “What about the tea?”
