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She exits without another complaint and a nice view of her plump ass, swaying with every switch of her hips.
Damn.
I don’t dare stand before she’s gone, or else how much I’m enjoying that view will be on full display. She’ll be back soon and I’d rather my right hand not know the full effect she has on me.
Once she’s gone, I gently punch myself in the crotch under my desk.
“Ow, fuck,” I snarl, ripping my hand up.
Not gently enough.
It hurts like hell, but it solves my problem.
I made a mistake by hiring this nosy, rude, insufferable woman. Every day, I’m digging that hole deeper.
Since I can’t fire her, here I am.
Reduced to whacking myself in the balls like a slapstick comedian and praying they’re a little less blue by day’s end.
It doesn’t work for long. I find myself glancing angrily at the clock every few minutes.
I feel like God himself is slamming a door in my face.
You chose this fate, I can hear him saying. Now suffer the consequences, smurf balls and all.
More than an hour later, Poe hasn’t come back, but Lucy’s emails are being sorted and replied to rather quickly.
I’m equally impressed and relieved.
My EA is damn dedicated, but I can’t have her working on maternity leave. It’s not right.
I open my office door around noon after reviewing the latest ad mockups sent to me and find Nevermore perched at Lucy’s desk with the phone clutched in her hand.
“The image with the logo isn’t right. Whatever you choose needs more contrast with the background. This one just fades into it and doesn’t pop.”
She’s quiet for a minute while I eavesdrop.
“Yes, everything that appears on the page is part of the ad. If the image and text don’t mesh well together, my work doesn’t read right. No, that’s not acceptable. If you can’t find a better pic, try changing the background color. But please send it back to me before you submit it. I’m not convinced this one aligns with our messaging anyway.”
I stare at her, wondering how she read my mind. I’m certainly feeling more confident in my staffing decisions—blue balls and all—until her whip of a tongue moves again.
“Well, the bosshole’s here and he probably wants something, so why don’t you play around while I play secretary to the prince of entitlement?”
My jaw tightens.
How the hell does she even see me? Her back is turned.
And I’m officially a 'bosshole?'
“Can you have it back to me by three? You heard what Burns said. This line is a big deal and the clock’s ticking, to put it mildly. If the CEO has inserted himself in the creative process, you can bet it’s important. We need these ads in the pipeline and ready to go. The magazines where they’ll run have strict deadlines.”
She’s been here for a few weeks and already talks like a manager? I hide my amusement.
“Okay, four then. Sorry to rush you. I just need to see it before I leave and if it needs a quick tweak, I want to give you feedback before you’re out for the day.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Okay, thanks. Bye.”
She drops the phone into its cradle and spins around in her chair to face me.
“You were supposed to come back so I could show you how Lucy’s inbox works. You never showed and she’s responding to her email.”
“No, she’s not.”
“Yes, she is. I’ve been CC’d on two already.”
“And if I am Lucy?” She purses her lips. “Look, the poor girl’s busy pushing a bowling ball out of a coin purse. I get that you think you’re important, but today, she probably doesn’t. The least I can do is fire off responses for her. I assure you she isn’t responding to any email on behalf of the Lincoln Burns without his input on anything critical.”
Fuck, I never thought I’d hear a vagina described like that.
There’s the bucket of ice-cold water to the head I need when Dakota Poe is around, I guess.
I clear my throat before I say, “I think you may have just ruined my favorite part of the female anatomy. Also, I had zero intention of letting Lucy work while she’s out.”
“How? I’m sure you had eighth grade biology once—or were you too busy eating a cinnamon roll to pay attention?”
“Watch where you wag that tongue, Miss Poe.” I fold my arms, eyes burning down at her acid little mouth. “You know what I need those damn Regis rolls for and you’re still going to rag on me?”
A crease forms in her forehead. Her lips form a thin line—almost regretful, but trying so hard not to be.
“What do you need them for? I know you bring them to homeless people, which is honestly kind, but I’m still not sure why. You could feed ten more people with a simple loaf of bread instead of those expensive rolls...”
