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MINKA
“Doctor Mayet?” My office phone bleats on speaker as Seraphina Lewis, the George Stanley building’s media go-to and general assistant, calls my name. “Are you there, Doctor?”
“Mmhmm.” I rest my elbows on my desk, my head in my hands, and pretend my eyes aren’t falling out of my skull as I try with all my might to read quarterly expense reports.
Doctor Drew Kernicke, according to these files, spent two thirds of our entire budget on his own caseload, while stonewalling his colleagues, before I stepped in as chief, from spending a single cent to solve their own.
With every refusal, he cited not wanting to waste money, and, as one of the senior doctors on staff, no one else was brave enough to tell him any different.
“Doctor Mayet?”
“I saidmmhmm.” I push up to sit taller and stare at the phone. “I’m here, Seraphina. What do you want?”
“Mayor Lawrence’s inauguration ceremony is happening later today. He wants to know if you’ll be there.”
“Ugh.” I let my face fall to my desk and my cheek to smoosh against the unforgiving wood. “Do I have to?”
“Er… no.” She shuffles papers on her end of the line. Tidies things. Impatientlyclick, click, clicksa pen. “I don’t suppose youhaveto. But he specifically asked, so…”
“So it would be good manners if I do. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m certain no one has ever accused you of caring about manners.”
“Burrrrrn.” Aubree moves into my office with a grin as phony as anything I’ve put on today, and draping her ass on the corner of my desk, she tugs the visitor chair closer and plops her glittery golden sneakers on top.
Then, because she likes to violate my personal space, she leans closer and drags the hair off my face exactly the way Archer did last night.
“What time is the ceremony?” she asks toward the phone. “And if Minka goes, what does she have to do?”
“It’s at three o’clock,” Seraphina responds. “And nothing. She has to do nothing but be present. If she wanted to shake his hand and smile for the cameras, that would be gravy on top, but Mr. Lawrence assures me no such show is necessary.”
“Just turn up?” My words come out muffled and weird because of my pathetic excuse for work ethic. “Just be there, let him see me, and my job is done?”
“In the most basic sense of the word,” Seraphina sighs. “Yes. Can I confirm if you’ll go or not?”
“Sure.” With a groan and a not-very-gentle shove of Aubree’s hand from my face, I sit up tall and pick up the phone so we’re no longer on speaker.
I want to go home. I want to crawl back into bed and sleep through what I very seriously think may be withdrawal symptoms.
“I’ll be there at three,” I say. “I’ll pretend to smile and let the city know there are no hard feelings between my office and his. Then I can come back here and work, right?”
“Right.”
“Great. Then I’ll talk to you l—”
“Wait,” she cuts in before I can hang up. “He also wants your RSVP to the Mayor’s Ball. It’s coming up, and though you apparently gave a verbal response, Mr. Lawrence would like it in writing.”
“He’s so annoying.” I close my eyes and press the pads of my fingers against them until I see stars. “Why is he so needy?”
“Probably intends to take over the world,” Aubree chatters. “Needs you to pat his ass to bolster his ego.”
“Could be that,” Seraphina murmurs. “Probably more likely that the event is black-tie and quite expensive. Prime rib is prime rib, and if you’re not going to be there to eat it, maybe someone else could.”
“Someone like you?” A flicker of hope blossoms in my chest and begins to fan out. “Would you like to attend for the George Stanley?”
She snickers—not in a friendly way, but in anoh honey, you’re so naïvekind of way. “I am going, Doctor Mayet. My dress is ready, and my purse is at the door. I’ve booked in with my salon for hair and n—”
“You have to go to a salon?” A long, pained moan works its way along my throat. “Seriously? Can’t you just brush your own hair?”
