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Could my boss be any better? He’s in at nine, out at five. Never expects me to work on weekends or after hours. Mr. Beardsman took me under his wing two years ago, enabling me to slowly gain the knowledge I’ll need to one day become a full-fledged ad exec. Sure I haven’t gotten to work on an actual campaign yet, but I’m involved in all the periphery stuff.
He stands, collecting his briefcase and his umbrella. He eyes the clock and glances at me. “Soon you’ll probably get promoted over me.”
He smiles as if the thought doesn’t bother him in the least. Although, I don’t think he’s right about that.
I smile. “I’ll see you Monday.”
“Have a great weekend.” He shrugs on his coat.
I walk out of his office and right into Shelby.
“Annie,” she sighs, relief in her shoulders as though I’m her life preserver after treading water for hours.
“I’m off this afternoon. I can’t do it.”
“He needs someone.” She chases me to the elevator.
I press the button to call the elevator. “Not me.”
“It’s just for one afternoon,” she insists.
We wait by the elevator, Shelby at my side. I examine her sweater vest, complete with sporadic cat hairs poking out. Will I be her one day? No, I’m choosing to be alone. It’s different.
“I have plans, otherwise you know I would,” I say to fill the silence.
“Shelby!” Mr. Mancini bellows as he walks down the hallway.
I press the down button on the elevator again, harder this time, and glance to the stairwell sign. Tempting, but seventy-five floors isn’t ideal in my heels. I’d be soaked in sweat before I made it onto the Manhattan street.
Shelby pales as her eyes flicker to Mr. Mancini walking toward us. “Please. I’ll give you two days extra days of vacation. Name your price.”
“I’m sorry.”
The elevator doors ding open, and I step in as Mr. Mancini reaches Shelby. She throws herself between the elevator doors before they shut, and they pop back open. I catch Jake and Mae snickering as they watch, and I narrow my eyes, pressing the button for the ground level.
Mr. Mancini holds a stack of papers. “Who’s mine for the rest of the day?”
Shelby shoots me pathetic and somewhat desperate eyes. She smiles at Mr. Mancini, putting up her finger. “One moment.” She turns to me, tearing up. “I’d do it myself, but I have to get Pinkie to the vet later today. She’s in awful pain. I think something is wrong with her.”
I sigh. Using a sick cat is a low blow. But Shelby would never lie about that because she’d be worried about karma coming back to her or one of her precious cats.
I contemplate my choices. The pedicure I was getting before moving into my new place can wait. If I get out by four, I’ll be good.
“I can only stay until four.” I step out of the elevator.
The papers are still under Mr. Mancini’s arm, and his thumbs move over the screen of his phone like a teenager.
“You know Annie Stewart, Ted Beardsman’s assistant?” Shelby touches his upper arm.
I bet it’s rock hard with muscle.
He nods without lifting his head, still entranced with his phone. A moment later, he takes a break from texting and hands me the pile of papers, not bothering to look at me. “I need this proposal copied and bound. There will be six people total.” He turns on his heel and walks down the hallway.
“See you, Enzo,” Mr. Beardsman says while walking toward us, his forehead crinkling the closer he gets.
“Ted?” Mr. Mancini stops him.
They talk about something I can’t hear, but Ted laughs and slaps Enzo on the back.
