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“In the file room?” I raised an eyebrow as I hurriedly sipped my surprisingly tasty beverage.
“Yes, that’s where you’ll be filing these files.” She slammed them on the table next to me. “Finish that drink and pick up the files and follow me. I don’t have all day.”
“Yes, Miss…” I paused and waited for her to give me her name.
“Edith Fraiser.” She stared at me. “I’m one of the paralegals that works on cases with Mr. Whitlock.”
“Oh okay, I just don’t understand why—”
“Let’s go,” she snapped and started walking out of the room. I looked back at Natasha, whose eyes were wide and surprised, and I just shrugged as I grabbed the heavy stack of folders and hurried out of the room behind Edith. We walked down the long corridor and then rounded a corner. I was hoping this was some sort of weird first day initiation prank or joke and that everyone would jump out of a room and be like, “Gotcha, of course you’re not going to be filing folders,” but no one ever jumped out. Edith opened a door that led to a stairwell and stopped for a second. “We’re going down to the file room, but others at the office call it the dungeon.” She sighed. “The elevator doesn’t go down there, so we will take the steps.”
“Let me get this straight: I’m working in a room called the dungeon?” I asked softly as I tried not to trip over my own two feet as I made my way down the staircase.
“It’s the file room.”
“But you said others call it the dungeon.”
“But it’s a file room.” She sounded annoyed. “Too many of the workers here take this job for granted. I can remember in 2001, when I was looking for a job and the economy had crashed that…”
I decided to tune Edith out as I followed her down toward the dungeon. I was pissed, and I was going to let my sisters know that they needed to make this up to me big time. I couldn’t believe I was missing out on a beach day at Siesta Key for this crap. I couldn’t believe that I was wearing a thousand-dollar suit to work in a dungeon. I could have just worn my five-dollar sweatpants that I’d gotten from Old Navy that were slightly too tight instead.
“I take it you do know how to alphabetize?” Edith asked me as we entered a dark, musty, and humid room. All I could see was shelves stacked with files and what seemed like hundreds of filing cabinets.
“A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K…” I started singing and stopped as I realized we weren’t in the room alone.
“Thank you, Edith,” Max spoke in a light voice, though I could hear the tenseness in his tone. “I will take it from here.”
“I don’t mind explaining the ropes to Polly, Mr. Whitlock,” she said eagerly as she looked over at him adoringly. Did prissy Edith have a crush on Max? Made sense that the Wicked Witch of Chandler and Whitlock would have a crush on the spawn of Satan.
“I will take it from here, Edith,” he said again. “Why don’t you work on the continuance for the Morton case? I would like something in my inbox by four p.m.”
“Yes, Mr. Whitlock.” She sounded defeated as she left the room without even a goodbye to me. Biatch.
I waited for the door to close before I placed the folders on a large wooden desk and then marched over to Max with my arms crossed and what felt like fiery flames flashing from my nostrils. I was pissed.
“What the hell?” I stopped in front of Max and glared at him. “I’m not here to do your dirty work.”
“Did I ask you to clean my car?” His upper lip twitched slightly.
“I’m not here to file folders.”
“You’re here to get work experience.”
“Not this kind of experience.” I shook my head vehemently.
“What kind of experience did you want?” He looked me up and down and raised an eyebrow at me.
“What sort of loaded question is that?”
“Were you hoping to be on your feet, your ass, or your knees?”
“What?” I blinked at him in confusion, and then my jaw dropped. “What are you trying to say?”
“What do you think I’m trying to say?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you!” I was fuming now. “What sort of position in a law firm would have me on my knees, huh?” My voice grew louder. “Are you suggesting I give you a blow job?” I involuntarily looked down at his dark-gray slacks and ignored the silhouette I saw pressed against his pants. Was he growing hard? And if he was, was his manhood really that big?
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Ms. Campbell.” He folded his arms. “I was talking about being a cleaner. You would be on your knees if you were scrubbing the floor.”
