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“Of course. When?” Indira sounds breathless.
“Yesterday,” Billy barks.
I don’t know why I’m still listening. What I’m waiting to hear.
“Consider it done.” New Girl’s voice is quiet and authoritative.
Fascinating.
I have to fight my compulsion to corner New Girl and start making demands of her. Demands that go far beyond her job description…
ChapterThree
Madi
After work, I take the subway to Brooklyn. I will my brain to stop thinking about the job. Stop analyzing and categorizing everything I saw and heard today. Then I pass a guy in a suit reading the paper. A black and white photo of Brick Blackthroat glares up at me from the business section, and I’m suddenly back in that boardroom.
I expect you to answer to Assistant, Secretary, or New Girl.
So offensive.
Yet, for some reason, it turned me on. Maybe it was the deep, growly voice. Or the fact that Blackthroat is panty-meltingly hot.
Or maybe it’s just that I love a challenge. I’m determined to keep this job. Not just because I have to–which I do–but because I refuse to lose this game.
By the time I reach La Résistance, the cafe where Aubrey, my roommate and childhood best friend works, I’m ready to throw my high heels into the dumpster that partially blocks the view of the mural Aubrey painted on the side of the building. It’s a depiction of the Occupy Wall Street protests with the wordsResist Much, Obey Littleoverlaid in a giant script.
The coffee shop is full but not busy, the transition from busier day crowd to the more laid-back evening live music set still in progress. It’s been around since the early 70s, a meeting place for artists and political activists.
As soon as I step inside, the tension in my shoulders melts away. Coming here is a good idea. The ground is solid under my feet, unlike on the top floor of Moon Co.’s high rise.
This is where I belong.
The AC is running, but it’s August and hot in the cafe, and I wish I was out of my work dress and heels and wearing a tank top and shorts like Aubrey.
“Hey, there’s our rising star, fresh off Wall Street!” Aubrey puts her fist to her lips to make a bugle sound.
“Shh,” I caution.
She points to the photo taped to the bulletin board behind her of the two of us with our signs and t-shirts at the last event. The board is a haphazard collage of social protest bumper stickers and photos dating back to the cafe’s origins when the owner Caroline and her now wife cut their teeth as activists. Their cafe has been the meeting place for changemakers ever since. “Guess I shouldn’t send that to your boss, huh?”
“Probably not.” I give her a grin.
“So.” Aubrey sets a vanilla latte in front of me. “How was your first day?”
I take a sip of my drink. No caffeine hit because it’s after hours, but it still tastes like ambrosia. “Insane. You’re looking at the new assistant to the assistant to Brick Blackthroat.” I pep up my announcement with ironic jazz hands. “I got to serve him coffee.”
Aubrey snorts. Her opinion of heartless capitalists and the patriarchy is lower than mine. “Welcome to Wall Street, where they require an Ivy League education to fetch their drinks.”
“I know, right?” I grimace. “But my first paycheck comes in three weeks, which is just in time to make Brayden’s first tuition payment.”
Aubrey’s face softens. “You’re a good sister.”
“It’s only fair. I had my tuition covered by my anonymous sperm donor.”
Aubrey doesn’t comment. She knows my complicated feelings about the rich douche, identity unknown, who knocked up my mother and left us both to struggle, to survive.
Another pretty rich boy leaving destruction in his wake.
