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"And he may need me," I say, like a repressed helicopter mom afraid of letting a family member care for her newborn baby while she takes a shower. Yep. That's what my life has become.
Emma rolls her bright green eyes. "Can you hear yourself? You're talking like a hostage."
I feel like a hostage… a horny one. One that has no common sense or pride. "No, he asked me to work on some stuff."
She waves me off. It's easy for her. She works at the main reception in the lobby with two other girls. "Tell him you'll finish later. C'mon. My landlord asked me out, and I need someone to talk to."
I sigh, looking at the heavy doors to his office, which are closed as usual. He's probably busy. He's not a toddler. He won't notice if I'm gone for thirty minutes. I jolt down Be Right Back on a Post-It note and attach it to my monitor on the off chance someone else needs me. "Okay, fine."
I get up and follow Emma out to lunch with a coworker. I'm allowed, right? Especially after he said I was lucky to still have this job. Anger simmers inside me. I need food.
Besides, Emma's right.
I'm not a fucking hostage.
3
Archer
Where the hell is she?
I hate it when Hazel leaves without telling me where she's going. It's not even noon, and she's nowhere to be found. I wanted to ask her to grab lunch for me. I usually attend meetings during lunch, but otherwise, she'll order from my favorite places.
It's not like I'm asking for the world.
She's been screwing up my dates and love life for weeks. Always a mistake. Maybe she's too busy with her life and doesn't care about mine. I scowl.
A mistake. What I pay her, both in salary and generous benefits, she won't get anywhere else. I expect excellence, and she doesn't see that's the best for her. It must be an age thing.
Hazel is twenty-one. She's resourceful and efficient, though I wouldn't be caught dead saying those things too often. Maybe she's going through something, so she's acting all strange. I scratch my chin. What could it be?
I guess I don't know much about her personal life. It's easier that way.
My mom raised me after my father left us when I was three. She was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease when he decided to re-enter our lives seven years later. She was weak, and not just from her illness—she'd missed him even though he was a prick. So she accepted him back and made me do the same.
What for?
He hung around for two years until my mother died. Ensured he got her hefty inheritance before he shipped me off to live with my maternal grandmother and took off again. In those two years, I was weak, too. I left my guard down and got to know him—and what happened?
He disappeared.
When my mom died, I lost both my parents, but I gained valuable insight at twelve— don't let people get too close. There's no need.
So, why would I waste time delving deep with my assistant if I don't do so with dates? That wouldn't make sense.
I look at Hazel’s organized desk and see the Post-It note attached to the monitor, written in neon pink. Be right back.
She usually orders for me. I'm too busy to waste my time, and I hired her to handle all my needs.
A flutter crosses my chest. That sounds wrong. Shaking my head, I drum my fingers on the smooth surface of her desk. As always, besides the sleek oversized monitor and keyboard, there isn't much on it. She knows I like things neat.
Maybe if I find her work cell phone, I can order from there. That saves me time from downloading a new app on my cell and all that crap. I don't have the time for this shit.
I open her drawer and glance inside to see if I’ve found the phone. Nope.
I try the second drawer and am about to close it when something catches my attention.
A deep purple leather-bound book.
