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She took it, wondering what had happened.
He stood there for a moment before clearing his throat.
“Oh, and Ms. Blossom? Get yourself a coffee too. We have more work to do. Don’t want you getting tired again.”
So, she wasn’t fired?
Yay!
“Yes, sir.”
She wasn’t sure why he grimaced when he said that. But she decided that maybe that was just his personality. Perhaps he was like her Grandpa Jake.
Grouchy on the outside, but marshmallow on the inside.
Yes, perhaps that was it.
5
There was nothing marshmallow about Reuben Jones.
Faith now knew why all those other assistants had quit. No money was worth putting up with his grouchy ass.
Unless you were broke and desperate like she was.
Still, she was shocked she’d lasted the whole week.
He was demanding, he was bossy, and he was a perfectionist.
And the worst thing of all?
He had every right to be annoyed with her. Because she was terrible at this job. She couldn’t seem to get anything right.
Including making coffee.
“But today, Estelle, I’m determined to conquer you.” She glared at the coffee machine. “We’re not in gym class anymore, so you can’t make me do fifty sit-ups just because I failed to walk across the beam without falling. Nope. Now, I’m the boss of you!”
Yes, she’d named the coffee machine after her high school gym teacher.
She thought it was fitting since they were both sadistic and mean.
Pulling out the manual she’d found, she slid her thumb into her mouth as she read through it. When she realized what she was doing, she hastily drew it out.
Shit.
Sucking her thumb was something that had been happening more frequently lately. For some reason, her Little side kept sneaking out without her consent.
Which wasn’t cool. Her Little couldn’t go breaking the rules like that.
Bad Little. Bad!
She didn’t need to give Reuben an excuse to get rid of her.
She was pretty sure that Reuben had wanted to fire her at least once a day since she’d started. But for some reason, he was holding back.
Maybe he was a sadist like Estelle. Or was it masochist?
“Okay, Estelle, listen up, you . . . you turkey. You’re going to let me make a latte, and you’d better not spit or scream at me, understand?”
