Page 3 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

I’d been a PA for the editor-in-chief at the Merivale Echo newspaper for four years now. It wasn’t the job I’d dreamed of when I left university with an English Literature degree, but it was work. It paid the bills. And when I’d accepted the position, they’d assured me there’d be opportunity for growth. That my degree was what made me stand out during the interview process. It was why they’d wanted to hire me. I’d told them I was interested in pursuing a career in journalism. But everything they’d said, all the promises they’d made, they were just empty words. Paying lip service to a girl with stars in her eyes, but they had no interest in helping me. They tried to burn out those stars at every opportunity. Time and time again, I tried to show initiative. Push myself forward. Give them ideas for leads I’d heard about, stories I could write, but they didn’t listen. Well, they did, but they listened to serve themselves. They stole my ideas and took the praise.

So why didn’t I leave?

I’d tried, but finding the right position in this town was tough. There were few jobs that appealed to me, and none that paid as well as this one. Rent wasn’t cheap, and in the back of my mind, I still held onto the hope that one day my big break would come. That by some miracle, I’d grasp the opportunity to prove my worth in a world that was cutthroat and totally dominated by men. The women above me in the office, who were doing the job I wanted to do, saw me as a threat and treated me as an outsider. Life was tough at the Merivale Echo, but even tougher working under Stephen Gold’s dictatorship. He was the boss from hell.

I shoved my phone into my purse and picked my rucksack, with my work clothes in, off the cubicle floor. Then I opened the door and went over to the wash basins to wash my hands and do a final check of my hair and makeup. My dark brown curls were playing nicely tonight, falling perfectly over my shoulders. That hardly ever happened, but I’d take it. I didn’t look half bad.

“You’ve got this, Belmont,” I told my reflection in the mirror. Then I straightened my back, strode confidently to the door, and left the bathroom to head to my desk, so I could stow my rucksack underneath it until Monday morning.

“You look nice, love,” Phyllis, the cleaner, told me as she polished the desk opposite mine. “Are you going anywhere special?”

“Just meeting up with a friend,” I replied, as I pushed my rucksack under the desk and wiggled my mouse to check one last time that my computer was switched off.

“Have fun.” She smiled earnestly. “And have a drink for me.”

I bet poor Phyllis wished she could swap places with me. She looked tired, sighing as she leant down to the bin beside her and pulled the plastic bag full of rubbish out.

“I’ll order a double gin just for you,” I said and waved her goodbye as I made my way out of the office, shaking off the shadow that this place held over me, and moving onto the landing.

I pressed the button for the lift, but it was taking forever to arrive, so I decided to take the stairs. It was only five flights down.

Five flights I really wish I hadn’t taken in five-inch heels.

By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs and opened the door to the foyer, I was huffing, sweating, and probably looked like a red-faced hot mess.

I headed to the reception desk, planting my hands on the counter as I asked Leo, the security guy sitting behind it, “Have you seen a taxi pull up?”

“No. Not yet,” he answered, not even bothering to look up from his crossword.

I don’t think Leo would’ve noticed if a flipping parade was dancing down the street; he was so engrossed in what he was doing. So, I pushed myself away from the desk, spun around, and walked towards the large glass doors to peer outside, but there was no taxi waiting.

“Come on,” I cursed under my breath. “Where are you?” As if my whispered annoyance would make the taxi appear quicker. Spoiler, it didn’t.

To kill time, I plonked myself down on the sofas in the reception area and took my phone out, in case I’d received a message to let me know it was running late. But all I had was a text from Grace with a photo of a glass of pink gin and tonic sitting on the table at the bar. It looked delicious, with ice cubes and cut strawberries in it, tantalising me from afar.

‘Get here before the ice melts’ she’d written, and I went to type back that I was waiting for my cab, when I heard a familiar voice bellow across the foyer.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

That was Stephen Gold, my not-so-enigmatic boss, hollering down the phone as he strode past Leo, who still had his head bent over his crossword. Even Mr. Gold’s booming voice couldn’t distract him. Anger flushed in Mr. Gold’s face as he huffed, the overhang of his belly threatening to bust his trouser belt wide open. I wasn’t sure that was a sight I particularly wanted to see this evening.

“No one else needs to go,” he carried on barking down the phone. “I’m going alone. End of.”

He ran his hand over his bald head in frustration, eyes narrowed like the snake he was. And I slipped my phone back into my bag and sat back into the sofa, hoping he wouldn’t see me.

“But that’s absurd! Do they know who I am?” he yelled at the person on the other end, making me cringe.

You’re a legend in your own mind; that’s who you are, Mr. Gold.

“I swear to God, Phillip. If this is a fucking wind up...” He threw his head back and huffed, then snapped, “Fine.” He cut the call, clenching his jaw as he glared around the foyer, first at Leo, then at Phyllis, who’d just walked in and was emptying the bin beside the reception desk. And then his eyes fell on me.

“You,” he snapped, pointing his phone at me. “I need you to attend a work event with me this evening. I need to take a plus one.”

“No.” The word tumbled out before I could engage my brain.

“No?” He furrowed his brow and glared back at me. “That wasn’t a request, it was a fucking order!”

“But it’s Friday night, Sir,” I explained, trying to sound a little more professional and not poke the bear and anger him any more than he already was. “I have plans.”