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“And what if what he wants is to kick my ass to the curb with a recommendation letter that claims I’m a dirty whore with mediocre phone sex skills?”
“I mean, there’s probably a market for that.” I groan as Phoebe’s laughter fades into a serious tone. “Listen, boo: whatever happens, you’re a strong, smart, confident woman and you’re gonna land on your feet. And until you do, I’ve got your back.”
Her words mean everything to me, but I know that Phoebe doesn’t have much margin for error in her life, either. She struggles just as hard as I do. If sheisable to help, it still wouldn’t put a dent in all the bills and loans looming over me.
“Thanks for the pep talk. I’ve gotta go to my doom now.”
“Keep your pecker up!”
I blink. “Huh?”
“Oklahoma talk. It means, like, ‘break a leg,’ but for Midwesterners.”
If I weren’t worried about losing my job and ending up homeless on the street with three kids, I’d laugh. Instead, I say one more miserable goodbye, then spend a solid three minutes dry-heaving into one of the empty bathroom stalls.
Once I’ve sufficiently bruised my stomach lining, I slink out of the bathroom and waste the remaining two minutes before the meeting standing outside of Ruslan’s door, watching the clock steal my life away one second at a time.
“You okay, Emma?” asks Katie Miller, another of the executive assistants on this floor, as she passes by.
“Dandy,” I mumble. “Just waiting for the noose.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I like your earrings. Have a good day.”
She raises her brow a smidge. I’m not usually so dismissive, but I can’t concentrate on small talk right now. Not when I’m T-minus thirty seconds away from the end of my career.
Dear God, I know I don’t pray to you often. Or, well, ever. Butpleasehelp me out today and I’ll definitely consider starting on a more semi-regular basis.
Great. Now, I’m bargaining with God.New low, Emma. New low.
I take a deep breath and walk into his office. The shades are tight, snuffing out all the light of the Manhattan morning beyond. It’s like a bear cave in here—and the grizzly in question is sitting at his desk, scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t acknowledge me until I’m standing in front of his desk.
“Sit.”
The moment my rear end is parked, he puts his phone down and looks at me. Justlooksat me.
In the eighteen months that I’ve worked for him, he’s never once given me the benefit of his full attention. Even during our morning meetings, he’s either on his phone, flipping through files, or typing away on his laptop. I used to be annoyed about it. I’m only now realizing I should have been grateful.
Should I say something?
Maybe he wants me to break the silence. Maybe I’m supposed to give him an explanation, an apology,something. But the more the silence stretches on, the less I’m capable of breaking it.
I decide once again that those amber eyes of his should be outlawed.
“I heard the voicemail,” he says at last.
I can’t place his tone. Amusement? Anger? Disbelief?
“Do you have anything to say, Ms. Carson?”
I launch into the apology I spent most of last night practicing in the mirror. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Mr. Oryolov. I havenoidea what I was thinking. The whole thing was an accident; I didn’t realize I’d dialed you. I was so tired and out of it and… I can assure you that it willneverhappen again. I swear.”
My cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, but I try to keep my voice steady. I can’t sound too desperate, although that’s exactly what I am.
“Tell me, Ms. Carson: what would you do in my place?”
“I would give the plucky, hard-working assistant another chance, maybe?” It’s a long shot, but I figure, what the hell? I just wish I’d asked it without my voice rising to anAlvin and the Chipmunkspipsqueak at the end.
