I tap on the screen to open the email and read it as I walk.
Mr. Brandt,
I would be happy to oblige but I’m kinda sloshed. I decided to unwind after a long day with—go ahead and guess—one devastating glass of wine.
However, that shouldn’t be a problem, seeing as you don’t own my personal time.
But I adore your grandmother, and I’ve never met Nick, so I’ll make sure their coffee is steaming hot and on their desks tomorrow morning.
Ciao,
Paige Holly
Executive Assistant, Brandt Ideas Inc.
I knew pain-in-the-ass is her state of being.
My teeth clamp together. Why the hell did Grandma insist on keeping this girl around?
My fingers go to war.
Miss Holly,
You’re not hourly. You’re salaried. That means you’re responsible for having all projects completed by their deadlines, no matter whose clock you’re punching to complete them.
I’ll enjoy our meeting with HR tomorrow with my double shot espresso.
Ward Brandt
Senior Partner, Brandt Ideas Inc.
I haven’t even made it into my penthouse when her next email comes in, my phone pinging like a restless hornet in my ear.
Mr. Brandt,
It’s a very good thing you have an EA to check your correspondence. You forgot to close your letter out with a proper goodbye. Oopsy doopsy.
When’s my deadline?
I look forward to our meeting with HR tomorrow too. Turns out, calling an employee names is considered harassment. I’m sure you didn’t know that, considering certain “allowances” are probably made for you.
No worries. Most employees aren’t fired without three strikes, but you probably didn’t know that, either. I’ve attached the applicable section of Illinois employment law for your bedtime reading. It’s absolutely riveting.
Night-night, Mr. Brandt. Always happy to be of service.
Not Yours,
Paige Holly
Executive Assistant, Brandt Ideas Inc.
I open her attachments, half expecting to find a malicious virus or a crudely drawn dick in MS Paint, but she’s literally attached a snippet from the state’s labor code.
She researches well and fast and it infuriates me.
Still, that could be an asset. She’s also lying about being sloshed, or else she’s a very functional drunk.
“Woman, you’re as annoying as hell, and you have a fucking lot of nerve,” I bark at the screen. Still, I have to answer the question.
Madame,
Your deadline is eight a.m. tomorrow. Sharp.
My EA will properly close this email and check for any mistakes like retaining you for this position.
Mr. Brandt.
I scoff. Let’s see how long it takes to respond to that.
The silence on the other end is deafening and enjoyable.
Even if I’m glad I’ve schooled her smart mouth for one night, something tells me it won’t last.
When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I do is check my email.
I’m expecting Miss One Glass to send back some whiny message about how unfair it was for me to bury her under an avalanche of projects.
There’s nothing like that, but a slideshow of the final bid in its current form attached to a blank email with the subject line Done.
Damn her.
It’s incredible how she maintains her scathing sass with a single word.
At the office, Nick stands in front of Miss Holly’s desk, sipping his sugar rush mocha and leering over her. Probably trying to look down her blouse.
Careful, you idiot. This girl knows Illinois employment law by heart. She’ll have your balls stapled to your jacket.
Muttering silently, I stop on the way to my office and my eyes meet hers. “I take it my coffee’s waiting on my desk?”
She looks up and glares a second too long, those green eyes glittering like a jungle cat’s.
“Nope.”
“No?” I spit back.
“Shocking espresso shortage. The Bean Bar only had enough left for a mocha and one double shot, and Mrs. Beatrice Nightingale Brandt takes seniority. If I’d waited for them to resupply, I’d have missed your oh-so-important deadline. Mrs. Brandt told me to let you know you could see her if you had a problem with it, though.” She flashes me a murderously triumphant “gotcha” grin.
“The Bean Bar does not run out of espresso,” I snarl through clenched teeth. The coffee shop has its shit together better than anything else in this city—the whole reason we love it and treat ourselves to Chicago’s finest dressed-up caffeine overload a few times every week.
“Sorry. We’re one cuppa joe short, but I figured the project was more important, so...” Holly just smiles and shrugs like a schoolgirl who’s gotten away with cherry-bombing a high school toilet.