Heartbreaker - Julie Kriss Page 0,1

of pens and tossing one to his coworker. “Okay, fine, but the offer’s open anytime. The fact that you’re still single blows my mind.”

“That’s actually kind of nice, even though it’s a line,” I said. “Also, still no.”

“Good call,” Receiving said, giving me a thumbs up.

“Tell me when you change your mind,” Shipping said as I turned to leave. “You should probably hurry. I heard a rumor that Mr. Morgan needs a report printed.”

Damn it. I turned and hustled down the hall to HR, where Jenny Lim was standing next to a printer, staring dejectedly at the empty paper tray. She lit up when she saw me. “Is that our paper?”

I nodded and she grabbed it from me. “Who’s that for?” she asked, seeing the box of toner in my hand.

“Greta,” I said. “She’s printing a report for Mr. Morgan.”

Jenny looked alarmed. “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “No, no. That’s the wrong one. Mr. Morgan’s assistant has a different printer from everyone else. There’s special ink for it. I’ve heard him fire assistants for not having things printed in time.”

My heart stopped. “What?”

She looked at her watch. “You have three minutes. The right toner is the one labeled PS-3389067. Hurry and you might not get fired too.”

“This is insane,” I said, but I took off down the hall as fast as my sensible heels would take me. Mr. Morgan—Graham Morgan—was the CEO of Morgan Financial Holdings, and everyone was terrified of him. He was known to fire people when he was in a bad mood, and he was almost always in a bad mood. Hence, in order to keep my job, Greta’s printer had to be filled with ink, it had to be PS-3389067, and it had to be done in the next three minutes. “Adele never has to deal with this crap,” I said as I slid back into the supply closet, dumped the toner, and grabbed the right one.

Mr. Morgan’s assistant, Greta, looked panicked when I came around the corner to her desk. “He’s going to fire me!” she hissed. I threw the toner at her. “Oh, thank God you got the right one. Now help me load this thing.”

Together we pried open her fancy printer. I yanked the old toner out, getting black powdered ink all over my hands as Greta opened the new toner and shoved it in. “Please work, please work,” she said, pushing the button on the printer and praying to the god of office supplies. “I need this job. Please work.”

The printer hummed, and paper started spitting out. “Yes!” Greta clapped her hands, then looked at me, standing there holding the old toner with black ink all over me. “Mr. Morgan can’t see you like that,” she said. “Everything needs to be perfect when he walks in. Get out now!”

People took toner seriously in this place. I turned and ducked around the corner, holding the exploded toner cartridge, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do with it. Behind me, I heard the chime of the elevator. I’d seen photos of Graham Morgan—he was tall, gorgeous, and beautifully dressed. Sexy and definitely intimidating. A deep voice said: “Marie!”

“It’s Greta, sir,” Greta said. “Marie quit.”

“She did?”

“Yes, sir, two weeks ago.”

“Where are the reports I need for the phone meeting?”

“Right here, sir. Here you go.”

There was a beat of silence. I paused in the hallway and held my breath.

“Fine,” Mr. Morgan said, and his office door slammed.

I let the breath out, then looked down. Not only were my hands black, but somehow there was black powdered ink smeared down the front of my nice, clean blouse. It was ruined, and I looked like I’d just climbed out of a coal mine.

But Mr. Morgan wasn’t mad enough to fire anyone. So we all lived to work here another day.

Two

Mina

I spent the rest of the day with ink smeared on the front of my blouse. It had also gotten into my cuffs before I could wash my hands, so I looked like a hobo who had never done laundry in her life. The only thing I could say for the Toner Incident was that I’d found the smear on my chin in the ladies’ room mirror and wiped it off before anyone could see it.

Helen had no sympathy, of course. She also had no praise for the fact that Mr. Morgan had been temporarily appeased, like a god who has been given a sacrifice. Instead she glared at the stain on my blouse and