(recent) ex-husband, who can “suck donkey dick” before either of them would lift a finger to benefit him.
This is the kind of place that should have one of those signs that reads: you don’t have to be crazy to work here, but it helps!
I find I fit right in.
“At least you’re not the last one in this morning.” Beth turns her attention back to me, her finger waggling side to side in the air between us. “No trip to the ’bucks for you as punishment.”
And this is why I’ll never be late, not if I can help it. I don’t have the money to waste on chai lattes, skinny muffins, and fruit salads for the whole office, or even the three of us, from Starbucks. Besides, we all know that position falls to Ethan every day. That is, whenever he finally deigns to join us. As owner—part owner?—of the clinic, as well as also being a sports psychologist by discipline, he can well afford it.
“I thought we were supporting the little café on the corner now, not the mega conglomerate?” Marta quirks a brow as she sits back in her chair.
“Ah, but that was before Fee saw rats on the sidewalk.” Beth sounds as though she wants to laugh, but it’s true—I thought they were terriers at first.
“This is New York.” Marta pulls a pen from her flame-red messy bun, pointing it in my direction. “Of course you saw rats. Quit kvetching.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur primly. “Just because I don’t fancy sharing my bagel with the cast of Ratatouille. But by all means”—I press my hand to my forehead then begin to shake—“you enjoy your leptospirosis latte.” I’m in the middle of miming a lepto-induced seizure when the boss walks in.
“I think we should all have what Fee is having,” Ethan announces with a grin. “Though dropping acid at work is usually frowned upon.”
“It was supposed to be leptospirosis,” I say in a small voice that goes unheard at Beth’s dramatic announcement.
“Oh, my God. I think I love you.” She prises her and Marta’s coffees from the cardboard coffee carrier in his hand. “This is just what the doctor ordered.”
“Maybe it will be if you ever get your doctorate.” Marta gives a tiny yet disapproving shake of her head as she accepts her coffee.
“For you.” Ethan places the carrier on my desk, passing over my usual matcha latte with a flourish. “What’s in one of those, anyway?” He leans nonchalantly against my desk, his broad thigh pressed against the edge.
“Japanese green tea leaf,” I answer without much conviction.
“What’s this?” he asks, picking up Lulu’s tin.
“It’s for a fundraising drive my daughter’s school is running. It’s for the homeless.”
“Cool.” He places it down again . . . without putting any money in.
I really didn’t know how to take Ethan. I mean, he seems nice and is always laughing, though we have very little interaction professionally. Surely the fact that he buys us coffee every morning shows he’s generous. Doesn’t it?
“I brought it in for donations,” I say, giving the tin a shake.
“Good idea.” He turns away, deliberately obtuse or just a bit imperceptive, I don’t know.
For the love of God, do I have to hit you over the head with it? No, I suppose you’ll just drop a few rungs in my estimations.
“So, what’s your excuse for being late today, Ethan?” Beth peels the lid from her cup, blowing a little suggestively on the froth. “Was it Amber? Kelly? Amelie, maybe?”
If he’s supposed to be the boss, why does he let the staff tease him like this?
“You know he only likes one taste,” Marta says, joining in. “Those girls were so last month.”
“You make me sound like a bad man.” He turns to Marta with an exaggerated pout.
Tight fisted.
“So it’s them, not you?” Marta’s tone turns arch. Maybe I’m not the only one who has a low opinion of him. As well as tight-fisted, he’s the biggest flirt I’ve ever met. Maybe with the exception of Carson Hayes, perhaps. I’d like to think Carson is more discriminate, even if, in reality, I have no idea who he’s flirting with right now. My stomach swoops unhappily, and I push the thought to the back of my mind.
“You know what they say. Classy women don’t have one-night stands,” Beth interjects with a tinkling laugh. “They have auditions. Maybe Ethan just isn’t getting the callbacks.”
“Do you hear what they’re saying about me?” He turns to face me again, and I resist the urge to