(Not) The Boss of Me - Kenzie Reed Page 0,95

her notice on Sunday.”

Sunday? Why the heck didn’t he call me and tell me? That’s big news.

“She’s only sixty, and this job is her whole life. She’s never talked about retiring. She was talking about expanding our department after the popup event, actually. And now she’s leaving. I’m probably going to quit too, to be honest. She was the main reason I’ve stayed all this time. She was like a real mother figure to me. Kind of hurts my feelings that she didn’t tell me about her resignation herself.”

“You’re leaving?” I’m stricken. “Where will you go?”

“I’ve saved up some money, and I’d really like to get into teaching.” Her voice goes woebegone. “I guess the Kitchen Krew won’t be friends with me anymore.”

“Ariel!” I say sharply. “Stop doing the passive woe-is-me thing. Why wouldn’t we be friends anymore? I haven’t even been down in the personal shoppers’ department in weeks, and we’re still friends, right?”

“Oh, yeah!” She perks up. “That’s true. I’m sorry, I just have such terrible self-esteem.”

“Also you don’t need to apologize.”

“Right, right. Sorry about that, I apologize too much.”

I sigh. Baby steps. “I’m really bummed to hear that about Thérèse. I was so looking forward to learning from her.”

“Also, not to be nosy, is it true that Blake sent a rack of clothing to your apartment? I didn’t tell anyone else, by the way.”

“Thank you. I figure you didn’t, or I’d have been hearing about it all day. In the interest of discretion, I probably shouldn’t talk about Blake, though.”

I’m dying to ask her if she’s seen him, spoken to him…but putting my worry into words would make it all too real.

So I chit-chat with Ariel about her latest clients, and spend the rest of the evening second-guessing myself and watching forensic TV shows. And maybe mentally taking notes on where the murderers went wrong when they killed their lying, cheating exes. Like, what kind of clues they accidentally dropped, and how they could have avoided detection. Just as an intellectual exercise, of course.

In the morning, I go through the rack of clothes that Blake gave me and pick out a black chiffon polka dot dress with a black silk sash. I pair it with a linen wraparound blazer and kitten-heeled black pumps. I take the subway to work and show up ten minutes late, just so that I’ll be greeted by a blast of snark from Blake. Or concern. I’d settle for anything.

Being more than five minutes late is a violation of my contract, but I’m pretty confident he wouldn’t try to enforce that clause. Or…am I?

As I’m walking in through the front door, I get a message to report to the personal shoppers’ department and speak to Thérèse when I get there.

I don’t know what this means, but it can’t be good. I grab my purse and head downstairs, with a painfully fake smile pasted on my face.

Thérèse, standing in her doorway, waves at me to come into her office. “Good morning, Winona.” She seems diminished, somehow, faded and sad.

“Are you all right? Did something happen?”

“I am very well, thank you.”

No, she isn’t.

“Are you really leaving?” I blurt out.

Her lips press together into a thin line. “I have agreed to stay until after the Popup Palooza,” she says. “In the meantime, you can start training with me.”

An icy hand slides through my ribs and squeezes my heart so hard I can’t breathe for a moment. “Blake…doesn’t want me to be his assistant anymore?”

She frowns slightly. “Maybe he wanted to give you something to do, since he won’t be back until at least Thursday.”

“Back?” I echo dumbly.

“From Paris.”

“Of course.” I nod, trying to sound as if I knew all along.

She looks at my face, cocks her head sympathetically, and pats me on the arm. “Our first client will be here in fifteen minutes. We’re meeting her in evening wear, and I’ll brief you about her on the way up. We’ve kept your desk open for you.”

I’m numb as I fall into step behind her.

And now I know what that rack of clothing was. A kiss-off. A very expensive kiss-off.

Fury prickles under my skin. “I want you in my life. I’ll make room for you”…that lying son of a bitch.

I cannot believe how badly I misjudged him. The son of a bitch didn’t even have the decency to tell me to my face. Sending me away so I’m no longer working on his floor and then going to Paris without telling me? He should have planted his

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