Tiger Lily - May Dawson Page 0,1

invitation felt tempting. Maybe I would go back this weekend. I was tired of being here. But I wasn’t sure there was truly the antidote to how I felt.

I picked up the lattes and baked goods and headed back to the office. When I knocked on Jonathan’s door, he was on the phone, absently squeezing a stress ball. That was funny—he seemed like the primary source of stress around here. He glanced up, gesturing me in.

“Yeah, come on in this afternoon. Two p.m. should be good. We’ll start getting you set up,” he said. “Okay, bye.”

He hung up and took the latte from me, then took a sip. “Oh, this is good. Best part of waking up, am I right, Lily?”

“Absolutely.” I paused for a second, waiting for him to remember he never gave me any money.

He held out his hand for the paper bag that contained his muffin, and my fingers curled a little tighter on the bag.

Not that I would keep track of petty details or anything, but I bought my boss breakfast twice this month because he forgot to pay me. It was a new trend, and it was not my favorite.

He gave up and leaned back in his chair. “Lily, have a seat. I need to talk to you for a minute.”

I perched on the edge of the seat across from his desk.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” he began, templing his fingers together and looking at me over his fingernails. Classic power move; I know, because I saw him reading Leadership through Posture. “You’re been a wonderful receptionist. Very efficient at, ah, greeting people…”

He trailed off as if he can’t think of anything else.

“Managing the scheduling requests and calendars for four different conference rooms? Coordinating catering? Scheduling training and following up with absentees to make sure everyone completes annual training?” I began to fill in, since he was apparently determined not to appreciate what I do.

His use of the past tense—you’ve been—made me feel suddenly queasy, and I set my iced coffee cup down on the edge of his desk. My hands were already sweaty.

“Yes,” he said. “All of that. You’ve done a great job. But we actually aren’t in need of a receptionist anymore.”

Suddenly it all came together for me. His nephew was graduating. He was the person on the phone.

“What’s the fancy title you’re giving your nephew, then?” I stood abruptly. “He doesn’t want to be a receptionist, does he? He’s just going to sit at my desk and do my job and have some fancy title like Executive Assistant or Office Logistical Coordinator?”

Jonathan’s eyes widened. Bingo. I’d been here for a year, I knew the man’s particular brand of nonsense.

“Now, don’t get emotional,” he said. He opened his mouth to keep going, but I didn’t let him.

Don’t get emotional? Oh, you don’t want to see me emotional. I could feel the tiger inside me growling, desperate to get out and claw his face off. Literally.

Tigers cannot be trusted with stupid people.

“You know, I forgot to give you your muffin,” I told him, reaching into the bag. I was not going to rip his face off, but I doubt he’d appreciate my calm. “You never paid me for it, and you never were going to, were you?”

“Now, Lily—” he began.

I wrenched half the crumb top off the muffin and flung it at him. He ducked, covering his face with his arms, as if it were something more dangerous than carbs.

“You’re a terrible boss!” I told him, crumpling another handful of muffin into crumbs before I threw them at him. “Nobody likes you! Everyone makes fun of you after those stupid Friday afternoon meetings you hold. You always ask, where’s everyone going for happy hour at the end of those meetings, and we all know why call a meeting for Friday at three o’clock. Everyone knows you want to be invited. But they claim they’re going home. Then they sneak out and meet up at Teko’s!”

Oops. That was really Rob and Debbie’s secret, but it had to be said.

He blinked at me, looking hurt. There was a bit of blueberry muffin lodged in his relentlessly gelled hair. “I don’t believe that’s true.”

“Oh, don’t get emotional, Jonathan,” I told him, and took the opportunity to throw another handful of muffin crumbs at his face. The ones that didn’t stick to his shiny face and hair scattered across his equally-shiny desktop.

He pushed himself back from the desk, the wheels of his office chair screeching at