The secretary who stands in my office fidgets slightly, her black hair in a bun and dark red glasses perched on her nose. Her nude stilettos click against the floor every time she shifts nervously, making a vein pulse over my temple. I’m not hungover but the sound is grating all the same.
“You’re late,” I begin, despite the fact that I’d only woken up five minutes ago and my voice is still thick and groggy with sleep. “Office hours begin at nine sharp and we work until our daily tasks are complete. If you aren’t finished with your job, you don’t go home until you are. Understand?”
She takes a hesitant step forward. “I’m sorry I’m late, my phone died and—”
“I didn't ask to hear your excuses.”
“Of . . . of course not,” she stammers quietly, caught off guard by my tone.
She’ll get used to it soon enough.
Here at Dunn Advertising, even if you’re a temp you come to learn the value of hard work. There isn’t a person on my team who hasn’t proved their worth. It’s for that reason we’d had to go to the temp agency in the first place. Our previous secretaries had all failed to impress me with their organizational skills and drive. Now we partner with the temp agency to make sure we always had a backup if need be.
Hopefully this new girl will finally be one worth the trouble we had to go through in hiring her.
“You will start the day at nine in the morning and not a second later,” I continue. “And let me remind you,” I pause again to look pointedly at her, noticing that her lashes are long even behind the rims of her glasses, dusting the tops of her rosy cheeks every time she blinks. I shake my head, clearing my throat and trying to focus. “As I was saying, you will start the day by meeting me here in my office where I will give you a few orders.”
“Orders?” she cuts in, arms slowly folding across her chest.
“You heard me right. I don’t make requests, I don’t ask nicely. You are here to do as you're told, and when I tell you to do something, it’s an order.”
I frown at her, daring her to argue though she appears to bite her tongue, her eyes flashing. There’s something familiar about her face.
Maybe I’ve seen her around town or something.
“So, then what are my orders today?” she finally asks, straining to keep her voice level though there is an acrid bite to her tone.
“I need breakfast and some fresh clothing. There’s a café in Tribeca that has the only croissants I eat and a clothing store nearby as well. I’ll get the directions for you. You have two hours to get everything.”
“There are a dozen cafés just around the block. You seriously want me to go all the way to Tribeca?”
“Yes,” I answer simply, not in the mood for an argument. “You can either do this or go home without a paycheck. I honestly don’t care which decision you make.”
I lean down toward the table, scribbling the address on a piece of ripped paper and thrusting it toward her. When she doesn’t immediately move to grab it, I shake it around until she gives a faint huff and snatches it from me.
Her fingertips brush mine, sparks flying down my hand. With a grunt I pull away from her, staring down at my palm like I’m expecting to see little lightning bolts diving into the veins there. She rubs her own hand just slightly, making me wonder if I wasn’t the only one to feel it.
I would’ve considered this more had I not been in possibly the worst mood in my life.
“Here’s the company card,” I mutter. “Don’t think of using it for your own expenses, my lawyers will be on you so fast you won’t have time to leave the shop.”
“You make it sound like you have an attorney SWAT team,” she mumbles, taking the black credit card and inspecting it before placing it carefully in her wallet.
“And if you happen to pass by the coffee vendor with the blue umbrella on that street, get me a coffee, two creams and no sugar. But it has to be from the guy with the blue umbrella—it’s not the navy colored one, it’s a bright blue. Almost teal, actually. The guy has a mustache and barely speaks English.”
“Okay . . .” Her eyes pierce mine, again making me feel the strangest sense of déjà vu. “Anything else?”
“You can get yourself a coffee, too.”
“How generous of you.”
“Thank you.”
I smirk at her when the faintest hint of a glare crosses her face. She’s beautiful, I realize, even when she’s frowning. My fingers again start to tingle, like they’ve sprouted minds of their own that can recall nothing but how it felt to touch her hand.
I curl my hands into tight fists, digging my nails into my palm to try and rid myself of the lingering sensation. She pauses for a breath, inspecting the paper in her hand to make sure she can read the address. Her full lips are coated in a sheer crimson gloss and though I usually don’t find myself attracted to such a bold lip color, it seems to fit her perfectly.
She’s the kind of woman who could wear anything and it would be perfect, I suppose.
“You can get a croissant as well,” I add. “They really are the best in town.”
“Is that an order, too?” she asks without hesitation, one dark eyebrow arching.
I can’t help a slight chuckle.
What can I say? I appreciate a person with a bit of attitude.
“What’d you say your name was again?” I ask dimly, stretching a hand toward her.
I hadn't greeted her properly when she showed up a few minutes ago. I’m still not in the best of moods, but I can at least muster up a bit of decency for the girl. It’s her first day on the job, after all and I don’t need to scare her away quite yet.
That can wait for tomorrow.
I have to squint through the sunlight coming in through the window, still not fully awake. I usually have a whole routine where I jog from my apartment to the café in Tribeca and get a croissant, then shower and dress at the office. But now that I think about it, it’s been a while since I’ve made it there.
More often than not I skip breakfast to get in a few extra minutes at the office. Or I go to the gym instead to work off my endless frustration.
The stress from my failing nonprofit has slowly chipped away at my comfortable life and I’m just now realizing it.
I try to shake it off, but with my whole morning off kilter. I feel lost. I’m usually great at remembering names and faces but that will just have to wait until after I have my coffee in hand today.
“Chloe,” the secretary says, extending her hand.
There’s a slight hesitance when she reaches out, as though she’s afraid she’s going to get shocked again when our fingers brush, but she shakes my hand quickly and then drops it.
“Well, Chloe, your two-hour deadline to return to the office started five minutes ago, so you should probably get out of here.”
She eyes me, not moving quite yet. “And what happens if I’m late?”
“Then I guess I’m headed back to the temp agency to find another secretary.”
Chloe’s perfectly shaped lips purse hard, the paper with the address on it crumpling between her fingers. She studies me intently, trying to figure out if I’m making a joke. When she realizes I’m not, she smooths her dark hair back from her forehead and gives a faint nod. Lifting her chin, she turns around and marches out of the room, her shoes lightly stamping along the floor.