The front desk was an opaline tiled affair with Caroline’s logo—a silhouette of the Greek goddess Artemis, crescent bow drawn taut, her eyes on the sky—shining and gold on its front. Two receptionists sat behind in matching navy suits, headsets on and smiles in place.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Parker,” Juliet said, standing. “Ms. Lane requested you come straight to her office.”
I stifled a sigh, locked it painfully in my lungs against its will. With a thin smile, I thanked her.
Her dark eyes were full of apology.
Everyone seemed to know of the ritual mistreatment Addison Lane bestowed on me—everyone except for Caroline, who I could see in her office at the back of the building through the wall of glass bracketed by velvet curtains of palest pink. Beyond her stretched the city in layers, visible only in slats and rows of windows, towering in slivers granted by the maze of streets. I turned for the glass houses lining the galley of interns and assistants, the offices of the coordinators, including my own small space adjacent to Addison’s. A dozen senior coordinators worked at Archer, and I had been yoked to the worst of them all. Addison Lane had a reputation for being ambitious and self-serving, her motto something akin to, Whatever it takes.
My blood pressure rose with every beat of my heart as I made my way toward her office, seeing her long before I cared to. She sat behind her desk, elbow on her armrest, hand closed gently, elegantly in the air next to her face. Her hair was black as pitch, pulled into a ponytail, sleek and inky. She was a jackal of ancient Egypt, her skin fair, the rest of her dark—dark dress, dark hair, dark eyes, dark heart. Blood-red lips, wide and humorless, were the feature to note after the bottomless depths of her eyes, then the line of her jaw, the soft point of her chin. She was sharp angles and contempt, fueled by arrogance and superiority.
In short, she was the devil, Anubis reborn in a wedding planner, and my goddamn boss.
For now.
I didn’t bother pretending to smile when I walked into my space and stowed my things. Addison watched me coolly from the other side of the glass partition, nothing moving but her eyes as she tracked me.
“I’m sending Lila to approve it,” she said, her eyes on me but her face tilted toward the phone on her desk, “and if it’s not right, I expect you to make it right.”
“Of course, Ms. Lane,” the man on the other end said with a nervous edge to his voice.
Without a word of parting, her hand fell to disconnect him.
“What am I approving?” I asked shortly.
“Menu changes for the Hilton engagement party. You have enough events at the Skylight building to work it into your schedule, don’t you?”
It was a challenge, not a request.
“Of course,” I said, not afforded an alternative as I made a mental note to add her task to my calendar. “You wanted to see me?”
“Update me on the Felix event.” Her eyes flicked to the chair in front of her desk, the only invitation I’d get to sit.
So I did. “I got the call this morning that Skylight had a cancellation, so I booked it for the Felix reception.”
At that, her smile curled at the edges. “I’ll call and let her know.”
“Already done,” I said with an answering smile and the delightful satisfaction I always felt when I was able to claim my own successes. “Dress is settled and with the tailor. Flowers and colors have been chosen, and Longbourne is already working on everything we’ll need. Cake tasting is on the books, and we have a tour of St. Patrick’s next week, thanks to the Felixes’ donation.”
It was obscene, the money they’d thrown at the church to secure a date. The tour and meeting with the priest was a formality, which was fortunate. Who knew what the Femmes would do to embarrass themselves—and by proxy me—when we were there.
“And Natasha’s birthday party?”
A sharp tear split my chest at the sound of her name, cold and unexpected. I swallowed. “We’re on track. Just putting the final touches on the family banquet. The club for her real party is rented out, and the waivers and liability paperwork are in hand.”
Addison’s office door opened, and Caroline Archer stepped in, smiling. She was a vision—shining blonde hair, silken tailored shirt and pencil skirt, graceful smile and kind eyes.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Caroline started, offering me a smile before turning to Addison.
Addisatan, the shapeshifter, morphed into an unrecognizable thing. Her eyes brightened, smile broad and lined with perfect, vividly white teeth. “I was just giving Lila some guidelines for the Felix events,” she said, her tone breezy and light.
Faker.
“One of our big ones,” Caroline said with a glance in my direction. “It’s going well?”
“I’ve got it under control. Don’t worry,” Addison said, laughing lightly.
“I’d never expect anything less, Addy.”
Addison didn’t even flinch at the use of her hated nickname. “Are we still on for dinner?”
“God, I hope so. I’m ready for wine. I was just coming to confirm. I had Lisa make us reservations for seven. We can share a cab.”
“Can’t wait!” She really did speak in exclamation points when Caroline was around.
It was one of the most unnerving, unnatural things I’d ever witnessed—Addison Lane being nice.
And yet, she sold it flawlessly, though I knew better. Caroline was at the top of the pile of bodies Addison had climbed to get where she was, and I was the poor sucker giving her a boost.
Someday, you’ll be her boss.
I smiled placidly as they chatted as if I wasn’t there. Sometimes, I wondered how I tolerated it all—the disregard, the disrespect of being undermined and used—and could chalk it up to two things. The first: I knew the devil by name and thus knew her motives. I saw her coming a mile away, and as such, I didn’t get fired up about the injustice of it all. Addison was a tool for me to use just as she used me. The second: I’d learned early on that the only thing you could do was a good job. I couldn’t control Addison any easier than I could control the orbit of the moon. But I could give her a length of rope and wait. She’d hang herself with it eventually, and when Caroline figured out Addison was largely full of shit, I’d come out of it fresh as a daisy.
Of course, it’d been years, and she had yet to falter. As an exercise supplied by my therapist, I kept Nag Notes in my phone where I noted every infraction, big or small. If I was upset, hurt, humiliated, it went in the notes. I archived them weekly and never read through them, never even been tempted. But I couldn’t bring myself to delete them like my therapist had said. I could let it go—mostly. But I wouldn’t forget.
Caroline said goodbye, barely glancing in my direction, and I wished she knew just how much I was doing. Honestly, I should have won a major award just for keeping my mouth shut. The high road sucked, but I’d worked too hard for anything less. My integrity was too important to risk on behalf of Addison Lane. And anyway, I had a feeling that was exactly what she wanted—to push me until I broke.
I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.
“Anything else?” I asked with the patience of a saint, hands folded neatly in my lap.
“I want you to really consider this florist you’re pushing. We won’t tolerate another incident like the Berkshire wedding.”