Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Goodbye was probably code for loads of sex. Well, they could have sex until their genitals fell off and their crotches had carpet burns. I didn’t care, as long as it wasn’t under my roof.
“I’m fine,” I bit out to Riggs. “I’ll let you two . . . goodbye privately.”
I removed myself from the premises as quickly as humanly possible. I was marching to the elevator when I realized I’d forgotten my employee card on Gretchen’s desk.
Though seeing those two again was the last thing I wanted, I couldn’t walk in and out of the building freely without it. With a groan, I made a U-turn. The door to her office was slightly ajar. Just enough for their conversation to drift to the hallway and into my ears.
“. . . no one even gave her a card, Riggs. I always knew she was stuck up, but wow, the girl is unlikable.”
My heart fell to the pit of my stomach like a ten-ton stone. They were talking about me. Agony ripped through my chest, which I couldn’t make sense of, because none of this came as a surprise.
I knew what people thought of me. That I was a slow-burn gold digger, an overachieving she wolf; no one had ever bothered to ask why I was the way I was. People just wrote me off. Put me in the stereotypical box and shelved me in the Do Not Befriend category.
Riggs answered in a deep, low tone, but I couldn’t decipher his words.
Gretchen sighed in response. “All I’m saying is, make sure you don’t get too involved with her. She’s so daunting.” I dug my teeth into my lower lip until it bled. “And . . . between you and me?” Gretchen dropped her voice an octave. “Not the most trustworthy employee. There are a few designer items missing from my wardrobe.”
An electric shock of rage sizzled through my body. How dare she? I’d never stolen as much as a pencil from her desk. She’d trusted me with her apartment code. With her credit card. With her children!
“Did you get her anything?” Riggs asked, ignoring the heavily implied theft claim.
“Me?” the cow replied. “Well, it’s not like I had time, between Lyric’s birthday and the move to DC. And besides, she doesn’t deserve it.”
There was a pregnant pause.
“Don’t look at me like that! Might I remind you she is blackmailing us?”
I decided then and there to do the first uncalculated thing in my life since I’d been born. I burst straight into her office, not bothering to close the door behind me. I dumped her gifts onto the floor, bowing deeply with a flourish.
“Here, Your Majesty. Want to know why nobody gave me a card?” I shrieked, knowing full well I probably looked as sweaty and deranged as I felt. “Let me tell you why. Because of you, Gretchen. You made me the villain in this studio. True, I was never the most approachable human being to begin with, but you insisted I fire any assistant that was too tardy, too loud, too slow, too blonde, too much bloody competition!” My voice shook, much like the rest of my body. Behind me, a cluster of WNT employees gathered, peeking curiously. I saw them through the glass walls bracketing Gretchen’s office.
“When you needed someone to be told off, you sent me to do it. When the stylist made you look like Big Bird, I was the one who had to write her a scalding review. Whenever you had an oopsie on air, you blamed it on me.” I stubbed my chest with my finger. “I was the only executive assistant at WNT who never socialized with anyone else, because you forbade it. You were so scared I’d spill one of your trade secrets, you would barely let me grab a coffee with the runners!”
I knew I shared some of the responsibility as to why I was about as popular as Neapolitan ice cream within WNT hallways. I never made a genuine effort, but to pretend the fault fell squarely on my shoulders was ridiculous.
“Don’t blame me!” Gretchen tossed her hands up, her roar very nearly throwing me across the room. “Hold yourself accountable for the way people perceive you. You’re in charge of your own behavior.”
“Oh, I am to blame!” I laughed shrilly. “I’m beyond responsible for doing your ugly bidding. You molded me into your perfect little machine.” I pointed my index finger at her face. “Knowing I couldn’t quit because the channel was sponsoring my visa. You abused your power.” I laughed incredulously. “No wonder you ended up in politics.”
The silence that followed was so loud I swore I could hear people in Maine asking one another what they should have for supper tonight. I peered behind my shoulder. There were at least fifty WNT employees behind me, their phones directed at Gretchen and me, recording my public showdown.