When the intercom on my desk buzzes, I jump because I'm frazzled by all the shit I have to do. I had everything all set well before the deadline, as I've always done, but I've made extra work for myself because of my own stupid mistakes, and I'm pressed for time. I'm discombobulated, and it's the feeling I hate most. I need to be in control of my surroundings.
"Ms. Lee? Will you bring in all the lease renewals from the tenants of Century Plaza?"
I trash all the sodden documents and compile what I could salvage. I've never been intimidated by my boss because I've always been confident in my competence to perform well.
Whenever I fuck up, I don't just pick myself up, dust off, and move on. I mull over it for days and get stuck in this cycle of self-doubt. I can be bitchy to my boss because I'm good at my job, and I'm confident he won't fire me. But when I can't follow simple instructions, my high moral ground disappears from under me.
"Ms. Lee?" my boss buzzes again.
Without bothering to answer the intercom, I stick the remaining documents in a folder and haul my butt– which suddenly seems to weigh fifty pounds– out of my seat and trudge my way to his office.
He looks up as I walk in. "I see you decided to take my advice and changed out of your wet clothes." He lifts an eyebrow. "I like this outfit. It looks marginally cheerier than the lunch paper sack you were wearing earlier."
My arms feel naked without a blazer, but the one I have is in the dryer. Still, I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest and cover myself, though I can't shake the feeling that he's seeing me in a new light and really checking me out for the first time. My stomach rumbles with anxiety.
He nods at the folder I'm holding. "Are those for me?"
I bite my tongue to keep myself from replying with a sarcastic, "No, they're for Barney, the purple dinosaur." However, since I messed up, I don't have that safety net of competence to justify my insolence.
I simply nod and tentatively approach his desk to give him the folder before taking a step back.
He flaps the folder in one hand. "Feels a little light. Where are the rest? Do we have tenants not renewing their leases?"
I try not to squirm under the scrutiny of his moss-green eyes, but I shift my weight from one foot to the other. I clear my throat. "I have to send them out and get them re-signed by the tenants."
A frown twists his full lips. "You haven't sent them out? You were supposed to have that done this week."
I fucking hate feeling like an incompetent idiot. "I did, sir," I tell myself not to blink or sweat. This man can sense fear. "But due to unforeseen circumstances, those documents are no longer legible."
"And why is that?" he asks silkily, reveling in my discomfort like the devil he is.
"I spilled green tea on them."
His nostrils flare. "You what?"
—
"Honestly,it's not a big deal. He won't fire you," says my coworker Marybeth, drenching the last bite of her vegetable egg roll in sweet and sour sauce. "You've been with him for six years. He can't get rid of you. You're the only one who's been able to stand him all this time."
I don't usually go to Happy Hour because I prefer to get home before seven, eat my dinner, and watch Netflix till I hopefully get sleepy. Besides, when I don't take Kinzi out on time, she wreaks havoc and marks everything with her excrement.
The little bitch.
But nothing has gone my way the entire day, and it all started with the damn fat kid stealing my chocolate croissant. All right, if I'm being perfectly honest, maybe I'm a little rattled by that creepy, smiling Fed. He followed me around for a week, and I didn't sense him.
I'm losing it.
"You didn't see him, Marybeth. The guy is usually as calm as the surface of the water. He actually yelled at me this time."
Big men intimidate me. My boss is probably six-three, maybe two hundred pounds of lean muscle under his bespoke three-piece suits. Over the years of self-defense training, I've gained enough confidence and experience to ascertain when I can take someone. I'm pretty convinced that Vincenzo San Giovanni can crush me like a bug with little to no effort.
Actually, based on those gory glossies the Fed showed me, my boss would have no problem shooting me in the head.
"Girl, relax," says Darlene from Legal, swatting my arm. "The boss is too uptight, in my opinion. Homeboy needs to get laid and loosen up." She smiles as she takes another sip of her drink. "I wouldn't mind volunteering as a tribute for my district."
Marybeth, a skinny blond from Accounting who looks like the human embodiment of Toto, Dorothy's dog from the Wizard of Oz, snorts with disgust. "The man is handsome as sin and all, but no thanks. There's nobody home behind those green eyes of his. He doesn't look… warm."
I swallow a mouthful of my rum and coke. "That mofo is the iceberg that sank the Titanic. He's got a date tonight, though. With some woman named Rebecca Kane. Who lives in Silver Lake."