Page 4 of Drive Me Wilde

Indi

Four days earlier

The coffee shop is so packed you'd think the last coffee beans on earth were being brewed this morning. I take at least three elbows on my way to the waiting area. It's crowded with anxious-looking people, dressed for work and checking their phones every few seconds worried that their decision to stop for coffee was a mistake. I'm hereforwork—specifically for my boss, Genie Ross, or Cruella, as I call her in my head and once under my breath as she berated me for not answering her call at three in the morning. Genie is an agent to multiple famous influencers and a few of the newest names in Hollywood, including Landon Arlo, my boyfriend. Genie went through six assistants before rolling her eyes at me after four interviews and saying "I suppose you'll do." I was in Los Angeles six months, working as an assistant in another talent agency, when I heard about the opening—personal assistant to the most successful talent agent on the West Coast, according to the headhunter's website. I applied and after three grueling months of questionnaires andinterviews I got the job. Not long after, I discovered all the other applicants dropped out long before I got to the last interview. It wasn't the interview process so much as Genie, herself, who scared everyone off.

My Cruella phone rings. Two days after starting work as Genie's personal assistant, she marched past my desk and dropped a new iPhone onto my keyboard. "This isonlyfor me. Even if you're having a heart attack in the middle of a burning building, you use another phone to call 911. Got it?" She marched on her pink Chanel heels into her office and snapped shut the door.

I wince as Genie's shriek comes through the phone. "Where the fuck are you? I need my coffee. I meet with the new investors in twenty minutes, and if espresso isn't pumping through my veins by the time the meeting starts, then you'll be out of a fucking job." She hangs up.

"Indi!" the harried barista calls frantically into the crowd. "Venti coffee with two shots!"

The barrel-shaped man who spent a good two minutes deciding which flavor of scone to get before deciding to get one of each snatches his coffee first. I rocket between the three women standing in the center of basically everything as they stare indecisively at the coffee menu and talk intermittently about last night's HOA meeting. The scone man still manages to beat me to the milk and sugar cart. My phone rings as he finishes drowning his coffee in cream. This time it's my personal phone. I can tell because the ringtone on Genie's phone always makes me flinch. I pull out the Cruella phone first, realize it's the wrong one, set it down on the cart and take out the other phone.

"I can't talk right now, Landon. I've got to get Queen of the Damned her coffee before she withers away for another thousand years."

"Right. Sorry. I can't find my sweatshirt."

"Seriously? I'm talking about the actual Queen of the Damned here, and you're worried about your hoodie?"

"It's my good luck hoodie, and I've got that audition this afternoon. I need that sweatshirt."

Then it hits me. "Shit, Landon, I wore it home the other night. It was cold, and I'd forgotten my coat." A woman grunts angrily and elbows her way past me. She rudely reaches her hand past my face and grabs the silver carafe of milk.

"Damnit, Indi, now what am I going to do?"

"Break a leg?"

"Funny. This is a big one. You know I've been wanting to land one of these superhero roles. This could be it."

"You've got my key. It's on the chair in my bedroom."

Another coffee customer is about to reach past me. "I've got to go." I push the phone in my pocket, grab the silver carafe and pour oat milk into the coffee. I'm five steps out the door when the terrifying reality that I've left my Cruella phone on the milk cart hits me. I race back in and breathe a sigh of relief. It's still there. It would have cost me my job for sure. I push out the door and race the two blocks to my car. I've mastered the skill of running with hot coffee and not spilling a drop.

Rachel, the receptionist in the office building, looks up from her phone and smiles as I push through the door. "You look like you had to run a marathon to get that coffee."

"Feels exactly like that." I hurry to the elevator, ride up to the top floor and scurry toward the Ross Enterprise offices. The automatic door opens at a slower pace than I like. Genie has an eye for talent, but she has atrocious taste. The furniture in the office is yellow, and not a buttery, soft, comforting kind of yellow. It's a yellow that is in its own level of ugliness on the color wheel, especially when paired with the amber wallpaper behind it.

Genie is in her office. I knock and brace for her angry tone.

"You'd better have my fucking coffee!" she calls back.

It only took me a few days of working for Cruella to learn to avoid making eye contact with the monster behind the desk. And since she hasn't had her coffee yet, I make sure to keep my face down, like a timid servant waiting on their brutal master. The job is, for the most part, stressful and miserable, but it comes with too many perks to give it up. I figure, if nothing else, it'll make me tougher for the next job. After this, every other boss will be like Mary Poppins in comparison. With this job on my resumé, my career can only get better.

"Bout fucking time. Did you grind the goddamn beans yourself?" Genie always laughs at her own humor, and she says the exact same quip every time I bring her coffee. "Well, don't hover," she says even though I'm already on my way out. "I left a list of errands I need you to do." Her last errand list included me driving three hours to San Diego, in traffic, to pick up a certain type of blush she could only find at a specialty boutique in that city. "But before you go?—"

I stop at the door and turn, eyes still mostly averted, but I can see she's wearing one of her more hideous designer dresses. It has puffy sleeves and a corset style bodice with emerald green pearls. "I sent you some portfolios for potential clients." I perk up, hoping this is finally the day she gives me an important task like going through portfolios to find new talent.

"None of them interest me, so write them each an email to let them know they are no longer under consideration at Ross Enterprise."

My posture deflates. "Yes. Of course." I walk out and take a deep breath. Lately, I practice a lot of breathing exercises to ease the anxiety. I'm a good fifteen minutes into writing rejection letters when I have one of those jarring moments. For a second, I'm back in the coffee shop. The morning went by in the usual stressful blur, but something occurs to me as I sit in my chairsending off emails that will no doubt devastate the receivers. I close my eyes to recreate the whirlwind scene at the milk cart. While I talked Landon down from the ledge over the absurd sweatshirt debacle, the rude woman reached past me, grabbed the cream and poured it into her cup. I try to conjure the scene. Did she return the cream to the spot on the left? I would have remembered her reaching across. She set the cream carafe back down … on the right. And I grabbed it thinking it was oat milk.

Adrenaline causes me to sit up straight in my chair. I hurry to the office door, trying to come up with a good excuse to snatch the coffee back.

I knock and speak closely to the door. "Hello, it's me."

"Don't talk through the damn door. Come inside." I'm putting my lies in order. I would let her know I thought I saw the barista add only one shot of espresso and that I would get her another cup, but as I step in, Genie is crushing the empty cup in her hand. She tosses it into the trash. "What is it?"

I stand there speechless and horrified. I clear my throat, trying to think of some reason for my intrusion. "Should I delete the portfolios or hang onto them?"

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