Page 23 of Desserts for Stressed People

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Entering the office,I look around as people wave my way, my stomach churning. I’m meetingEssentially-Billyagain, and he’ll want an answer. As of now, I don’t have one. Emma said little more about Mr. Asshole. That he’s hot, everybody who knows him well enough hates him, and he keeps mostly to himself, which explains why I haven’t met him before.

He sounds like a proper delight, and so do the rest of the people working there. Emma gave me a whole cheat sheet, but I’ve already forgotten most of the details. All I know is that of the people she described, there wasn’t a single one who sounded half as nice as my current colleagues.

I push through the glass doors that separate the corridor into two sections and knock on the only wooden door. “Come in,” Billy says. With a deep breath, I make my way into the office.

“Heav! Great to see you. You look wonderful today.”

Ugh. Billy is the type of man who I can’t picture having any sexual drive. Like a big, libidoless teddy bear. He has kids, so I guess that isn’t the case, but his compliments are just as annoying as if they were sincere. He’s buttering me up.

I offer him a little smile and sit. “Please, Billy. We’ve worked together long enough.”

Which also translates to “I won’t fall for any of it.” His ability to grease his way through most conversations makes him a wonderful director. He can convince clients to agree to basically anything. But I’ve also seen it happen too much to fall for it.

He straightens his tie as he sits. “Okay, okay. Listen, I know it’s a lot to ask. But the big boss won’t take a no.”

I sigh.The big boss. The guy who owns IMP simply because his dad did. I don’t think he’s worked one day in his life, and most of his decisions actually come from the board of directors that Billy is also part of.

“I get it, Billy. But isn’t there someone better qualified than me? I’ve never dealt with events,” I insist. I have the feeling that instead of a promotion, these six weeks will lead to my head on a platter. After all, what the hell do I know about fashion, or event management?

“Trust me. You wouldn’t be our first choice for the role if we didn’t think you could handle it. It’s an important client.”

“And you can’t tell me anything more about this project?” I ask, although I know he can’t. I haven’t signed the NDA yet. How can I agree to this without knowing what I’m getting myself into?

“Essentially, you’ll be doing what you already do. But for some snooty fashion people.”

Yeah...with neurotic colleagues and Mr. Asshole.

I know I won’t win this. And I’m pretty sure neither Billy nor the CEO truly know whether I’ll be able to pull this off, but they don’t care. They know I’ll make it work because I’ve always delivered the desired results. I’ve always given them anything they asked, never said no, and they’re taking advantage of it.

But it doesn’t mean I can’t take advantage of it too.

“Fine,” I mutter with a sigh.

Billy claps his hands. “You are theabsolutebest, Heav! You won’t regret this, I promise. You’ll be back in six weeks with a new office and a fancy new title.”

“And a big raise,” I say.

Billy tilts his head, but I keep my gaze on his eyes and my chin up until he nods. “Well, Heaven, I can’t—”

“Abigraise, Billy.” If I’m supposed to work with a bunch of arrogant stuck-ups, then I’ll make sure I can solve the other issue in my life and get rid of the cheating scum parked in my living room. And a small raise won’t be enough for me to handle the apartment without Alex. “Think of an exorbitant number, then multiply that by another absurd and unrealistic number.”

I know I’m stretching it, but no one else would agree to get involved with this sinking ship—not so close to the deadline anyway—and they can’t force me. They need me, and I know what I’m worth.

He rubs his chin with a chuckle, seemingly thinking it through, then passes me the NDA. “You got it. Work your ass off Heaven-style, and if the event goes as it should and Mr. Hassholm is happy with your contribution, I’ll make sure you get a raise so big, you’ll wonder if it’s expecting twins.”

Reigning in my excitement, I give the papers a quick read and sign. If my raise is dependent on the quality of my work, I’m sure I have nothing to worry about.

“Wonderful,” he says, holding them up. “I’ll let the sixth floor know, and someone will come meet you and explain everything.”

With a wave of dread in my stomach, I get up and take the hand he offers me.

“We’re forever grateful.” It looks like he means it. Except he doesn’t.

“Yeah, yeah. A fat,fatraise.”

“It’ll need its own corner office,” he shouts as I close the door.

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