Page 8 of Gluttony

As their executive assistant, my duties are on the administrative floor, the equivalent of the penthouse, where the owners, their secretaries, legal, and Human Resources all work. Below us are the sales and marketing teams as well as most of their interns who crossover from department to department depending on the needs of the company. The recording studio, however, is in Brooklyn.

My smile is bright and naïve, like I’ve just won the goddamn lottery. It makes the realization that I failed what I’m guessingwas the first test of many all the more disheartening. The scene I’ve just stumbled upon is nothing less than a human beehive.

Everyone, and I do mean every-fucking-one, is buzzing around like they’ve been here for hours. They’re all cheery and shit, answering the phones ringing off the fucking hook, both landlines and cells. Most are typing away on their laptops, some are wearing their headphones, others are bouncing on those rubber balls like we’re working at fucking Google over here. At least all the employees to the right of reception, since on the left is just a large hallway with open doors on either side but not a soul in sight.

Did I mention it’s eight on a fucking Monday morning? How are all these people so perky?

Yeah, this is next level and I’m not built for it.

“Um, hi. I’m Bo-Bella.” Fuck my life, I cannot forget my fake-ass name. The tall, runway model receptionist with a penchant for punk rock whom I met last Friday before my interview flashes a megawatt smile and leans in like she’s about to speak. Except I just come barreling in with my word vomit. “I thought the office opened at eight? I was told eight. But this is not the energy of an eight o’clock start. It feels more li—”

“Hey! Relax. You’re on time for a newbie. Thing is, this place gets crazy busy at eight on the dot so we all come in a little early to catch up and have a coffee before getting swamped with work. Just go right down this hall, Hadley’s secretary is waiting for you.”

My shoulders drop a couple of inches thinking this will be fine. Everything is just fine.

During the morning hours, I get my bearings on what my actual duties will be here, shadowing Ginny, Hadley’s secretary and all around rockstar, until lunchtime.

Of the three secretaries, Ginny has been here the longest. From the beginning to be exact. When I asked her why shewasn’t running things around here, she sighed and gave me a tiny smile that held a whole lot of fondness.

“I was their first hire and, at the time, it was just the four of us while the boys got their ducks in a row,” she explained during my tour, giving me a wink that fit her vibrant personality. “Well, I’m the one who lined up their ducks while they fought hard for every one of those record deals they brought in. But to answer your question, I’m happy right here, working for Hadley and keeping him in line.” The pride in her voice matched the glint in her eyes. I’m guessing she’s in her early sixties, judging by the regal streaks of white slashed across her jet-black hair and the distinguished lines at the corners of her eyes. She wears her years well.

I haven’t seen or met with the three marks yet. According to Ginny, as the CEO for all things legal and accounting, Hayes is the one who’s most often on our floor. Orion spends quite a lot of time downstairs with the marketing and promo team while Hadley is oftentimes out in Brooklyn with the production team and artists. I guess that’s why they need an executive assistant to do their shit because I’m pretty sure I walked the equivalent of three marathons and a pub crawl before I even had a chance to eat my sandwich. At this rate, I should just be glad I had time for lunch at all.

As I collect my notebook filled with instructions, passwords, codes, and a fucking Non Disclosure Agreement—not ideal for my plans, I must admit—a small pink object catches my attention. My head snaps up, my gaze roaming around the tiny, claustrophobia-inducing office space as if anyone could hide from me in here. Rounding my desk, I peek outside and into the hallway where Hayes, Hadley, and Orion have their offices buffered by their respective secretaries. Aside from the usual clacking of fingers on keyboards or the rolling of cabinet drawersbefore they slam shut, I can’t see a single suspicious candidate for the little present on my desk.

An origami rabbit sitting facing my chair just under my computer screen. It’s cute, simple. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s Hadley leaving me a present but he hasn’t been in the office all day so I can’t imagine he’d pop in just for this. Then again, he doesn’t even bother to hide his nickname for me so someone else could be fucking with me. Who the fuck knows? In any case, I could use it as a good luck charm.

Maybe, I’ve got Hadley trying to freak me out or maybe I’ve got an origami-making secret admirer, either way I have to keep my wits about me if I want to make it out alive. Tuesday morning proves me the fuck wrong.

Nothing could have prepared me for day two. There’s no gradual introduction, easy transition, or even an accompanying hand from Ginny to make sure I don’t screw it all up within seconds. To be fair, she did warn me that doing is the best teacher, but what she doesn't know is that failing is not an option.

In the guise of a hard-learned lesson, I’m thrown into the city streets to collect three black coffees, made-to-order lunches, expensive and healthy snacks, dry-cleaning, and a fresh bouquet of flowers with strict instructions on my to-do list. Ginny gets a new arrangement every four days. Not three, not five.

Apparently, this is a deal breaker if ever I fuck it up, as per Hadley’s note on my desk.

That was my first warning that Hadley is…extreme.

By the time six rolls around, I’m reevaluating the meaning of life and work and wondering if we really need this fucking necklace, and why isn’t Mickey working his ass off? Then I remember the white sand beaches and the fruity drinks, so I pull my big girl panties up and psych myself up for day three.

Just as I squeeze past my desk before I leave, I stop in my tracks and snap my head to the side, my gaze dropping to the wooden surface. I can’t help the smile tilting up the corners of my lips.

A rabbit origami, light green with a winky face drawn on its head. I pick it up and examine it, wondering when my secret bunny-maker dropped it off and if anyone saw him do it. I rule out the guys since they’ve barely said two words to me since I started working here. Hayes actually snarled and slammed the door in my face when I dropped off his coffee.

“Here you go, Sir. No sugar, no milk, no frills.” I was trying to be cute, fucking sue me. Since all three soulless CEOs like their drinks exactly the same, I thought I’d give Hayes a little sunshine to chase away the permanent cloud above his head.

“The definition of black. You missed your calling as a barista.” In my head, I advised him to pull the fucking stick out of his fucking ass and get an attitude transplant. My facial expression, though, was the epitome of neutral.

Tomorrow I’ll “accidentally” drop a sugar in there to sweeten him up a little. Wouldn’t kill the grumpy bastard. Funny enough, even with his less-than-stellar attitude, his accent is still hot as fuck.

On my way out, I call out to our receptionist, Phoebe, whose name is easy enough to remember since my foster mom used to binge watchFriendson the regular. Apart from the height and slim build, though, they have nothing in common. Our Phoebe has smooth, dark skin and hazel eyes. Her natural curls are like a halo, save for one shaved side, which puts all her ear studs on display. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen the rebellious glint of punk in perfect harmony with classic runway beauty.

“Hey, so…do you know anyone around the office who likes making origami?” I figure I can’t be the only one getting little paper critters on my desk, right?

With a quick glance my way before she shuts down her computer, Phoebe shakes her head in answer.

“Oh, maybe Monty, the law intern? He’s always doodling or doing something with his hands when he’s on calls.” She shrugs because that’s all she’s got for me and I’m guessing she’s as eager to get home as I am.

When I finally made it home, I was greeted by a hot bath and my favorite take-out, all arranged by Mickey, knowing my days are hard as fuck. Not wanting to waste either one, I ate in the bath and it was glorious. The part, however, where I fell asleep and almost drowned was altogether a different story. There is nothing sexy about splashing around in bath water, choking on your own filth.

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