Page 15 of Selfish Suit

I sling my purse over my shoulder and follow her into the building.

“I’m Tracey, but everyone calls me Mr. Sutton’s right hand because everything goes through me. But you’re now his left hand, so we’ll work together.”

“I thought I was a marketing executive…”

“You are, but you have this additional work to do as well.” She thrusts a phone into my hand. “This is your work phone. It rings, you answer. Do not pass go. Do not wait.”

“It’s preloaded with all of Mr. Sutton’s contacts and preferences, and you have a week to learn them all.”

She leads me onto the elevator, still talking a mile a minute.

“I’m responsible for getting his morning coffee and lunch, but since we’ve reassigned our lead intern, you’re responsible for presenting it to him with the day’s updates.” She hands me a notebook. “This is his notebook. You will carry it around whenever you’re with him, and if he says things like, ‘Remind me to…’ or ‘I need to…’ you’ll write it down, and you’ll also record a note via the phone.”

Where the hell was this in the job description?I bite my tongue.

“Look alive, Miss Locke!” She snaps her fingers when we reach the designated floor. “We’ve got a lot to go over today, and you look like a deer in headlights.”

“I kind of am.”

“Well, let’s get you some coffee on our way to prepare Mr. Sutton’s, and hopefully you’ll snap out of it.”

I stand still on the elevator, tempted to ride it back down and ask for my former job back, but she grabs my elbow and tugs me off.

“Let’s go…”

Only two hours have passed since my tour, and I swear it feels like an eternity. It also feels like this man gave me a promotion out of pettiness and spite, so… after I cash my first few checks, I’m moving on to someplace else.

While Tracey juggles three different cell phones, someone hands me a lanyard with my new badge attached.

It’s a lot heavier and thicker than my old one, and it bears a second job title under the one on my contract:

Left Hand to Mr. Sutton.

Ugh.

“Let me show you to your new office, Miss Locke.” Tracey finally takes a breath, walking me past a hallway of glass doors and beautiful rooms.

She stops at a desk.

A glass desk right outside the double doors of Mr. Sutton’s office.

Before I can ask her a question, the elevator pings behind me, and Mr. Sutton’s energy hits the room first—sharp, clean, cold like a new suit fresh from tailoring. He says nothing to us as he enters his office.

The doors shut behind him.

“He’ll call for us after he enjoys his breakfast,” Tracey says. “In the meantime…”

I’ve had enough.I rush toward Mr. Sutton’s doors and open them, slipping inside.

Mr. Sutton looks up from his coffee as I approach his desk.

“I don’t believe I’ve called for you yet, Miss Locke,” he says. “I’ll let you know when I want to see you.”

“This is an emergency,” I say. “A stage five one,” I repeat what I previously heard the other guy say.

“In that case.” He leans forward. “I’m listening.”

“I don’t believe my job description in the contract is matching what Tracey is asking me to do.”

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