Page 1 of Over My Dead Boss
1
“READ IT AGAIN, OLIVIA!”
Resigned, I nod and sigh and do as I am told.
I don’t get paid nearly enough for this.
Clearing my throat, I open the New York Times centerfold for the third time this morning and read out loud: “Phoenix Cyrus died.”
Isabella, my ill-tempered boss, huffs through her nose, causing the loose sheets of paper on her desk to waft through the air. “What even is that supposed to mean? This must be a bad joke. People don’t buy full-page ads in the NYT for obituaries, especially not if they only consist of one preposterous sentence.”
“Well, there’s the fine-print, too,” I interject. “April 1st 1986 - April 1st 2022. In keeping with one of society's morbid traditions, there will be a wake. Please don't come. Please don’t send flowers. If you have a rush of generosity, just give to your favorite charity. Tell them Phoenix sent you. They won’t know what it means. It’ll be fun.”
“How? How dare he die whenIam in this situation?” More angry documents shoot through the air, followed by a long growl and Isabella’s head slamming onto her glass desk.
After almost five months of working for CY Publishing as Isabella’s executive assistant, I have learned to tell my boss’s mood by her way of screaming, shouting and grunting. This one was her ‘someone has to suffer to make me feel better’ grunt. After five long months, it also doesn’t come as much of a surprise that her first thought would go to her own situation when learning of the death of her most important author.
“Don’t worry,” I try to calm her. “We’ll figure it out. If anything, this should cause Mr. Cyrus’s sales to soar because it’s probably the biggest ad that was ever run for one of our authors, right?” I feel nauseous at the thought of profiting from someone’s death, but it seems to have the desired effect on Isabella. Besides, there’s something off about this whole thing. I can feel it.
“Hmm,” she grumbles and reclines in her chair, taking a sip of coffee, “you’re so naïve, Olivia. Yes, it will be good for business. For a month or two, but it won’t last. I don’t even know if he finished his latest manuscript, and without it, we can’t release a new book posthumously. Which we would need, pronto.”
“Even if he wrote it,” Verna, our receptionist, chimes in from across the room. “I doubt we’d get our hands on it. Not after everything that happened.”
For a second, I am worried the cup of coffee might go flying across the room in Verna’s direction, but instead Isabella lets out another strained grunt, rubs her eyes and deliberately shoves the one remaining folder off her desk. “For once, I am afraid you’re right. Even if it exists, we would be the last to get our hands on it. Then again, I don’t even know if he finished the manuscript. I doubt it. Last I checked, he told me I could pick it up in hell. Guess he’s delivering it there personally.” Isabella gets up and walks over to the panoramic window that overlooks the city. “Without his books, we’re done for. Waylon is set on liquidating the company if we don’t turn a decent profit. Maybe Phoenix’s burial bump in sales will give us another one or two months, but what happens after that? I don’t know.” Her sigh echoes through the office, and for the first time since I started working for Isabella, she appears to experience an emotion that isn’t anger or annoyance.
My thoughts get interrupted when a familiar name pops up on my phone screen. Sienna, my best friend and roommate.
Sienna: HOLY SHIRT! I just saw it on the news. Are you ok?
Olivia: What are you talking about? I am fine?
Sienna: OMG, I am so sorry to tell you, honey. Phoenix Cyrus died. I thought you would have heard since you kinda work with him or for him or whatever.
Olivia: Oh, that. Yeah, no. All good.
Had I cried a little from shock when I saw the news pop up this morning on my way to work? Sure, but—
Sienna: All good? Your make-believe boyfriend dies and you’re ‘all good’?
Olivia: He’s not my make-believe boyfriend. I don’t even know him.
Sienna: You literally have an altar for him.
Olivia: It’s called a bookshelf. That’s how one stores books.
Sienna: His books, your fan fiction, scrap booked articles you found of him. You even sleep with his stuff.
Olivia: I sometimes fall asleep while reading his books. It’s a normal thing people do.
Sienna: You named our cat after a character from his book.
Olivia: Chairman Meow is named after an important figure in history and bears no resemblance to any of the characters from Phoenix Cyrus’s books… except for the name which is purely coincidental.
Sienna: Ok, ok. We’ll just pretend you haven’t written some very smutty short stories starring you and a handsome, well-built character namedPhoenix. It’s ok. Listen, how about I get us food from that takeout place you like so much for tonight and we can talk about it then. Either way, I am sorry you won’t get a chance to meet your idol. I know that’s why you took the job in the first place.
She isn’t entirely wrong. When I managed to get myself a sought-after job at CY Publishing, Mr. Cyrus was still in charge and, naturally, I had been hoping to run into him while working here. But as fate would have it, there had been a change in management the week before I was scheduled to start my new job, which resulted in Isabella taking over as CEO. Of course, at that time, I didn’t know that Mr. Cyrus was apparently even worse of a boss. The official statement said Mr. Cyrus stepped down to focus on other things, but there had been all kinds of rumors surrounding the resignation. Now everyone seems to assume that it must have been health issues which forced him to give up his position.
Olivia: I am not so sure about that, actually.
