Page 257 of Small Town Firsts
“You never so much as pinched my ass—rump,” she corrected, thereby putting the image of an ass-rump in my head—luckily, not hers.
I had never so much as glimpsed her backside. I wasn’t that sort of employer.
“Of course not.”
“You don’t take advantage of your position, and you see everyone as equals.”
I couldn’t help preening. Slightly. “I am careful to do exactly that.”
“So, naturally, I figured Ryan would be the perfect choice to assist you while I’m away. I would never introduce you to a friend if I didn’t believe you were fair-minded. Some look at having an assistant as an opportunity to lord their elevated status over them.”
Why did it sound as if she was lecturing me? “I have never done such and I never will.”
She rose. “Good. It’s settled. Ryan will start for you next Monday at nine. Possibly nine-fifteen. No more than nine-thirty. Mornings are iffy.” She crossed the office to the door. “Oh, and thanks! I’ll bring you back a souvenir.”
The door clicked shut on my curses.
I stalked over to the coffeemaker and discovered I was down to five pods—inhumane considering my current level of tension.
I popped one in the brewer and returned to my desk to stab the intercom button on the phone.
“Yes?”
“I’m almost out of coffee. Can you kindly place an order before your vacation?” The question held the same level of wrath as a death threat.
Preston Michael Shaw was not someone to tangle with without his caffeine.
“Already taken care of two days ago. Tracking says it should arrive by Monday afternoon. Your preferred flavor of Columbian coconut-caramel was backordered.”
“Of course.” I had no reason to feel ashamed I enjoyed coconut and caramel. Those were extremely manly flavors.
And Monday afternoon meant I would have to deal with April’s friend who was “iffy about mornings” without the benefit of my early morning pick-me-up unless I grabbed one on the way in. My own kitchen at home was stocked with an assortment of possibilities that I rarely took time to actually make there, other than my restorative Friday night meal. For the most part, I only used my place to shower and sleep.
“I actually paid for rushed shipping.”
“Why, does Ryan enjoy coffee too?” There was no keeping the edge of sarcasm out of my voice.
“Hardly. Tea is much more Ryan’s speed. Coffee is a dangerous stimulant and can lead to hallucinations.”
“Such as fantasizing about murdering someone when you don’t have any?”
“You have five pods left,” April said crisply. “Ration.”
She hung up before I could reply.
In the old days before vacation, April never hung up without making sure I had everything I needed. Now she seemed dismissive. Perhaps this was her way of weaning me off the teat of capable assistantship before she took her leave.
It was hard to imagine Ryan, with his inconsistent start times and love of tea, could measure up.
Maybe I was being unfairly judgmental. Usually, water seeking its own level was a factor in friendships, but I had no idea if this was a former ex of April’s or someone she merely had an acquaintance with. Many people today called everyone their friend, from the mailman to the barista who made their latte. I was far more selective.
My old school buddy, Bishop, counted as a close friend. I also had numerous acquaintances. I wasn’t looking to add to the roster.
I grabbed my coffee from the brewer and disposed of the pod before sitting at my desk. I slipped on my glasses then typed a missive to April.
Memo: Ryan Moon
Ms. Finley,
