Page 25 of The Bad Girl
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Nadine
Harry strolls into the office at 9:28, a whole two hours earlier than his usual entrance.
He scans the room, his eyes falling on the box of donut holes I brought in the is morning.
“What the fuck is that?”
“Donut holes,” I reply as I color coordinate Maxwell’s schedule, “though if you want to be more technical, I suppose it’s sugar, flour, baking—”
“It’s garbage is what it is! Where’s Lady M’s?”
“I’m sorry to subvert your expectations, but if you want Lady M’s, you’re gonna have to go get it yourself.”
Harry’s shoulders slump, and he lets out an exceptionally pathetic whimper. I try not to let my glee show. If I had known that being a ‘bad girl’ meant pissing ‘Prince Harry’ off, I’d have made the transition months ago.
He grabs a mug and presses a few buttons on the coffee maker, bringing it to life. While it pours, he looks over at me, eyes widening as he takes in my new fashionable flare.
“Well, well—it appears someone got a wardrobe upgrade.”
I tilt my head and give a loud, “Hmm,” before saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t pretend like you actually thought up that red, latex belt or the open-toed booties. Pah-lease.”
Maxwell enters the room before I have a chance to reply, freshly showered and looking dapper as fuck in his light-grey suit.
“Harry, it’s good that you’re here. I’m going to need you to hang out around the office for a bit.”
Harry’s nose scrunches, his mouth gaping. “But isn’t that what the little mouse is here for?”
“She’s coming with me today.”
What?
I am the organizer of Maxwell’s busy existence. I coordinate, color code, schedule, and see to the finer details of his day-to-day.
Prince Harry, on the other hand, is the wingman. He’s mastered the art of getting people excited, and his enthusiasm helps seal deals.
I’m not a deal sealer—I’m a schedule keeper. My overly-analytical personality type only serves to cast doubt, which means I’m the last person Maxwell should be bringing to his business meetings.
I put up a hand as a shield. “You know what, I think I’ll sit this one out.”
“No, Nadine—you’re all in.” He casts me a secret wink.
A vein on Prince Harry’s forehead bulges, and I think if I had a stopwatch, I could take his pulse. “This is complete and utter bullshit!” he explodes. “Let me get this straight, you own a world-renowned fashion line, I am highly fashionable, and I’m being replaced by someone with the fashion sense of a matriarch from the 50s. It’s clear I’m unappreciated, and if you think for one minute Nadine is up—”
“I could have you escorted to the lobby,” Maxwell cuts in.
It’s not the first time he’s had to make this threat. Harry grew up with a silver spoon, or rather, a platinum spoon dangling from his privileged asshole mouth. He’s appalled that he has to work for a living, not that many people would consider what he does working.
Harry musters a fake smile. “Best of luck to you, Nadine. Here’s hoping you don’t botch a deal.”
His words needle my anxiety, because losing Maxwell a deal, or rather, a collaboration, is a very real worry of mine. I could lose Maxwell piles of money and possibly even risk my own job.
I can do this. I’m not a mouse—I’m bold, assertive, and confident. I’m a lioness!
“Come along,” Maxwell says, holding the elevator button to keep the door open for me.
If I’m gonna bag Tom, I’m going to have to be comfortable with getting uncomfortable.
