THE ART OF AWKWARD AFFECTION

Chapter 1

Lexi

There was something extremely demoralizing about running in the morning. I’d go home, but I was down to two work outfits I could reliably fit in, three if I didn’t eat lunch.

The sweat froze in my snarled hair, my lungs were about to collapse, and my legs were threatening to give out. I’d been trudging down this path for what felt like an eternity, but really it had only been about thirty seconds, because based on past experience, that was the longest I was able to keep this pace without passing out.

“Look on the bright side. At least you’re able to run,” I reminded myself.

A woman who didn’t look a day older than seventy-five jogged past me, pushing a little toy Maltese in a dog stroller.

“Keep up the good work,” I wheezed.

She reacted like I was about to mug her.

“You’re an inspiration!” I added as she fumbled in her pocket for pepper spray.

“Leave my dog alone!” she shrieked.

I was undeterred. Manhattan was nothing like Florida—no sunshine, no lazy beach days, and no nice people. Everyone was grumpy. Except yours truly!

A man in bright-orange work clothes was emptying the trash.

“Thank you for your dedication to keeping the park clean!” I called out.

He muttered something that sounded like “Why can’t the city clean out all these crazy people” and ignored me.

“Your beard looks nice. Really accentuates your cheekbones.” I flashed him a thumbs-up.

“Lady, I don’t have any cash on me.”

“Compliments are free!” I chirped out.

I believed that you must be the change you want to see in the world. A random act of kindness could go a long way to making Manhattan a better place.

I slowed to a walk. Well, a limp. The most exercise I got on a normal basis was watching Henry Cavill’s Instagram workout vids.

When I moved to New York to start my glamorous life in the big city, everyone said that with all the walking, the pounds would just melt off. In anticipation, I had bought new clothes that were, let’s say, an aspirational size. However, no one said that the food would be amazing, or that there was so much of it. Everywhere. On every corner. Don’t tell Walt, but the food in Manhattan might even be better than the food at Disney World.

Yes, Florida girl here and unashamed Disney adult. It is the happiest place on Earth, after all.

I made sure my Minnie Mouse ears were still attached to my frizzy red hair. Did I look weird? Maybe, but if the sight brightened someone’s day, then wasn’t it worth it?

I waved to a homeless guy sitting on a bench.

“I like your pigeon’s sweater,” I called cheerfully. “Did you knit that yourself?”

“I did,” he said happily. “Thank you!”

I beamed.

See? Compliments make the world a better place.

“When you go back with all the other rat people in the sewer,” the guy continued, dropping his voice conspiratorially, “can you tell them to chew through the cables coming out of the UN? The messages to the aliens they’re sending out are messing with the airwaves, and I can’t get a good signal on the sports station.” He tapped the piece of wire duct-taped to his cheek.

“Will do!” I sang out and skipped off. Well, stumbled off. I had a megacramp in my leg.

“Just think happy, positive thoughts,” I told myself. “You get a sticker if you can run for fifteen minutes.” I had bought specialty stickers at a store that—get this—only sold stickers! Manhattan was awesome! We didn’t have anything like a specialty sticker store in in my small Florida town.

“Thirty seconds down and fourteen and a half minutes to go,” I pep-talked myself. “You can do it. You got this.”

I took off at an ineffective sprint. Last night McKenna and I had watched YouTube videos on running while eating frozen pizza. I wasn’t an expert by any means, but based on what I’d learned from the videos, my form was atrocious.

“It’s the thought that counts. A sticker for effort,” I huffed out, my breath a hazy cloud in front of me. My keys and phone, gripped in my hand, jingled as I ran.

Ahead of me, coming down a path that intersected mine at a diagonal, was a man who had perfect running form. Well, he had a perfect everything form—tall, broad shoulders, handsome face partially in shadow from his black hood, long muscular legs like springs propelling him forward—and he ran like an Olympian, body in perfect sync. The muscles under the tight workout jacket flexed as his torso twisted.

I swooned.

Then I sucked in a breath.

“Looking good, hot stuff!” I yelled out the compliment.

The man broke stride, and his head snapped toward me.

I flashed him a thumbs-up as I passed him and kept up my trudging pace.

“You. Can’t. Afford. New. Clothes,” I gasped out in time to my heavy footfalls.

Gravel crunched behind me. I moved aside to let whoever was behind me pass.

Instead a large hand grabbed the back of my sparkly green Tinker Bell jacket complete with fairy wings.

I yelped in surprise as the man I’d just passed spun me around to face him.

“Are you out of your mind?” His deep voice—rich, dark, baritone—rang out in the cold air.

I smiled up at him gamely. “Do you like this jacket? Bought it in a pop-up shop outside of Cinderella’s castle. It’s kind of expensive but worth it, if I do say so myself.”

The man’s face was in shadow, but I could see enough of his downturned mouth to know he was not amused.

“You are completely crazy.”

“Anyone out here running at cold-o’clock in the morning is crazy,” I joked.

“Look, lady, what you’re doing is dangerous. You can’t talk to strangers.” He pushed back the jacket hood to reveal dark-brown hair that fell rakishly over his forehead, piercing green eyes, and a strong jaw.  

My eyes bugged out of my head. Oh no. No, no, no.

Don’t recognize me.

There are lots of people in this park. Just act normal. We’re being so totally normal.

I could feel my eyes flitting around in my head, trying to look anywhere except for at the guy who was my boss. Well, my boss’s boss’s boss. I was the assistant to the assistant to the secretary to Grayson Richmond.

The man who now stood here before me. All six foot five of him.

“Every stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet.”

Surely he didn’t recognize me, right? All those billionaires were so far up their own behind that they didn’t even know they had assistants.

I reached up to fuss with my Minnie Mouse ears, hoping that I looked disheveled enough that Mr. Richmond wouldn’t put two and two together and realize he’d seen me around his office.

His lip curled up into a sneer.

“Did you just move to this city?”

“No,” I said defiantly. “I’ve been here four months.”

“Small-town girl,” he mocked, “naïve, sheltered. You shouldn’t be out by yourself in the real world.”

“I’m an adult!” I shrieked.

“Who still believes in fairy tales and watches Disney movies.” He flicked one of the sparkly wings.

“Who doesn’t like Disney?” I shot back. “You insult the Mouse, I’m throwing hands.”

“So that explains why you’re waltzing around like some untouchable little princess, talking to strangers and feeding the local rat population.” A sneer on his perfect mouth.

“I’m doing good deeds. It’s telling that someone like you who just sits around all day in his fancy-pants penthouse and yells at his employees doesn’t see the power that positive affirmations have on society.”

When I was upset, angry, nervous, or scared, my voice got high-pitched—an unfortunate affliction which meant no one took me seriously at all. Now I was practically squeaking, I was so incensed.

Mr. Richmond’s eyes narrowed.

I babbled on, hoping he didn’t realize that I’d actually been in said penthouse.

“People need compliments; people need human interaction, and I have to set the example.”

“I don’t give a shit about any of that. You cannot talk to strangers,” he exploded.

“You’re not my mom. I’ll talk to whoever I want.”

“You can’t change the world with compliments and good deeds,” he snapped. “The only thing you’re going to do is get yourself hurt. You especially can’t compliment strange men. One will kidnap you, and no one will ever see you again.”

“News flash, sir, you’re the only person who’s come close to kidnapping me. Kidnapper!” I pointed at him.

He grabbed my wrist, his much larger hand now a vise.

I tugged my arm angrily. 

My key ring, which was mostly composed of sparkly princess key chains, jangled noisily.

“I am not a kidnapper,” he snarled, his deep, gravelly voice like a fairy-tale hero’s. His eyes were dark, and his face was a mask of fury.

“Then let go of me.” I tugged as hard as I could, but his arm didn’t budge.

“Not until you promise me you’ll stop talking to strange men.”

His eyes flicked down to my wrist, then back to my face, then back to my wrist.

“Wait …”

He twisted my arm. The keying clanged.

Crap-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.

His gaze zeroed in on the key fob for Richmond Electric.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded.

“Found it. Was taking it back to the police precinct. You know, good-deed fairy here.” My voice sounded like I’d been huffing helium.

“Do you work for me?” he asked slowly.

“No …”

“You do. I think I recognize you.”

“Technically I work for your assistant.” I held up a finger. “Therefore, you need to apologize for yelling at me about talking to strange men. You’re not a stranger. You are perfectly safe—if a little sweaty and anxious. You should try eating some cheese.”

“So you knew who I was when you …” He faltered.

“Called you hot?” I gave him a pained smile.

“You catcalled me,” he said, horror slowly dawning on his unfairly symmetrical face.

I was indignant. “I most certainly did not.”

“I’m your boss.” He was incensed.

“Don’t act huffy. I’m the one who should be offended. I work for you, and you didn’t know who I was.” I jammed my finger in his muscular chest.

“Stop changing the subject.” He slapped my hand away.  

“Stop falsely accusing people,” I retorted. “I wasn’t catcalling you. I said that you were looking good. I didn’t yell out, ‘Clap those cheeks’ or ‘Daddy, let me hit that.’ Now that’s a catcall.”

He sucked in a breath.

“I was complimenting your form,” I said, enunciating the words. “Your running form. But don’t worry, I take it back.”

“You can’t take it back.”

“I take back my compliment.” I did a pantomime of snatching something out of the air in front of his face.

“Fine, as long as you don’t catcall strangers anymore.” He wagged a finger in my face like he was scolding a child.

I batted at his hand.

“You’re not the boss of me.” I sounded like Alvin the Chipmunk.

“Yes, I literally am your boss.” His eyes were dark.

“You grouchy, depressing Manhattanites will not suppress my Florida sunshine,” I declared. “I will continue to bestow compliments. In fact, I’m giving you a new compliment right now.”

His lips thinned.

“You have a very lovely deep voice and nice eyes,” I said angrily. “Does anyone else here think he has beautiful eyes?”

Everyone in the park was studiously ignoring us.

“Well, you do. Beautiful green eyes. So there. And you’d look better if you smiled.”

Chapter 2

Grayson

I watched the short, dumpy redhead—your assistant—trudge in a plodding jog down the path.

A woman screamed as my assistant told her she liked her sunglasses.

Who does she think she is?

I dug through my memories for a name. Lexi Collins. My secretary had mentioned hiring another assistant a few months ago. I hadn’t realized it would be that glitter-covered girl.

A sea of freckles on her face, short—extremely short—easy for someone—a man—to pick her up and carry her away, Lexi Collins was a problem.

I fought an ugly battle with myself not to follow Lexi, to make sure she wasn’t kidnapped.

Despite what Lexi claimed, I was right. She could get kidnapped. In true New York fashion, people had pretended like they didn’t notice our argument. I could have picked her up, thrown her over my shoulder, and walked off with her, and no one would have stopped me.

Exhibit A on why she couldn’t go around complimenting strange men. Who knew what could happen?

I knew.

I shook off the feeling of dread then glanced over my shoulder. I couldn’t see Lexi through the trees anymore.

Maybe she’s already gone.

It wouldn’t do for me to follow her now.

She’ll be fine, I tried to tell myself. But it was no use—my natural state was all systems at DEFCON 1, just waiting for something horrible to happen, waiting for the ax to fall. Now that I had amassed my billions, situated my company as the leading energy conglomerate east of the Rockies, and just closed out the successful development of the tallest residential skyscraper in Manhattan, I had run out of distractions. All that was left to do was spiral into doomsday scenarios.

I needed to find balance and closure.

Except now I was adding one more concern to my plate—whether or not my oblivious assistant was going to end up on one of those unsolved-mystery reality TV shows.

Why didn’t Ms. Collins have any sense of self-preservation?

I fumed while I took a cold shower, fumed while I drove to the office, and fumed while I stalked to the glass-enclosed corner office. Employees scattered out of the way, the new hires from the fall still on edge from being in my presence.

I stood in my office at the window, an expanse of glass that offered some of the most amazing views in Manhattan. Millions and millions of dollars of glass on a tower with my name on it. All these billions, and for what? It hadn’t meant a damn thing, hadn’t gotten me what I wanted more than anything in the world.

At least it meant I could fire that redhead.

I sent a message to legal and HR.

Then she could be someone else’s problem, someone else’s worry to obsess over.

And when Lexi was gone, I was going to figure out how I was going to survive the rest of my miserable existence.

Chapter 3

Lexi

The scalding-hot water sluiced down my hair, plastering it to my neck. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine that I was still in Florida, standing on the beach in the humid rain, the ocean soothing in the background.

Someone banged on the door of the bathroom.

“You’ve been in there an hour!” a man complained.

“Women need time to get ready,” I shot back over the sound of the water and the ocean music playing from my phone.

I turned off the shower and wrung out my hair. Technically these shower rooms were for people who biked into the office. Richmond Electric had developed a new way to connect decentralized green energy to the electrical grid, and the shower rooms were both a perk and a marketing opportunity to promote how much they cared, as much as a soulless corporation headed by a self-absorbed, coldhearted billionaire could care.

I let myself fantasize briefly about running a PR campaign, heartwarming and funny, about the company’s commitment to the environment. Ha! Like I was ever going to get to use my communications degree. I was just the girl who collected the dry cleaning. I wasn’t allowed to so much as proof a marketing brochure, let alone run a PR campaign.

“You’re getting paid,” I reminded myself as I smeared the steam off the mirror. Well, not that much. Free hot water was free hot water, and if it was on Grayson Richmond’s dime, all the better. Not to mention I didn’t have anything like this water pressure in my apartment.

There was more banging on the door.

“There are other shower rooms,” I shrieked.

Calm down, Squeaky Mouse.

That’s what my dad always affectionately called me.

I had really been trying to keep my voice from sounding like a sugar-high kindergartener’s, and usually I had it together, but Grayson Richmond had thrown me off.

How dare he? Sure, not everyone was appreciative of my compliments, but I liked to think that even if they brushed me off, at least subconsciously my kind words might brighten their day. But no one had ever gotten in my face and yelled at me for complimenting them.

“It wasn’t a catcall,” I said stubbornly. There was no way I’d think Grayson Richmond was hot. He was not. I wasn’t attracted to men just because they were good looking. I was in it for the personality. And Grayson Richmond had a terrible personality.

I gave my frizzy red hair one more twist with the towel then hung it on a hook on the wall and stared at my porcelain skin, highlighted by almost-glowing purple eyes … psych!

My eyes were muddy brown, the color of a neglected pool that was actively breeding mutant mosquitos. I was insanely jealous of Grayson Richmond’s eyes. He didn’t deserve those green eyes. I was a redhead. Green eyes should be mine. To be fair, green eyes would go better with red hair like my mom’s.

You couldn’t buy my color red in a bottle because it was so ugly no one wanted it. Curly and frizzy, my hair only looks good the first ten minutes after a shower at which point it dries out and goes floof. Was I regretting getting a layer cut? Yes. Yes, I was.

I rubbed sunscreen over my freckled skin. Even though Manhattan was perpetually overcast, I did not need another freckle. I didn’t have a sprinkling of freckles where you thought, how adorable. I had you’re-going-to-have-skin-cancer-in-your-early-forties freckles.

I swiped on mascara so I didn’t look like a naked mole rat. For me there would be no makeover moment where I’d dramatically pin my hair up, dust blush on my face, and turn into a bombshell. Been there, done that. Let’s just say that all talk of senior prom is banned in my house.

A lean man in his bicycle gear and glasses was tapping his cycling shoe angrily when I waltzed out of the shower room in a cloud of steam.

I couldn’t help but compare him to Grayson in his workout gear.

There was no comparison.

“I’m complaining to HR about this,” the cyclist told me in annoyance. “Showers are for bike riders only.” He adjusted his glasses. 

Instead of taking the bait, I looked him up and down, flashed him a thumbs-up, and grinned. “I can tell you really do ride a lot. You got those biker buns.” 

He blushed and puffed up. “Really? Well, yeah, biking’s actually kind of dangerous, but I love it. You know, good exercise and gets your heart rate up. Don’t worry. I won’t actually say anything to HR. Have a great day.”

See? The power of compliments. And most men liked it when you told them they looked good. 

So there, Mr. Richmond.

I left my towel on the communal drying rack in the basement locker room then swiped my key fob up to the executive floor. 

“Hi, Regan!” I waved to one of the HR employees as I passed her office. “How are your Spanish lessons coming?”

“Oh my gosh. Well, I have apparently been telling people I want to buy a pickle when I really was asking how their day was going. So you know. Not great.”

“But you’re trying,” I said encouragingly. “That’s more than me. Here.” I peeled off a sparkly fairy sticker from my sticker compact and handed it to her.

She beamed. 

The assistant and the secretary to Mr. Richmond had their desks off to the side of a mezzanine that overlooked the accounting floor.

Notice I said the assistant and the secretary had desks. I, as the assistant to the assistant, had a stool next to the assistant’s desk.

McKenna was already working.

“You made it just in time,” she whispered to me out of the corner of her mouth. “Anthym has been complaining you weren’t in yet.”

“I do so much unpaid overtime it’s not even funny,” I said, opening up her bottom desk drawer and riffling through for the Oreos I had stashed there.

Don’t judge. I ran a whole sixteen minutes today, and on an empty stomach, no less.

“Anthym had me trekking all over town last night so I could pick up a set of very specific snack items for the fancy gift basket she’s putting together for one of Mr. Richmond’s clients.” I twisted the Oreo and licked the cream off.

“Like, why didn’t she know sooner what she needed? I had to go to one guy’s home to pick up this freaking wedge of cheese.” I dunked one of my Oreos in my specialty coffee mug that was shaped like Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage.

“So sue me if I come into work at eight instead of six thirty like she does. I don’t even get paid that much; I don’t even have a desk.”

“Don’t let her hear you complaining,” McKenna warned. “She read a text message I was writing to Grenadine and bitched me out about not being grateful to be in the presence of Mr. Richmond because I complained that this office was freezing cold and I wanted to use my space heater.”

Space heaters, blankets, and hot-water bottles were verboten in the office. Maybe on the lower floors people could sneak them in, but here on the executive floor? Don’t even think about it.

I balanced my laptop on my knees.

At least I could sit down. Anthym forced us to wear heels, skirts, and pantyhose. She said this was a conservative office and we represented Mr. Richmond, and therefore we needed to do the company proud.

My hose were from the dollar store and held together by prayers and clear nail polish. My feet were pinched in the knockoff heels.

My inbox pinged with an incoming message. It was one of those mass emails that goes out—you know the ones where they’re like, “Please make sure that all employees use a lidded microwave bowl when heating eggs,” but everyone knows it’s about microwave-abuser Albert.

Yeah, that’s this email.

And it’s about me.

From: Brittany Dawn, HR Director

To: Ladies of Richmond Electric

It has come to our attention that some people have been seen catcalling men around town.

I just want to remind everyone at the Richmond Electric family that even during nonwork hours, you still represent the company and its values. Let’s keep it classy, ladies!

Brittany Dawn

“Oh my god!” McKenna was snickering behind her hand. “You catcalled him?”

“I told you on the phone, it wasn’t a catcall,” I hissed. “I was paying him a compliment. He’s just too much of an antisocial grump to appreciate it.”

“Did you tell him he had a nice ass?”

“No.” I took a swig from my coffee mug.

“Because Mr. Richmond does have a nice ass, doesn’t he?” My friend waggled her eyebrows.

“Anthym never keeps me here long enough to get more than a glimpse,” I reminded her.

We both looked across the floor of the minimalist office space to Grayson Richmond’s office.

He paced behind the glass, like a big jungle cat. Or the Beast.

McKenna sighed longingly. “He’s so hot.”

“He is not.” I cleared my throat. My voice was starting to squeak.

“Yes, he is.” McKenna poked me.

“Just because he has money, everyone thinks he’s attractive. I know the real Mr. Richmond.” I glowered.

Mr. Richmond was staring out one of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, striking and imposing. His strong chiseled jaw and straight nose made him look like a Disney hero.

Or villain. Belle’s nemesis Gaston had a strong jaw, I reminded myself as I sorted through the day’s emails, twenty of which were from Anthym with various demands. I think it made her mad that I’d never failed to meet a request of securing an item.

The fancy aged Portuguese cheese almost did me in, but the doorman remembered me from when I’d spotted him two dollars at a bodega and let me up to the French cheese importer’s apartment.

My inbox pinged with an email. It was from Brittany Dawn.

Hi Lexi!

Please come see me in my office for a chat.

“Godspeed,” McKenna whispered to me as I slowly stood up and pulled at my skirt.

Anthym, my manager, was sitting in one of the white chairs in Brittany Dawn’s office. The HR director had a glass-enclosed view over the mezzanine to the floor below, all the better to look out over Grayson Richmond’s subordinates and remind them that HR was always watching.

“Lexi, let’s chat,” she said, with all the false perkiness of a middle-school mean girl.

The HR director patted the desk in front of the empty chair. There was a copy of the employee handbook on her desk, mocking me.

I sat.

“I cannot believe you would embarrass me like this,” Anthym snapped before Brittany Dawn could get a word in. “How dare you! Mr. Richmond is god here. Your actions make us all look bad.”

Do not squeak, I warned my voice. If you do, I’m going to be fired, and then I’ll never be able to afford that fancy tea you like.

“I didn’t catcall Mr. Richmond,” I explained, trying to sound calm and in control. “I was paying him a compliment. There was a misunderstanding, but we’ve worked it out. Believe me, I am very anti-catcalling. In fact, whenever I’m out and I hear a man actually catcall a woman, I always yell at him and tell him I’m going to tell his mom.”

Brittany Dawn clasped her hands in front of her on the desk.

“Now Lexi, I understand that you’re just out of college—”

“A master’s degree,” I interjected. “I’m twenty-three and have a master’s in communication.”

Her mouth curled up into an impression of a smile.

“Just out of a master’s degree program,” Brittany Dawn corrected, voice syrupy sweet. “But that doesn’t mean you have real-world experience. You’re basically a child. And as such I know that you don’t understand how adults in a corporate environment behave. You can’t sexually harass your boss.”

“The boss,” Anthym railed, unable to fake Brittany Dawn’s calmly patronizing tone.

“I didn’t know it was him,” I insisted. “He wasn’t in his suit, and I know Mr. Richmond’s suits. I pick up his dry cleaning, after all. He was in workout clothes. Also, why does no one in this city appreciate the power of uplifting declarations?”

“You said he was hot,” Brittany Dawn reminded me, drawing her finger down the text written on an incident report.

Minnie’s tits. I’m getting fired, aren’t I?

“I said he was looking good, but I didn’t mean it like that. And I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known who he was. This morning was the first time I’d ever met the man.”

“Lexi’s lying; she called him hot stuff,” Anthym snapped. “She did it because she’s trying to become the next Mrs. Richmond. But guess what? It backfired. You made him very uncomfortable. He felt threatened. You should have seen how upset he was when I talked to him.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Stop squeaking.

I cleared my throat.

“Are you kidding me? Grayson—”

“Mr. Richmond,” Anthym interjected.

“Mr. Richmond,” I seethed, “felt threatened? How dare he? I’m five feet tall when I stand up straight. I look like I’m twelve, and people constantly stop me and ask me if I lost my mommy. He’s the richest man in Manhattan and literally owns multiple city blocks and one of the tallest skyscrapers in the city, which is totally a phallic calling card, by the way, if we’re really going to get out the magnifying glass and suss out who’s being sexually aggressive to whom.”

“Mr. Richmond takes these matters very seriously,” Brittany Dawn warned.

“Believe me, I am not making a mockery of this company or of him.” I saluted the HR director. “Me and my credit cards are very happy to have this job. In the future, I will never talk to Mr. Richmond in a sexually aggressive or any other capacity ever again. If you can just let me off with a write-up, I will return to my duties as Mr. Richmond’s lowly assistant of the assistant to the secretary forthwith.”

Brittany Dawn’s nose scrunched up like I’d dumped a wedge of that very pungent cheese from last night on her desk.

“You can’t just write her up,” Anthym insisted. “She needs to be fired.”

Crap.

“Please,” I begged, my voice threatening to go full chipmunk. “Please don’t fire me.”

Brittany Dawn’s phone rang. She held up a finger as she answered it.

“Understood … Yes, sir.”

She pressed the end call button. “Mr. Richmond would like to see you.”

“Uh, he would?”

“He would?” Anthym was shocked.

“When?” My stomach churned.

“Now,” Brittany Dawn said, picking up her key card.

“Like now, now?”

Chapter 4

Grayson

The door opened then closed with a soft click. Marius stepped into my office.

“What did this girl do, exactly, where you had to get the legal department involved to fire her?” he asked, coming over to stand next to me at the window.

Marius and I went way back. We had been roommates at Harvard then had stayed in contact. I appreciated him tolerating my presence as his roommate and had offered him the position as head legal counsel when I had formed my company.

I always trusted Marius’s judgment, and he had been worth his weight in rare earth metals just in structuring the initial contracts with the venture capital firms all those years ago.

I was sure what he did now was probably beneath his skill level, and I expected him to leave any day.

People always did.

There was always a better opportunity.

And better assistants.

“I cannot have my assistant working for me anymore, and Ms. Collins seems like the type to cause trouble. Hence legal.”

“Uh-huh.” Marius crossed his arms. “This is technically an HR issue, but it’s been a slow morning. So sure, I’ll be your emotional support lawyer.”

I glanced at him.

A smirk played around his mouth.

“You didn’t hit on her, did you?”

The anger, always close to the surface of late, rose up.

“I would never.”

“Dude, you have to lighten up.” Marius clapped me on the shoulder. “Why don’t you come out for drinks tonight?”

“I have to work,” I lied.

I had plans, but not work. It was Tuesday, after all.

Marius sighed. “I thought after you built all this, you’d take a break.”

“I can never take a break.”

“The world won’t end.”

“It might.”

The door opened.

There she was. Taller now in those ridiculous heels, Lexi tottered in like a helpless baby foal.

Absolutely kidnapping bait. A liability.

She crossed her arms. The buttons on her blouse strained and the shirt fabric gapped.

Stop staring at her chest. What the hell is wrong with you?

I met her eyes. Brown. Defiant.

“Narc,” Lexi whispered.

My eyes widened.

“You wanted to see her?” Brittany Dawn asked expectantly.

“I—”

Lexi’s curly red hair was sticking straight out of her head, like a cartoon character’s.

“Can’t you see?” Lexi said, spreading her arms dramatically and talking a mile a minute. “Mr. Richmond called me in here to chew me out. Finally thought of a good comeback from this morning?” She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, that happens to me too. You can’t think of the really good zingers until you’re in the shower. Come on, lay it on me. Chop-chop!” She snapped her fingers.

“I have to go dig up a discontinued brand of cigars from the eighties along with finding an exact match of the custom wool fabric for that hole you put in your suit, not to mention have your riding boots resoled, which really, Anthym, that one’s a little too easy.”

Anthym gasped. “Don’t talk about Mr. Richmond in the shower.”

“What did you want to discuss?” Brittany Dawn asked pointedly.

I blinked and realized I had made a grievous error. I just needed Lexi fired; I didn’t need to do it myself.

It’s because you haven’t slept in days. You can’t make important decisions on such little sleep.

I picked up the mug of black tea and tried not to stare at the buttons that were threatening to pop on Lexi’s blouse and let her breasts spill out.

I took a large swallow of the scalding-hot water.

“You two are harshing his snarly, self-important, condescending vibes. It’s the gestapo up in here. A man can’t even cuss out his own assistant in peace. Shoo!” Lexi waved away the two older women. “Can’t you see you’re smothering him? Some people,” she said to me, cupping a hand to the side of her mouth.

“Can we please fire her?” Anthym shrieked.

“But then who will sort our dear leader’s underwear?” Lexi asked magnanimously.

“You’re not supposed to be touching his underwear.” Brittany Dawn was appalled.

“I was folding them Marie Kondo style, to bring joy to Mr. Richmond’s life,” Lexi said primly.

“Oh my god, you left the note,” I said before I could stop myself.

The office was dead quiet.

I snapped my mouth shut.

Anthym slowly swiveled to face Lexi. “You’re leaving him notes?”

Beside me, Marius strangled a laugh.

“Some of us are trying to make the world a better place.” Lexi’s hands were on her hips. “Besides, Mr. Richmond liked the notes, even though he won’t admit it in his cold, dead, sunlight-starved heart,” she added loudly, raising her voice.

“You’re the one who’s going to be trapped in a sunlight-starved basement if you keep catcalling strange men in dark parks,” I growled at her, forcing myself to unclench my fists.

“Why do you care so much?” Lexi cocked her head. “Is this some sort of weird way of hitting on me? Do you want to drag me back to your sex dungeon?”

Marius sucked in a breath.

“Now I’m the one feeling threatened. He’s catcalling me.” Lexi pointed at me and turned to Brittany Dawn. “I want to file an incident report.”

“I think we’re done with this conversation,” Brittany Dawn said, snapping the employee handbook closed.

“Agreed,” Marius said.

The women filed out.

“Why did Anthym hire someone so unhinged and sulky?” I complained, glaring through the glass as my secretary and the HR director argued with Lexi.

She finally sat down on a chair, crossing her arms and kicking her feet.

Like a child. An annoying, whiny child. Why is she so short?

“I guess we need to give her a severance.”

“Dude, are you kidding me? You can’t fire her.” Marius was appalled. “Not after that. That was a complete shit show. What’s wrong with you? Normally you have it more together than this.”

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” I said.

My lawyer barked out a laugh. “I wish I’d recorded it. Actually wait, no, I don’t. She could sue or talk.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes …” Marius hesitated then plowed on. “But it might look … well … with your family history,” he said delicately.

I let out another strangled growl.

“Fine.”

“Lexi fetches your lunch and runs errands. You won’t see her; she answers to Anthym. Just forget she exists,” Marius advised me.

I took another swallow of scalding tea, my hand burning as I gripped the hot mug.

“All right. She stays. For now.”

Chapter 5

Lexi

Should I have back-talked in the meeting?

No, but if I was going to be fired, I was taking Mr. Richmond down with me.

The door to the CEO’s office opened, and the lawyer stepped out then walked over to my chair of shame.

When Mr. Richmond had this office designed, he must have wanted everything to be made for tall people. It was like working in the land of the giants. Sure, the chairs might be comfortable for someone almost seven feet tall, but for me, the chairs were way too big.

Stop swinging your feet.

One of my heels slipped off and fell to the floor with a loud thunk.

Marius gave me a curious look then turned to Brittany Dawn.

“We aren’t going to fire her.”

“Obviously,” the HR director said, disgusted. They both looked over to Mr. Richmond, still pacing in his office.

Marius sighed.

“I’ll just give her a write-up,” Brittany Dawn said finally.

“I don’t know why they didn’t just fire you,” Anthym railed when Brittany Dawn went back to her office to add a note to my permanent record. “You’re a mess, your clothes are undone, and you wore this shirt twice last week. You need to go shopping.”

I hastily buttoned up my shirt.

At my six-month review, I had been planning on asking for a raise, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen. A part of me wished I actually had been fired, just so I wouldn’t have to endure Grayson Richmond breathing down my neck, insulting me, calling me into his office to yell at me, and then siccing his lawyer on me.

“Are you being fired?” McKenna asked me, eyes wide, when I returned to my stool.

“Stay of execution.”

She squealed and hugged me. “You should be happy; that’s great news!”

“I know, I know.” I took a breath. “Unfortunately, I can’t—literally can’t—afford to lose this job, so I’m stuck with him.”

“We’re going to do drinks to celebrate,” McKenna said firmly.

“Drinks?” Anthym slammed her agenda on the desk. “You’re not doing drinks. You’re going back to Mr. Richmond’s penthouse to do your job.” She clapped her hands. “Go. And stay out of his underwear drawer.”

***

“Happy Tuesday!” I greeted Nasr, the concierge at the tallest, fanciest residential tower in Manhattan.

He offered me a steaming mug of spiced chai tea along with some cookies.

“What a treat! You’re extra chipper today. I hope that means your son did well on his exams.”

The concierge’s face lit up. “Top of his class,” Nasr bragged.

“You must be so proud.” I gave him a hug.

“He just has to figure out which college to go to. Oh, this is such a weight off my chest,” the concierge said with a breathless laugh.

“It’s because he has such an awesome father.”

“My son appreciated your positive notes,” he told me then scooped more cookies on my plate.

“I don’t need all of those; we should leave some for other people.”

Nasr dropped his voice.

“Hardly anyone is in residence, and when they are, they don’t want cookies because sweets mess up their diet. Most people who bought these condos are only in New York a few days a month. Mr. Richmond is the only resident I see regularly.”

“I can’t imagine spending tens of millions of dollars on a condo I’m not going to live in.” I shook my head.

When I had decided to move to Manhattan, I sort of had an idea of how billionaires lived that was mainly compiled from all the romance books I read. However, books hadn’t given me the up-close-and-personal view of what it really meant to be a billionaire.

You could have anything you wanted. Literally anything.

And Grayson Richmond wanted to lord over us peons in a penthouse located at the very top of a tower.

The private elevator dinged when it let me off at the penthouse level. I walked through the mostly empty space. It was devoid of personality. It didn’t even look like a staged home; it looked like a half-empty museum. In one vast room, called the grand salon, was a single gray bench that looked at a white-on-white giant canvas that hung on one wall. The casual living room didn’t even have a TV.

The study was the only room that had somewhat of a personality. It had a view over the city and a glass door leading out to the terrace. One wall held a bookcase filled with books. There wasn’t anything fun or spicy, just a lot of the literary classics, all bound in leather, along with a number of historical biographies, several antique busts, and other knickknacks.

I climbed up the curving wood staircase in the center of the empty penthouse, pretending like I was a princess floating up to her castle in the clouds, Mr. Richmond’s freshly dry-cleaned suit over my shoulder. The two-story floor-to-ceiling glass offered the most expensive view in the city. The tower was so tall that we were practically in the clouds. On a particularly overcast day, it really did feel like I was in a crystal palace in the sky.

The dry-cleaned suit was transferred to one of the identical wood hangers in the closet. I would let it air out for twenty-four hours in the airing vestibule of the master closet, because when you had a closet the size of someone’s house—and really, what man needed a closet that size?—why not have a vestibule for your closet? Then I would transfer the suit into the large closet with the rest of the identical suits.

I stroked the luxurious fabric. Normally I liked my men like I liked my Disney princes—silent and wearing fancy military dress. A suit was close enough, especially the way Grayson wore it. If only he didn’t have such a terrible personality, I might actually fantasize about him falling in love with me.

“Like I want anything to do with you,” I said to his closet.

I scowled at the row of identical dark suits hanging in the rich-mahogany-paneled closet. Then I took out my notepad.

Lightly perfumed, the champagne-colored paper had pink flowers pressed in it. In a sparkly pink gel pen, I wrote:

You have amazing style. A man who knows how to wear a suit is a gift.

So there.

I added smiley faces and hearts on it just for good measure then stuck the note in with his cuff links.

I wasn’t going to hide my light under a bushel just because Mr. Richmond couldn’t handle people doing nice things for him.

I put on the soundtrack to The Little Mermaid and twirled through his bedroom, which held only a bed, a dresser, and a single nightstand. Mr. Richmond didn’t even have any fancy throw pillows on his bed. Just a dark-wood headboard and a dark comforter. Strangest of all, there were no curtains anywhere in the bedroom. Shoot, there weren’t any curtains on any of the windows in the soulless penthouse. I supposed if your penthouse was located higher than everyone else’s, you didn’t really need curtains.

Or maybe Mr. Richmond was just an exhibitionist.

Or a narcissist.

Or just a weirdo. The man didn’t have any carpet. Anywhere. Just cold, hard slate floors.

“His feet must be freezing in the morning when he gets up,” I sang over the music. I twirled through the master bedroom and out into the wide hallway that overlooked the floor below.

“My beautiful subjects,” I announced to the empty penthouse as I descended the staircase, pretending like I was wearing a big ball gown.

Was this professional behavior for the assistant to the assistant to the secretary?

Nope. Anthym would have a fit if she knew what I was doing when I was alone in Mr. Richmond’s penthouse.

I dipped into a slightly shaky curtsey in front of the fireplace. It was gas, not wood burning, but you could still roast a marshmallow in it. Not that I had. I was tempted though.

I missed beach bonfires, and I missed the ocean.

I pulled the massive glass sliding door open and slipped out onto the terrace. The Brazilian hardwood decking was as empty and as devoid of furniture as the living room. One single sad teak lounge chair huddled at the edge of the pool.

The pool water rippled with the breeze. It wasn’t super windy though. The terrace was protected all around by ten-foot-tall panes of glass. Twice a month the window cleaners came out to make sure they were extra clean.

I went to one corner of the terrace and looked out.

I wasn’t admiring the skyline. I was looking out at the ocean. We were so high up you could see the Atlantic, an expanse of blue past the gray of the city.

I closed my eyes, imagining that I was back in Florida, my toes digging in the hot sand instead of pinched in cheap plastic heels. It was warm there, and the sounds of the sea soothed me.

I opened my eyes before I could start crying from homesickness.

“At least you can see the ocean,” I reminded myself. “Let’s think positive and count our blessings.”

Maybe I would feel better when it was warmer.

Winter in Manhattan had been, well, extremely unpleasant actually.

During the summer, when Mr. Richmond was off on a business trip, I was so buying an inflatable unicorn and using that pool.

“Speaking of blessings,” I reminded myself when I walked into the kitchen that was literally bigger than my parents’ house and in which I had never seen a single scrap of evidence that Mr. Richmond had ever cooked anything ever.

I opened the large fridge and regarded the bounty within.

It was Tuesday, and on Tuesdays I cleaned out the fridge.

I grabbed my backpack. Out came multiple reinforced reusable grocery bags and three insulated bags. Yesterday I had pre-stashed ice packs in Mr. Richmond’s freezer. He hadn’t noticed them in the past three months, so I felt safe with my plan.

Remember what I said about billionaires getting whatever they wanted?

Mr. Richmond wanted his fridge stocked with food—veggies, fancy cuts of meat, fruit, organic yogurt, milk, cheese, and other goods from those fancy imported food stores that make you wonder if they’re some sort of money laundering front, because who in their right mind could afford to shop there? Then every single Tuesday afternoon, he would have it all thrown away and new food brought in Wednesday morning.

My boss never ate this food. In fact, he had a chef who cooked. Sure, sometimes the chef would use ingredients in the fridge, but I always did an inventory on Wednesday, and a week later, ninety percent of the food would still be there.

“And he wants to throw all of this food away,” I said indignantly as I cleaned out the fridge.

Anthym had been very clear when I started that I was not to let anyone take this food home. Mr. Richmond wasn’t going to use it but also didn’t want anyone to have it.

“Dingleberry. Like there aren’t needy people in this city.”

Anthym had even said that Mr. Richmond expressly wanted one of his assistants to throw out the food because he thought the cleaners would take it home.

“You can’t trust the cleaners,” Anthym had lectured me on my first day on the job. “They’re shiftless. Just like that concierge. They’re all in cahoots.”

Well, they couldn’t trust me either.

“Oh my goodness, he has scallops,” I said, swooning as I pulled all of the groceries out of the fridge. “It’s a crime to throw these away.” I sniffed a huge slab of smoked salmon. “Delectable.”

The fancy cuts of meat went into one of the freezer bags. The herbs were carefully packed in a canvas grocery sack, and the fancy cheese and dairy went into another cold storage sack.

“Be still my heart,” I cried when I saw several familiar red boxes.

They were from Alessio, the premier, most expensive and exclusive restaurant in the city. In the largest box was handmade pasta in a rich cream sauce. The next held a duck confit and roasted potatoes that would crisp up nicely in my oven. The third held a slightly limp Caesar salad, and the fourth held a slice of my favorite dessert—ten-layer cake with chocolate ganache, hazelnut mousse, raspberry glaze, and raspberry mousse.

I wanted to sit there on the floor right then and take a huge bite of the cake.

“You’re on the clock,” I reminded myself.

I wouldn’t put it past Anthym to perform a surprise checkup now that she had me in her crosshairs.

I hastily stashed the takeout boxes in one of the canvas sacks and then set to work wiping out the fridge, prepping it for the next round of expensive groceries that Grayson Richmond wouldn’t touch.

Chapter 6

Grayson

I dreaded and looked forward to Tuesdays, though with Lexi it was more on the dread side today.

I waited around after the nonfiring, watching as the hour hand moved to one thirty. Then I headed across town.

It was after the lunch rush, and Alessio wasn’t crowded. I nodded to the hostess and headed to the bar to place my lunch order.

There was one specific spot I liked to stand at, because at that spot the mirror was perfectly angled to offer a clear view of the round booth by the corner window.

She was there. She was always there on Tuesdays.

No, not the redhead, thank god.

I scowled, thinking of Lexi—her messy clothes, her unruly red hair, leaving me notes in my underwear drawer.

“Good to see you again, sir,” the bartender greeted me.

Behind me, I heard her laugh.

“Could I have today’s menu?” I asked in a low voice.

He slipped the embossed cardstock across the bar to me.

“Take your time.”

I didn’t actually study the menu. I wasn’t going to eat what I’d order anyway.

Isn’t this the mark of insanity, to do the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result?

“I’ll have the spinach salad,” I said when the bartender came back over, “the baked chicken, and the risotto.”

“You know,” the bartender said, “you can call ahead to order, and we can have it waiting for your assistant. You must be a busy man.”

He seemed slightly apprehensive when I frowned, thinking of Lexi at the restaurant, with her toxic positivity, glitter, and the slightly too-tight clothes.

I relaxed my features.

“I never know what I want to order until I arrive,” I murmured, not wanting to draw attention to myself. “But thank you for the suggestion.”

I waited and watched the mirror while the chef prepared the food, twisting a glass of water around on the coaster.

“Could you add dessert to the order?” I asked the server when he came out with the food.

At the table behind me, the children were laughing as the grandfather told a silly joke.

“Yes, sir. Any preference?”

“Whatever is on hand.”

“Cake? Cannoli?”

“Cake is fine.” Anything was fine. This was just an excuse to remain a little longer in the sumptuous space.

The clock ticked as one of the servers carefully cut a slice of chocolate cake for me.

“Thank you,” I said. “Oh, and could you add desserts for that table over there? Put it on my card.” I inclined my head slightly. “Just please tell them that it was compliments of the chef, not me.”

“Of course, sir.”

I lingered as I pretended to calculate the tip in my head and signed the receipt. Then I collected the bag of food I wasn’t going to eat and exited the restaurant.

“See you next week!” the hostess chirped.

The experience had left me drained. I set the food in the back of my car and sat there in silence.

“You still have more items on your list,” I said aloud. I wanted to go home. I was exhausted. But it wasn’t like I’d be able to sleep.

I turned on the car and wrapped a navy scarf around my neck and jaw.

The women’s shelter was a few blocks away on a narrow street. Outside several children were playing with Pokémon cards. I shifted the box I was carrying.

“You guys like Pokémon?”

The kids were immediately suspicious of me.

Good.

“I’ve got some here,” I told them, “to donate. You can ask the staff if you can have first pick.”

The kids perked up and raced ahead of me inside the shelter, talking excitedly about the cards they hoped they’d get.

“Just here with a donation,” I told the harried staff member who was trying to calm a sobbing woman. I set the box on the counter. “Some toys and games for the kids.”

Small ones that a child could keep safe in a modest bag and protect so the toys wouldn’t get left behind or broken.

“Also have Visa gift cards,” I said gruffly, “for anyone who needs one.” I handed her another, smaller box filled with plastic cards.

“Look at all of this!” the staff member exclaimed as she opened the larger box for the bouncing kids.

They dug in the box while the younger woman lifted the lid off of the smaller box and pulled out one of the prepaid Visa cards, five hundred dollars each, and sucked in a breath.

“This is this is very generous. Are you sure?”

Her eyes searched mine, probably wondering why anyone would randomly donate that much money outside of Christmas or Thanksgiving.

“I just like to give back,” I said with a shrug. 

“Can I get your name so I can give you a receipt for taxes?” she called. “If you wait a minute, I can get the form filled out.”

“I don’t need it,” I said, already leaving, scarf still in place obscuring my features.

The children were laughing in delight behind me as I left the building.

The car smelled like chocolate when I climbed back in. I cruised through the narrow city streets, taking the long way back to my penthouse, feeling like I was having to return to prison, wishing something, anything, would happen to keep me from having to go back to that glass cage.

“Better than a concrete cell,” I reminded myself. “Turn that frown upside down.”

I waited a beat then snarled.

That was what had been written on one of the notes I had found over the last few months in my penthouse. They were festooned with stickers, covered in glitter that got all over my clothes, and smelled like a teenage girl’s perfume.

Figures that the messy, obnoxious redhead on my payroll had written them.

I needed to make her quit. It was too much for a man to have to endure. Anyone who had that positive of an outlook on life could not be trusted. Life was endless suffering. At least for people like me.

I swung the black sedan around a corner then cursed the distracting thoughts. I had turned on Colonial Street, where people sold all sorts of knockoff goods, like clothes, purses, and hats. It was teeming with people even though it was quickly getting dark.

Most people were dressed like true New Yorkers in blacks, charcoals, and navy jackets, heads down, steely eyes, wary body language. Except for one young woman wearing a bright-yellow jacket, chunky pink sneakers, and a sparkly blue sequined purse.

I slowed the car to a crawl, scowl setting in my face, tensing my forehead, the back of my shoulders tight.

She had no sense of self-preservation.

And yet, I couldn’t stop staring at Lexi, the bright yellow of her coat like a flower poking through the ashes of a wildfire. I was very aware that I was in dangerous territory, especially since she worked for me. But it was like when my father first took me outside. Before then, my whole world had been underground—crowded and smelly, rotting plywood boards over clerestory windows—then one day, I’d seen the sun, so bright my eyes watered. I could still remember the way it had warmed my pale skin. It hurt to look at it, but I couldn’t turn away.

I wasn’t the only one.

There was a man hovering near one of the stalls, and he seemed too interested in Lexi.

Chapter 7

Lexi

“You are a godsend!” my downstairs neighbor cried when she opened the door to see me standing there.

Maria and her sister, her elderly mother, and her sister’s disabled twin boys shared a small one-bedroom apartment in my apartment building. I knew that money was tight for them since Maria’s sister couldn’t work and the boys needed a lot of medical care. The food I brought by every week was a big help for their family.

“Bless you, bless you, and bless your boss. What a wonderful man, that Mr. Richmond.” Maria’s mother hobbled over to me balancing on her cane.

I grimaced. “That’s a reach. My boss doesn’t know I’m giving this food away. He’d be pretty angry if he knew.”

“He would be happy if he knew how much this helped us,” the elderly woman insisted.

Maria started crying when I handed her the package of steak.

“And butter! We don’t need to go grocery shopping this week.”

Every week when I made my delivery, they were effusive with thanks. Nothing warmed the soul more than doing a good deed. Not that I needed any extra incentive to steal-slash-rehome food from Grayson Richmond.

“I can’t give you all the eggs,” I said apologetically. “Sheila’s husband isn’t supposed to eat meat, and I was going to let her have some eggs for him.” 

“Of course, take all these eggs.” Maria handed me the carton. “The steak is plenty for us.”

“Take some chicken too,” I said, stuffing the package in her hands. “I know the boys like it.” 

While all the food Mr. Richmond ordered was way too much for one person, it didn’t go as far as I would like for the residents in the narrow, dark 1920s apartment building.

It was much cooler on paper than in reality. The hex-tile mosaic in the foyer was blackened with soot from the decades when Manhattan was heated by coal. The wall covering was grungy, and the elevator hadn’t worked since the nineties. McKenna and I regularly had to assist elderly residents up and down the stairs.

“I better go take these up while they’re still cold. You all enjoy!”

The lights in the narrow stairwell flickered as I headed upstairs to pass out free food to several elderly neighbors. Manhattan was expensive, and everyone was appreciative of the food, as it would help them make ends meet.

“I hoped you save some of that booty for us!” Grenadine called as I used my shoulder to push into the small studio apartment I shared with McKenna and her grandmother.

“Scallops, cheese, some chicken thighs,” I said as she and McKenna unpacked the now mostly empty bags.

“Any booze?” asked Grenadine, who did not want to be referred to as Grandma, because she wasn’t old goddamn it, and we could just call her Grenadine, so named on account of her father being a bartender. 

“Mr. Richmond’s going to notice if one of his eight-hundred-dollar bottles of wine walks off. Not to mention, Anthym already has it out for me,” I said as I unpacked the bags. “I keep expecting her to pop out of the toilet to yell at me about not curtsying low enough to our esteemed CEO.”

Reptilian nails scratched on the linoleum floor, and Gizzy, my rescue iguana, trudged out from under the bunk bed, his five-foot-long body swaying with each giant step.

“How is mommy’s big boy?” I cooed at the iguana. I’d saved him during a hurricane when I was younger, and we had been best friends ever since. We both loved to eat, we both liked to chill with a Disney movie, and neither of us liked Manhattan all that much—Gizzy because it was cold, and me because I had the worst boss in the world.

“Do you want a treat?” The large blue iguana tipped his head back, and I scratched his throat.

“I swear every time I see that thing, he gets bigger and bigger,” McKenna remarked.

“It’s like having my own dragon,” I said gleefully.

Gizzy nuzzled me, seeking warmth.

I grabbed a knife and cut up a zucchini for him while he paced around my feet, tail thumping against the peeling cabinet doors.

“You need to start sucking up to whoever is doing Mr. Richmond’s shopping,” Grenadine said, inspecting the shrimp. “You know, give him one of those emotional blow jobs.”

“My compliments are wholesome,” I protested.

“McKenna told me all about how you sexually propositioned the big boss in the park. I’m a terrible influence on you.” Grenadine cackled. “Don’t make that face. I’m the one who’s going to sleep with the building owner to keep them from raising the rents.”

“This is a rent-controlled apartment building,” I said automatically. “They can’t raise rents above city-prescribed levels.”

“Just you wait; they’ll find a way.”

“Let’s try to think positively,” I said. “You sound like our boss.”

“I’d do your boss,” Grenadine hollered.

“I wouldn’t,” I muttered.

I set the leftovers down on the cot that I used as a bed.

“I can’t believe Anthym is still letting you clean out the fridge,” McKenna marveled as she scooped the potatoes onto a metal tray, dropping one down for Gizzy, who was a basically a walking garbage disposal. “She never let me clean out his fridge.”

“I can’t believe he doesn’t eat any of this,” I said, taking a bite of the cake because, hey, I’d had a hard day and I’d walked up all those stairs. “A meal at Alessio costs more than my rent.”

“One man’s trash is another woman’s treasure,” McKenna quipped, stealing a bite.

“I think Anthym is trying to show Mr. Richmond”—I spat out the name—“that she’s more than just a gopher. I think she’s trying to make him think that she’s totally wife material, that she can be a good corporate spouse.”

“You think?”

Grenadine scoffed as she started washing the arugula. “Women like her? I bet the only reason she took that job was to get her shot at snagging Grayson Richmond. I used to work with girls like that back in the secretary pool. Always angling for one of the men in upper management. They would time it with their fertility so they’d get pregnant on date number three.”

“Yikes.”

“Can’t imagine anything would be worth carrying the spawn of Satan.” I scooped the duck confit into a pan on the stove and the pasta in another.

The studio apartment was too small for a microwave. I’d found one in a dumpster, but the electrical circuit had blown out when I’d tried to plug it in, so we heated food the old-school way, according to Grenadine, like they did in the seventies using a plate with tinfoil on top.

The steam keeps the food nice and moist, I told myself. Every cloud has a silver lining. Every single cloud.

Even the depressing cloud named Grayson Richmond?

Even him.

“Who wants a corporate robot?” Grenadine added as the apartment filled with the mouthwatering smell of duck-fat-fried potatoes. “Me? I’m angling for a hockey player. You know, one of those big dumb brutes with a cock the size of an eggplant.”

I crossed my legs and winced.

Grenadine patted me. “You’re making that face because you’re still a virgin. Just you wait.”

“Grenadine, you’re not going to find a hockey player,” McKenna said with a groan.

“She might. She just has to believe in herself,” I reminded my friend.

“Damn right. Dream big. You’d be surprised. Older women are very popular on porn right now.”

“La la la!” I stuck my fingers in my ears.

“Branch out, Lexi. You can’t get off on a Disney movie,” Grenadine lectured me.

The potatoes were sizzling in the oven, and the duck confit was steaming on the stove. The studio apartment was cozy and warm. Who cared about having a huge penthouse with a pool? Mr. Richmond’s penthouse would never feel homey, even if he did lose his mind and have all the fireplaces lit.

McKenna cleared off the card table and dished out the leftovers.

“Damn,” Grenadine said after taking a bite. “I think I just orgasmed.”

Alessio’s food was amazing—salty, fatty, melt-in-your-mouth bombs of deliciousness.

“I don’t know why anyone would want to be a billionaire if they can order food like this every week—shoot every day—but be so desensitized to the joys of life that they can’t even appreciate it,” I mused. “What kind of way is that to live?”

“I don’t mind being desensitized if I get to live in a fancy-schmancy penthouse and have people bring me anything I want when I snap my fingers,” Grenadine argued.

“I would just be glad not to have to wear business casual clothes ever again.” McKenna sighed.

“You’d think if Mr. Richmond wanted us to look like cute little Barbie dolls, he’d give us a clothing allowance,” I complained.

I ate my last potato then scraped the gravy off the plate with my fork.

“I can’t believe Anthym had the nerve to call me out about repeating outfits. I wash them—well, sometimes,” I said to McKenna’s expression. “And it’s cold right now anyway, so that means you don’t sweat as much.”

“Maybe you could buy a few more outfits,” McKenna said delicately.

“I have clothes.”

And I did.

“That was how this whole mess started. I could be flying under the radar right now repeating outfits and leaving anonymous notes in my boss’s underwear drawer. But oh no, I needed to try to tempt fate and buy pants a size too small.”

“Pants especially,” Grenadine said sagely. “That’s just asking for trouble.”

“Not that Anthym would allow us to wear them,” McKenna complained. 

“Instead I have Grayson Richmond convinced I’m going to single-handedly destroy the sanctity of Richmond Electric and Anthym convinced that all the ovaries on Manhattan are going to implode if I don’t do my feminine duty and pay more attention to my appearance.”

“This is why body positivity is so important,” McKenna said, tapping her fork on her empty plate for emphasis. “If you loved the skin you were in, you wouldn’t have been out there running at the butt crack of dawn.”

I checked my Minnie Mouse watch. 

“Hot date?” Grenadine waggled her eyebrows.

“As if. I need to not lose my job, and that means I need a shirt that stays closed.”

***

While Manhattan was no Florida, and especially no Disney World, I firmly believed that anywhere you went had something special to offer; you just had to find the inherent good in the place. Then you were home.

Colonial Street was where I felt at home. It wasn’t just that you could buy anything there at a price that would make Dollar General blush, and I do mean anything. That’s where I got my laundry detergent and toys for Gizzy, not to mention work clothes. If you went at a certain time, locals would be selling homemade snacks for a little extra income. Tamales, Jamaican patties, lángos, any street food that was served quick and piping hot could be had on Colonial Street for a fraction of restaurant prices.

“You can’t really count Alessio as dinner,” I told myself as I bit into a piping-hot roll filled with smoked brisket. “We all split a meal, so it was more of an appetizer. Besides, you’re not supposed to go shopping on an empty stomach.”

I bought a hot spiced chai from a couple of teenage girls out with their mom and sipped it as I wandered down the street. Cars crawled by, sometimes stopping to call out to a vendor to make a purchase.

This was pure New York City. Everyone in my small Florida town had been aghast when I’d announced I was moving to Manhattan, but this here was community. It didn’t feel like being in a big anonymous city at all.

It was unbelievable that Grayson Richmond was missing all of this sitting in his fancy penthouse.

I suddenly felt guilty.

This wasn’t who I was. Mr. Richmond clearly needed someone to help bolster his spirit. I shouldn’t leave him to wallow in his grumpiness. I needed to bring him out of his shell. That was the type of good deed Lexi Collins liked to pride herself in.

But he was just such a drag.

I’ll just leave him some extra motivational notes, I decided.

Then thought, And I’ll buy him samosas.

One samosa. Uno. Even if he didn’t deserve it.

I doubled back through the crowd. The streetlights were on, and I wove through the shoppers, trying to find the samosa seller.

I peeked down one of the alleys, thinking I heard the seller’s music. Colonial Street was located in one of the older areas of New York where the grid was a nest of alleys and back passages squeezed between buildings.

The air in the alley was chilly and damp.

Maybe this was a sign from the universe that Mr. Richmond hasn’t yet earned a samosa.

“You looking for something?”

I turned. A man was blocking my exit.

“Just the samosa stand, but I think I changed my mind,” I told him with a smile.

He didn’t move.

“It’s a great night out, isn’t it?” I said, feeling slightly apprehensive.

Mr. Richmond’s negative attitude is rubbing off on you. This isn’t the 1980s. New York is perfectly safe.

The man took a step toward me.