Spoiled

by Elizabeth Cash

  “Well, don’t you have a merry tone when you answer the phone for your clients.” I bite out.

  “What can I do for you, Cora?” He replies. Sean Rogers is my go-to guy when I need anything. He is also my personal PI.

  “I need everything you can get on Laura Vincent.”

  “I will have it to you in the morning.” Then he hangs up. I like Sean. He is an older guy, mid-fifties, with a no-bullshit attitude who loves money and hates people. Basically an older male version of me. I trust him and his ability to get the information I want. He knows that when I call him on my personal phone that it’s not work-related. He also knows that if he can give me everything I need in a timely manner, that he will see a nice deposit in his bank account.

  I gather my things, decide that I will leave early today and meet up with my personal trainer. I text him on my way out and tell him to be at my house in an hour and not to be late. I have a lot of pent-up aggravation I need to get out, and there is no better way, besides sex, than to work it out with a few jabs to someone’s face.

  Chapter Nine

  “Make sure you keep your hands up. You can’t let your guard down.” Nial says, placing my hands back in front of my face. Nial is my personal trainer and literally the only man I have ever allowed to tell me what to do. Then again, he has too. It’s his job to train me and keep me fit. Today is sparring day, and I’m getting even more aggravated that it isn’t helping. Listening to the laugh that came from Micah when Laura was in his office has me on edge and completely pissed off. What the hell could have been so funny? She’s a plain Jane with nothing to offer.

  “Cora! Hands up!” Nial barks at me, “What if this was a real altercation?”

  “Then hit me!” I spit back, getting annoyed with his banter, “Hit me and see what I do!”

  He looks at me like I lost my damn mind but I keep going. I smack his padded helmet with my gloved hand. “Hit me… smack… hit me!... smack… HIT ME!”

  Before I can block it, Nial brings his right fist up, uppercutting me in the chin. It just makes me laugh, and it pisses him off. “Again!”

  This time, I take my helmet off and my gloves, putting my hands in front of my face.

  “You’re fucking nuts. Put the gear back on,” he says, stepping back with his hands in the air.

  I shake my head and bounce on my feet. I need some kind of excitement in my life right now and if this is what I have to do until I get Micah, so be it. “Put the gear—”

  Tackling him to the ground before he can finish his sentence, I land on top of him. Nial lets out a grunt when his body hits the ground. It’s true what they say: the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Sitting up with my thighs squeezing his midsection, I began punching him. I’m about to hit Nial again when he catches my hand with his left one and strikes me with his right. The force of the blow is enough to knock me off of him. Nial uses this advantage to roll over and pin me down. In the process, he has managed to take his helmet off.

  Nial is around five foot nine and built like a fucking Mac truck. All muscle and no fat. He has bright green eyes and a sexy man-bun. I never really liked them until I met Nial. His bearded face makes him look a bit older than he really is but in a mature style.

  Out of breath and bleeding, he looks at me. “You are fucking nuts, Cora!” He lets me go and stands up, holding his hand out for me to take, “And you’re bleeding.”

  Getting to my feet, I give him a devious smile. “Maybe being man-handled and hit turns me on. Or maybe the taste of blood gets me off.”

  “Stop.” He holds his hands up, shaking his head. “That’s way too much information.”

  “Whatever, Prince.”

  And Nial is gay. Which is a damn shame and a waste of a dick, if you ask me. I would have jumped him the day he walked into my home, but he set ground rules, and I have been a good girl, following each one. Well, except for the one I just broke. No sparring without the protective gear. I mean, fuck! I need something to help me. This one-sided cat and mouse game is killing me, and it’s only been one day since I decided I want Micah as mine. I watch Nial pack up for the night.

  “Next time, keep the gear on.” He says, waving at me as he leaves.

  Walking out to my patio, I sit on one of the lawn chairs and lean back. The chilled air cools my sweat covered skin. The best part about my house is how far out from the city it is. I can actually see the stars in the sky and hear the woodland critters. It’s a complete one-eighty. City lover by day, country lover by night, although I’m not technically in the country. Lighting up a cigarette, I inhale the toxic smoke and enjoy the burn the first drag brings me. This is the only horrible thing I allow into my body because it helps me de-stress. I’m not a chain smoker by any means nor do I smoke more than one pack a week. One pack actually lasts me a month long, sometimes longer, depending on if I can get something better, more potent, more herbal. Exhaling, I watch as the smoke billows out of my lungs and into the night air. My phone chimes and I see a text from Sean saying he has already emailed me everything he has found. Impressive. I will look at it tomorrow morning when I don’t feel like slitting her throat for going near what’s mine.

  ***

  My office smells fresh and, for once, the chemical scent left behind doesn’t bother me. Nothing will bother me today. Opening my Macbook, I power it on and wait for it to load. I watch as all the busybodies worry themselves about what they have to do and the lazy people sit around, pretending to give a shit about their jobs. Nothing will bother me today! When the screen lights up and the tabs load, I click on the Gmail logo and wait for my emails to pop up. I ignore all the work-related shit and go straight for the email Sean sent. The page displayed on my screen is now of one Miss Laura Vincent. Twenty-five-year single mother. She lives with her parents and is going to school to get her MBA. She weighs approximately one-hundred-fifteen pounds and is five foot two. Divorced and collecting minimal child support from her ex-husband. God, what a sad life she lives. And she has a child. I can only imagine what it did to her body. Repulsive! I read every single letter, punctuation mark, line, number, sentence, everything, until I get to the very bottom of the page and there is nothing left for me to read. Two pages of depressing, boring, unimpressive bullshit.

  I can change that.

  Punching in Derek’s office extension on my desk phone, I wait for him to answer. After a few seconds, he picks up.

  “Derek Graham.”

  “God, don’t sound so cordial,” I say, swallowing my laugh.

  “Ha-ha, funny. What’s up?”

  “Can you send in Laura Vincent. Intern, seventh floor, office six.”

  “You got it.” Before I hang up, Derek calls my name, “Cora?!”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t be a bitch.”

  I laugh at his remark and hang up before he can say anything else. I think what I’m about to do is far from bitchy. In fact, I feel as though it is borderline bleeding-heart status. Which is unlike me. It doesn’t take long before I hear a knock on my office door. I sit up straight and smooth out my black Armani dress.

  “Come in.” I call out in a sing-song voice.

  Laura steps inside and waits by the door.

  “Come all the way in. Sit.” I tell her.

  I need her to sit for this. When she is finally in front of me, still and quiet, I stand up and walk around my desk. Laura watches me closely the whole time, not saying a word. I like her already. So eager to please without saying a fucking word. Adorable.

  “Uh, you needed to see me?” she says meekly, after a minute of me looking at her.

  “I did.” I reply, confirming her question. “I have a proposition for you. One I think you will love.”

  She scrunches her face and brings her fingers up to her mouth. I guess that a nervous tick. A very nasty one. She doesn’t say anything, instead just waits for me to continue.

  “I came into some information and I want to help you. I know you have a daughter and that you li
ve with your parents.”

  Her head pops up, and she opens her mouth, but I silence her before she can even mumble.

  “I’m offering you a PA job. You will work for me, making fifty-k a year, doing everything I ask you to and then some. That’s more than any PA or intern in this building and with that money, you can get your child into the charter school you were denied access to because, well, because you're poor.”

  Looking at her, I can tell she is on the verge of tears, but I don’t let up.

  “There is only one condition, and if you disagree, I will fire you!”

  This side of me must be new to her, or she really is just that much of pussy. Or maybe I'm just ruthless. I don’t care either way. But Micah will never know of this. Not if I have anything to do with it. Which reminds me, my condition.

  “You stay away from Micah. No elevator rides, no office visits, no stolen glances from afar. You cater to me when I need you, and that’s it. The rest of the time you are on the seventh floor doing my dirty work.”

  “I just wanted my briefcase,” she whispers.

  “Whatever. Do you want the job?”

  She chokes on her words for a second before she nods her head frantically.

  “Yes. Thank you!”

  She holds her hand out for me to take, but I grimace and she retracts it, her face turning red.

  “No more gnawing on your fingers,” I tell her. Laura looks down at her feet and nods. “Day one starts now. Get me a coffee from Starbucks. A double espesso, black.”

  Chapter Ten

  Micah

  Three knocks. That’s all I get. I don’t have enough time to say “come in” before my office door flies open. I close out my browser on instinct, expecting to see Her Highness half naked and looking to do me another “favor.” Instead, I’m faced with a frantic intern, Tiffany, whose skin is so pale I’m sure someone just died. Whatever it is, it can’t be good as the usually congested and mostly meek intern races to my desk.

  “What’s up? You okay? You look like you saw a ghost or something.”

  She plops down in the chair across from my desk and reaches for tissues as long strands of blonde hair fall over her face like a veil.

  “I know. Sorry. I just can’t believe it. No one can. Even Ashley. I think she’s going to go home. I had to talk her out of quitting in the bathroom. I just don’t get it. It makes no sense at all. I mean, we’ve been here longer. Laura wasn’t even going to—cough, cough, sniffle—payroll meetings. Mr. Duclos, did I do something wrong?”

  She’s speaking so fast I can barely keep up. The only word that really matters is “Laura.” The last I knew, Laura was taking the day off. I’d assumed, when I didn’t see her this morning, that she’d been too mortified about Her Highness catching me fudging her hours to show her face. On the phone last night, our first actual conversation outside of work, she’d told me she was horrified and needed to maintain a low profile. I thought everything was okay. But judging by the tears in Tiffany’s eyes, something is very wrong.

  I inhale sharply, wishing Tiffany would leave my office. I’d just give her a call. Hell, after she came for her briefcase, we spent five hours on the phone just getting to know each other. Sure, it was mostly small talk and work, but still, it was progress far superior than to anything I could have hoped for. On the phone, Laura wasn’t so awkward. In fact, she was a hell of a lot of fun. She could tell you any actor in any movie ever made. She knew the signs of the zodiac and how they played into one another off the top of her head. She was just—easy. With her, I could be myself. What the fuck is going on?

  “Hold up. What are you talking about?”

  Tiffany has exactly three minutes to fill me in before I’m on the phone. I wish she’d stop yammering and get to the point. And for God’s sake, do something about that annoying cough!

  “Wait. You don’t know? I thought you guys sent memos?” Cough. Cough. “You don’t know, Mr. Duclos?”

  “Jesus. Just call me Micah. I don’t need all the formal shit. What happened?”

  “Laura.”

  My heart sinks while the nearly sobbing intern in my office blows her nose into a wad of tissues. At this rate, I’ll be out of them before she makes her point and certainly before she finally keels over from whatever the hell her issue is with congestion. Be patient. You’re not Cora. Find out what’s going on with Laura.

  “What about her?”

  “Miss Graham made her a PA. Her PA. It’s so unfair. She doesn’t even have her master’s yet. Hell, she’s a first year.” Cough. Cough. Pause. “We’re sick of it. You’re the only one we can go to. You’re the only one who cares.”

  “Wait. Back up. Laura Vincent?”

  “Yep. She’s Miss Graham’s PA now. She skipped right over me and Ashley. Ashley even went to her and asked for the position last week. But Laura, who doesn’t even follow the rules, got it? Like, why? Can you explain it to me, Micah? I’ve gotta—blow, snort, blow—tell the other interns something. I mean, they respect me. I’m the leader. I mean, that job should have been mine.”

  “Laura Vincent is now Cora’s assistant? Is that what you’re telling me? Isn’t Laura sick today?”

  Tiffany stares at me, nodding, pulling the tissue from her nose and holding it in front of her with the rest of the quickly-growing pile on her lap. Oh the Royal Germaphobe would love that—no wonder she didn’t give it to her.

  Tiffany leans over for more Kleenex. To help, and because I have no patience for this shit, I push the box forward.

  “No. She’s not sick. Didn’t you get the memo?”

  Exasperated, I pull open my email to scan the last thirty or so unread ones. When I see nothing of the sort, I do a search for Cora Graham. Still, nothing. I try again, this time, for Derek. Bingo. There it is. I can hardly believe what I’m reading as Tiffany yammers on about how unfair it all is. And since when does Derek do Cora’s dirty work? This should have been Bob’s announcement to make. Bob is the director of HR.

  What the fuck would trigger this? Two days ago, Miss Thing was in my office “letting it slide” that I’d rigged Laura’s hours. What the hell is happening? She’s up to something. What is this?

  As if she can read my mind, my office phone lights up with the She Devil’s extension—709. She should change that shit to 666. I press my finger to my mouth and give Tiffany a look that tells her not to speak. I mouth the word “Cora.” She shakes her head vigorously and covers her mouth.

  Grinding my back molars, I answer the phone, “Hey Boss Lady, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Well, hello, Micah. I’m just calling to see if you happened to have the numbers for the Corskey account. They’re waiting on us you know.”

  Since when the fuck does Her Highness give two fucks about the Corskey account? That’s Derek’s. What the hell is going on?

  “I sent them to Derek last week. Did he give you the account?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, love. Hadn’t you heard? My brother and I are partners. What’s his is mine, you know.”

  I ignore the term of endearment. The fake drooling off her tone is so strong I can taste it. It tastes as bad as that expensive perfume she reeks of. Just thinking of it, I want to spit it out.

  Tiffany coughs. Then, comes the hacking fit. So much for the quiet.

  “Oh. Are you busy now? Naughty boy, Micah. Should I call you back later?” Cora asks.

  Her tone is instantly back to the She Bitch I know and love to hate. It’s in this moment when I see through her like a piece of plastic wrap over a three-day old sandwich. Her shit is moldy old. I’m over it. Okay bitch. Game on. Clearly, Boss Lady wants to play. Bring it. My mother prepared me for years of how to handle narsasistic injury. Not only do I know how to inflict it, but I know when to throw salt at it, too.

  “Actually, yes. I’m here with Tiffany. Lovely girl. Just perfect! I heard about your new assistant. How kind of you. I sort of felt bad for her, too, if you know what I mean.”

  Tiffany’s he
ad springs up. I put my finger to my lips again, sssshhhhing her.

  Cough. Cough. Cough.

  Jesus, that hack of hers could be useful.

  “What the hell does that mean, Duclos?”

  “I’m just thanking you. You know, being appreciative. You should try it out.”

  “Thanking me for what, exactly?”

  “Tiffany’s the leader. She’s closest to earning her degree.”

  I smile at the red-faced intern in front of me who’s managed to choke down her spew for the moment.

  “Surely, you realize she’s the most qualified. I thought I’d be the one stuck with the rookie. You did me a favor, so I’m thanking you.”

  “But—”

  Don’t give her the chance. The one who cares the least has the most power.

  “Thanks, Boss Lady. So anything else I can do for you? I’ll forward you the stuff from the Corskey account I sent to Derek. In fact, I’m sure you could have Laura get those for you, too. Make her earn those extra hours, you know?”

  “Nope, Micah. That will be all.”

  “Okay, Boss Lady. And thanks again. I thought I’d have to waste my time hand-holding a rookie. Such a relief, really.”

  “Yep. Any time. Glad to help out.”

  “Bye now. Have a great day.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The fuck. This is not happening. Not like this. I dial Laura’s number for the third time in a row. There’s no way she’s still at the office. It’s damn near eight. Still, it goes to voice mail. I give up. I look like a freaking stalker. The chicks from the bar would kill for me to act like this. If I had any brain at all, I’d focus on them and be content. The one who cares the least has the most power. It’s a mantra I repeat to myself again like I have all day, fully realizing I’m now giving all my power away to an apprentice with a crooked smile. Worse, there isn’t much I can do about it. I’m turning into fucking Cora. Thank God I have the bar tomorrow. I need an escape.

  I pull into my driveway and have my shirt torn off before I even hit the shower. Still sweaty from the gym, I decide to pull out the air valve for my broken bike. Maybe I can be productive tonight and finally fix it. Nothing beats a shit case of She Devil like a long ride at night. I’ve missed it, and it’s time to get back in the saddle. On the road, nothing else exists. It never did. Not Cora. Not Laura. Not Sabrina, either. None of them.