“Thanks,” I deadpan, then scarf down the remains of my bagel. We throw our trash in the bins and make our way to the elevators.
“Seriously, El, just be careful. They are nice to look at, but don’t get caught up with those rich pricks. Their trust funds have trust funds.”
A pit settles in my gut as the car lifts us up to the twenty-ninth floor. I am wildly out of place in this beautiful building. I am the moon in daylight. The mixed-race Cinderella, dressed in borrowed clothes, pretending to be a princess.
The doors slide open. A pretty blonde flashes me a smile that resembles her chest—gigantic and fake.
A gentle shove from Megan sends me stumbling out into the lobby. “Do what I said and you’ll be fine.” I turn to say goodbye and watch as her eyes widen. “Mr. Anderson.” She nods behind me, just before disappearing behind the wall of metal.
Inhaling, you got this, Ellie, I face my future head-on.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Piss Girl.” The familiar voice sends tingles down my spine.
My stomach muscles clench and I turn to see those eyes. The darkest blue I’ve ever seen. His jaw ticks in amusement. Without his coat, I can see the outline of his muscled frame through the fabric of what is, no doubt, a very expensive shirt.
“Mr. Anderson?” I eek the question out.
The dick nods. “AKA your new boss.” A grin tilts the left side of his mouth and it takes everything I have not to turn and run in the other direction.
“Who’s Piss Girl?” Dexter asks, confusion creasing his brow. The lobby goes quiet, Ellie’s big round eyes blink up at me, a thousand unspoken please don’t tell lasers beaming in my direction.
I should take pity on her, it being her first day and all. And because she’s my new assistant, annnd because I did rub my dick on her a little bit in the elevator.
I should take pity.
I should—but I don’t.
“Ellie, your new assistant, is Piss Girl,” I tell him, straightening the links on my Cartier watch.
“Ellie will do just fine, thanks.” She thrusts her hand out toward me. Anger flashes in her ash eyes, but she quickly wipes it away and forces a smile on her ridiculously expressive face. The little angel on her right shoulder is telling her to play nice, while the devil on the left is urging her to tell me to fuck off. Piss Girl is broke, thus the angel wins.
“I am aware. If I recall correctly, you referred to me as a…what was the word you used?” I pause, tapping my fingers against my lips, pretending to search my memory for the ten-minute interaction that has played on loop in my brain all morning. As if she isn’t the only fucking thing I can think about. “Oh right, pompous asshole.”
Lynn gasps from her spot behind the reception desk while Dexter, the traitorous bastard, snorts. “I told you she has great instincts.”
“I didn’t know,” Ellie insists, throwing her hands up in frustration. Her bag goes flying—again, and singles litter the floor—again. The angles of her mouth turn down and a look of defeat furrows her brow. “I’m really, really sorry. Truly. I completely understand if you want to fire me.”
“I should fire you,” I say. Am I a dick for kicking her when she’s down? Yes. But to be fair, I don’t have any intentions of firing her. I just like seeing that desperate look on her face. A thousand scenarios play out in my mind of her under my desk, willing to prove just how sorry she is.
Jalen strolls out of his office at that moment, and his eyes zero in on my new toy. “You can work under me.” He grins, and the urge to shove my fist into his nose is strong. Thankfully, Dexter interjects before I’m forced to show my hand.
“No one is firing or re-hiring anyone.” He pins both Jay and me with a glare. “Leave the poor girl alone. It’s her first day, and I doubt she has experience working with overgrown man-children who are human resource’s worst nightmare.”
Jay shrugs, impervious to Dexter’s little tirade, and his eyes slide down her body.
I growl, a purely reactionary noise, that has nothing to do with my minor obsession with Piss Girl sucking me off, and everything to do with the way he’s eye-fucking her like a creepy uncle at a family reunion. Jalen isn’t bad looking, and we may have even shared women in the past, but Piss Girl is mine. Well…not mine, but she damn sure isn’t his.
HE has the nerve to cock his brow at ME. “Can I fucking help you?” I say moving between him and Ellie, and I swear if his eyebrow rises even a centimeter more, I’m going to rip it off.
“The Crypt Keeper just called. Our presence is requested upstairs ASAP.” The Crypt Keeper is my father’s best friend and second-in-command, a job that should belong to me, the way my grandfather wanted it. He built this company for his family, and as soon as he died, my dad turned the reins over to some asshole who spent his first two years of undergrad in community college. Yes, I hear the elitism in my tone, but Graham is a dick.
“Why?”
“Promotion?” Jay guesses. “I don’t know. The Mercy Project was huge, but his voice didn’t sound congratulatory.”
“Does he ever sound congratulatory?” I don’t bother to hide the bitterness in my tone. Despite the millions in revenue we’ve generated this year alone Jalen and I are still looked at as boys playing grown men games.
“Fair.” Jay’s eyes trail back to my newest possession and I lose my shit.
“Dex, Piss Girl,” I snap, gesturing for them to go on ahead. I don’t need Jay sniffing around Ellie. I tell myself it’s because I need her to be able to do her job when Dexter goes off for his big gay wedding and nothing to do with the fact that every time she opens her mouth, I fantasize about filling it with my cock. “I’m going to get my suit jacket. I’ll meet you up there.”
Jalen nods and disappears behind the metal. I scoop up Ellie’s bag and the three of us shuffle back toward my office like we’re about to film some sort of kinky cuckold porn.
“Show her the ropes,” I bark to Dex, tossing her shit on the empty desk next to his. I’ve got to get Piss Girl off my mind. Going upstairs is never a pleasant experience, and being hungover is enough of a distraction; I don’t need Ellie’s tits clouding my judgment too. “If she fucks up, it’s your ass—though you’d probably like it.”
Dex rolls his eyes and they both follow me inside my office. “She’ll be fine.”
“I’m right on top of that, Rose,” Ellie adds, then she does this awkward shuffle thing, linking her hands behind her back. The motion thrusts her chest out even further, and my eyes zero in on the outline of her bra pushing against the cheap fabric. Dexter looks at her in confusion, mouthing huh?
“Oh…I’m sorry. You just seem tense. So, I figured, I mean, you know, don’t worry about me. I’m right on top of that, Rose.” She lifts her thumb up and grins.
“What the fuck are you talking about and who the fuck is Rose?”
“It’s a movie quote.” She looks between me and Dexter for some confirmation. When she finds none, she continues. “Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead? The movie about the unqualified girl pretending to know what she’s doing? It’s fitting.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Do you want me to fire you?”
“It’s a cult classic. The eighties movie that doesn’t get enough credit, although, technically it was released in ninety-two.”
I roll my eyes. “Fucking girls and eighties movies. You were born in what, ninety-five?”
“Ninety-three,” she huffs in indignation. “It’s a movie; you don’t have to be born when it was released to have watched it. I have an affinity for the classics.”
Classics, as if John Hughes movies are in the same category as black-and-white films. I swing the jacket over my shoulders, buttoning the top button. “If you say so.”
“Would you rather I quote Friends?” She spits the word Friends out like it’s musty jizz.
“What do you have against Friends?” Dexter interjects, his voice laced with abject horror. That show is his only weakness. I almost fired him w
hen that shit came to Netflix. He was late every day for a week, and when he finally showed up, he was tired, erratic, and unfocused. I thought he was being abused, turns out he stayed up late binge-watching episodes of a show he’s seen seven million times.
“Besides the fact that a girl who works in retail and a line cook can afford an apartment in New York that size?” Ellie asks, bringing me back to the anti-Friends debate.
“It was rent controlled,” I retort, finding myself drawn into this dumb-as-fuck conversation, like I’m not about to dive headfirst into the shark tank knowing I reek of blood.
“Rent-controlled apartments that look like that is an urban legend.” Ellie crosses her arms over her chest, as if to say that’s that.
I stifle a laugh then school my features. I’ll let her have this one. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.
A wall of glass surrounds the conference room on the thirtieth floor. A massive oak table sits in the middle, five chairs on either side and one at the head. Most of the executive team is there already. They nod as I enter and take my seat.
“How was your weekend?” Karen, the Wicked Witch of the West…or East—whichever one was the evil bitch—asks.
“You know, the usual, cocaine, strippers, and high-risk sex,” Jay answers from the seat next to me.
“High-risk sex is the best sex, but you know that already, don’t you, Karen?” I smirk at the woman who would probably eat her young if she had to, but there’s no humor in it. I hate a lot of people, and many of them sit on my father’s board, but I think I hate Karen the most. My loathing for her began the day I walked in on her bent over my father’s desk. Back then, she was a low-level accountant with big aspirations, and I was a kid who thought my parents were madly in love.
Karen scowls. “It must be nice knowing nepotism got you a job.”
“Better than hoe-ism,” I shoot back.
My father walks in alongside the devil himself. The temperature in the room drops five degrees and everyone’s backs straighten. Even Jay clears his throat as my namesake, Preston Maxwell Anderson II, saunters into the room. “Good morning,” he bites, and it’s as if we are in trouble already.
He takes his seat at the head of the table and his eyes trail over to mine, doing his usual assessment. Nothing in the Anderson machine can be substandard, especially the heir apparent. “Maxwell.” He nods. Maxwell. When I was younger, I wasn’t good enough to be Preston. It bothered thirteen-year-old me, then I grew up and got my shit together. I started making a name for myself outside of the Anderson legacy, and I was glad to be Max.
“Father.”
“Max,” Graham says to me. My entire body tenses. Unlike Karen, Graham had never actually done anything to me personally, I just don’t trust him. Call it gut instinct, but it hasn’t steered me wrong yet. This company will be mine someday, and the first move I make when I take over will be to get rid of him.
Jay kicks me under the table, and it’s only then that I realize I hadn’t acknowledged his greeting. “Graham,” I bite out, peeling my eyes away from the man Jay and I have dubbed Crypt Keeper. Not so much for his looks, he’s no older than my dad, but for his personality.
The skin around his mouth lifts in a sinister smile, and that’s the shit I’m talking about. He always looks like he’s hiding something. When I find out what, Preston will have no choice but to promote me.
“I know we’re all busy, so I won’t keep you long,” my father says, beginning the meeting in the same manner he always does. “There have been some allegations.” He pauses. My hackles rise at the way he says the words. I try to catch his eye, but he stares ahead. “They are completely unfounded, of course, and our legal team has already taken care of the situation, but along with that, some changes have been made. I’ll turn the floor over to Rick, the head of human resources, to explain further.”
Rick’s cheeks redden as he stands and passes a stack of booklets around the table. “We’ve made some revisions to the employee handbook, ones which my team will spend the next week going over with your staff. There wasn’t a previous policy regarding workplace relationships, but in light of recent events, Mr. Anderson and Mr. Sullivan asked us to take out the gray areas. If you’ll all turn to page thirteen.” The crinkle of pages being turned fills the stagnant air. Something big happened, and judging by the look on my father’s face, I can only assume he had something to do with it.
I follow along as Rick reads the words aloud.
Workplace relationships and fraternization.
A. Employees are encouraged to socialize and develop professional relationships in the workplace, provided that these relationships do not interfere with the work performance of either individual or with the effective functioning of the workplace.
B. Romantic or sexual relationships between employees, regardless of one’s position within the hierarchy of Anderson Capital, is expressly forbidden. These relationships, even if consensual, may ultimately result in conflict or difficulties in the workplace. If any member of the staff is found engaging in said relationships, they will be terminated immediately.
There will be no exceptions.
Rick glances around the room before taking his seat.
“Thank you, Rick.” My father nods. He sucks in a deep breath, and his gaze drops to the table in front of him. I brace myself as I wait for the other shoe to drop. Lucky for me, I don’t have to wait long. “I have one more announcement to make. Effective immediately, I will be taking a step back from the day-to-day operations. I’ll still be in and out to tie up some of the projects I’m working on, but Graham will be stepping into the CEO role on a temporary basis. That will be all. Everyone back to work.”
The room is so quiet I can hear a phone ringing just beyond the doors. My heart slams against my rib cage as I watch my father and Graham exit, leaving the rest of us shell-shocked.
Jalen looks at me, but I wave him off. We wait as the other executives file out. Hushed conversations flow between them.
“I need to talk to him,” I mutter, standing on shaky legs.
“Max,” he says, his voice weary. It’s not pity, I know that, but the way he says my name makes me feel just as weak. The trouble with working with your best friend is that they know all your shit. Jay has been in the trenches with me this whole time. He knows me better than anyone.
“I’m fine,” I lie, clenching and unclenching my fist. I’m not fine. I’m far from fucking fine, but I need answers—answers this bullshit meeting didn’t provide.
“Don’t lose your head.” Jay squeezes my shoulder, then he’s gone, and I’m left alone in the empty conference room. It takes a full five minutes of deep breaths and counting to ten over and over before I’m calm enough to make the journey to my father’s office.
As soon as I see his face, all my counting and breathing go out the fucking window. I slam the door behind me and the glass rattles in the frame.
“What the fuck did you do?”
“It’s confidential,” he sighs, staring back at me. His eyes are so much like mine. It’s the only thing he ever gave me.
“Don’t give me that. Some new bullshit fraternization policy and at the same time, you just so happen to be stepping down?”
“I’m not stepping down. I’m taking some time away. Your mother’s condition isn’t getting any better. I need to spend more time at home.”
I see red. I can feel the wrath invade my nervous system. It’s like a mist seeping into my blood, boiling away rational thought and professionalism. “Don’t you fucking dare bring her into this. You don’t give a fuck about her. You got caught with your dick out—again.”
Those same eyes flare. He drops the pen he’s holding and stands. “Watch your tone, young man. I don’t care how much money you make for me, I’m still your father and you will respect me.”
“Like you respect Mom?” I press my palms into his desk, searing him with years of hate and resentment. I’m not thirteen and he doesn’t scare me anymore.
&
nbsp; “I’m not going back and forth with an entitled little asshole.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
“Leave, Maxwell.”
I sit down in the chair in front of his desk, making it clear that I’ll leave when I am good and goddamn ready.
Dad shakes his head, then goes and pours two fingers of scotch and gulps it down. “Some little tart made an unfounded accusation. It’s bullshit. A cash grab.”
“Did you hurt her?”
“No!” he shouts. He inhales, then smooths back his silver hair, and his mask slips back into place. I swear he’s a fucking sociopath. What my mother ever saw in him remains a mystery.
“She had to have something on you if lawyers are involved.”
“We had sex. It was consensual.” He points his glass at my head. “I swear to you, Son, I may be a lot of things, but a rapist isn’t one of them.”
“Does Mom know?”
“It’s been taken care of. I paid that little slut off. This information would only worsen your mother’s condition. Neither of us wants that.”
“You don’t give a shit about my mother. You’ve proven that time and time again.”
“She is my wife,” he defends as he pours another. “You don’t know shit about your mother’s and my relationship.” I pick up a picture of the three of us on a yacht in Spain. My mom is smiling at him with so much love. Her long brown hair is windblown. Freckles dot her sun-kissed cheeks. We look happy. It might have been the last time we were happy. “I know I don’t deserve her,” he says handing me my own glass, “but I do love her.”
We are silent for a moment. The weight of his statement settles over me. “Why Graham? Grandfather built Anderson Capital for his family. For me. I can do this.”
“You’re not ready.”
“I can do this,” I repeat. I’ve worked my entire life for this moment.
“You aren’t in control of your emotions. You aren’t ready. My decision is final, now get back to work.” He sits down in his chair and I can see the conversation is over.
Pretty Little Mess Page 3