I drain the contents of my glass, and mutter, “I’m right on top of that, Rose.”
After my first day at Anderson Capital, the ride home on the C-train didn’t seem so bad. My feet scream as I round the corner to our old brownstone. From the outside, you can’t tell the difference between it and the fancy ones in Williamsburg. The inside is a different story. Cracked paint covers the walls in the entryway. The mailboxes, which are lined in two neat rows of three, are rusted through on one side.
I climb the rickety stairs two at a time, teetering on my ruined heels. This morning I’d refused to be one of those commuters who carried sneakers in canvas bags, a decision I came to regret midway through my commute home.
Erin smiles at me from the edge of the kitchen as I stumble in, but it fades quickly when she sees the look on my face.
Her eyes drop to my feet. “What happened?” she asks, wiping her hands down the front of her bright pink apron. The house smells divine, but my feet are so tired, I shake my head and collapse on the couch before I even get a peek at what she has on the stove.
“The subway station in Midtown ruined my Wangs.” I kick off the boots and throw them under the drawing table in the corner that houses my sewing machine. Our apartment is more shabby than chic, an eclectic collection of items we’ve picked up along the way in the six years we’ve lived in the city.
Erin’s a free spirit. She likes loud colors and over-the-top pieces, while I’m partial to neutral colors and clean lines. Once, she and Megan tried to get me to wear a lavender dress, and I hid in the bathroom for an hour.
I lift Erin’s spring green blanket, which is still on the couch, up to my chin and deflect. “Have you left the house at all today?”
My twin rolls her eyes and goes back to cutting whatever it is that she’s chopping. Her chef career has gotten about as far as my fashion career. The city is brutal to young naive girls, and I guess we would both rather stay out of the metaphorical kitchen than get burned again.
“Never mind me,” she dismisses. “Aside from the boot thing, tell me about your first day.”
“Do you want the long version or the short version?” I ask, turning on my side so I can watch her from my spot on the couch. She’s a natural in the kitchen, a gene that skipped over me entirely. If it wasn’t for my sister, I’d starve.
“The short version.”
“A total Super Panda type of day,” I groan.
Erin turns to look at me, a shiny knife dangling from her hand. “That bad?”
“The boots aren’t even the worst part.” I bend my knee so I can rub out some of the soreness in my foot. “What is that in your hand?”
Ignoring my question, she turns back to the stove and pops a lid on whatever it is she was cooking. “Say no more.” She disappears into the bedroom and comes back fully dressed—in my clothes—with a pair of flats for me. “Let’s go.”
“We can’t afford Super Panda,” I moan. We can’t afford anything.
“We couldn’t afford your shoes or my knives either, but we found a way.”
“True,” I start, then narrow my eyes. “Wait. What knives?” Surely not the knife set that costs just as much as my shoes. The ones she absolutely needed because her knives from culinary school didn’t have the custom bright red handle and matching bag.
“Don’t freak out.” A guilty look flashes in her eyes.
“You were supposed to be out looking for jobs, not shopping for new knives.”
“But you got your shoes!”
“Because you insisted.”
“Look, I’m going to find a job in a kitchen working for a badass lady boss, but when that happens, I’ll need professional knives, not my beat-up old ones from school.”
I rub my temples. I’ve never had a migraine before, but I’m pretty sure it’s the root cause of the dull throb manifesting inside my skull. “I can’t live under the bridge, Erin.”
She throws her arm around my shoulders, her gray eyes boring into mine. Our faces are identical, save for the tiny scar on the side of my chin. I got bit by a dog when I was six. I’ve been terrified of them ever since. “Look, Ellie, we got this. I’ll pick up a few extra shifts at Woody’s until you get your first paycheck, then I’ll devote all my free time to finding a job, okay?”
Inhaling, I nod, hoping she’s right because hope is just about the only thing we can afford. “Now, let’s get some Super Panda.”
“What about what you were cooking?” I jerk my thumb toward the kitchen.
“That was just ramen with a can of green beans and the leftover herbs I got from Mrs. Martin’s community garden. We can eat it tomorrow.”
I nod, linking arms with my sister. Ten minutes later, we make it the three blocks to Super Panda, the best all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet in Brooklyn. It has become like a second home to us. Whenever we have a bad day or start missing Dad, we gorge ourselves on simple carbohydrates and MSG. It’s like our little oasis in the middle of the bustling city.
The bell above the door chimes as we enter. “It’s the twins!” Ming says rounding the podium, her arms wide. “Long time no see.”
Erin and I grin at her before exchanging a glance. No doubt, she’s reliving the month when we practically lived at the little restaurant. Super Panda is where we went when the going got tough. Our dad used to say, there’s no hurt that an all-you-can-eat buffet can’t fix. We’d had an okay run after the disaster that was Erin’s last restaurant job. Things were finally starting to go back to normal for us, and then, bam! Our dick landlord decides to raise our rent.
“Yeah,” Erin says, hugging Ming around the middle. “Life surprisingly didn’t suck for a while.”
“You girls want your usual table?” Ming asks. We nod and follow her back through the quiet restaurant. The smells from the buffet have my mouth watering. The power of Super Panda.
“Me first.” I grin, dropping my stuff off at the table before making a beeline for the fried rice. My spirits seem to be lifting for the first time since I realized Mr. Anderson was the same jerk from the elevator. A hot jerk. A hot jerk who, under different circumstances, I would have flirted with.
He’s trouble. Megan’s warning rings out in my mind. I wonder what that means. Something big is happening. I could feel the shift in the air after Mr. Anderson and Mr. Thomas returned from their meeting. Gone were the playful frat boys from earlier and serious businessmen stood in their wake.
I scoop a large portion of rice onto my shiny porcelain plate, then add an equally large amount of bourbon chicken, because of course, it’s Super Panda day and carbs don’t count. Two eggrolls later, and I head back to the table to tag Erin in. She grabs her food in record time, then pins me with her gaze.
“Okay, spill,” she says breaking her chopsticks.
I inhale, trying to decide where to begin. “I was already on edge from piss gate,” I tell her wrapping my lips around an eggroll. “Then I make it through security, a man who reminds me of Dad, by the way.” It’s a year since we’ve seen our father. We can’t afford plane tickets home, and whatever money he has that doesn’t go to the debt he amassed paying for two overpriced degrees, he sends to us.
“Aw,” Erin coos. Her gray eyes water, but she blinks the tears away. Our mom died when we were born, so we were raised by our dad and a slew of overbearing aunts. We are Daddy’s girls through and through.
“Then I get on the elevator, and it gets stuck.”
“Oh no.” She stifles a laugh, knowing full well about my claustrophobia. “It’s like there was a rain cloud following you around.”
“I’m not even done.”
“There’s more than pissy boots, a Dad clone, and getting stuck in an elevator?”
I take a sip of my Sprite and bob my head up and down. “I was trapped in the elevator with the biggest asshole you ever wanted to meet.” I leave out the part about me feeling his boner because, in light of the day’s events, I don’t think it’s relevant.
“What did he look
like?” She wiggles her brows, and her eyes go wide with the motion. I hate to admit it, but Max was right, we do kinda look like Bratz dolls. Fucking bastard.
“What does that matter?” I mutter, dropping my gaze to my plate. I’m sure my cheeks are bright red, and even if they aren’t, Erin and I have the whole twin thing going. She knows what I’m feeling before I’m feeling it, which in hindsight is probably why she didn’t leave the apartment all day.
“It matters,” she says.
“I mean, okay, he’s good-looking, but focus.”
“There’s more?”
“The hot douche is my new boss.”
Erin picks up a spicy tuna roll and raises it to my lips. “Oh, Ellie.”
I bite it and groan. “I know.” We eat and I tell her all about the Piss Girl thing, and Dexter and Jalen and everyone else at my new office. She gasps at the appropriate moments and makes jokes at the inappropriate ones.
After our second round of food, the remaining stress of the day drains from my body. As lonely as the city can be, at least I have my sister.
“So, do you have a picture?” Erin asks as she drops a plate of fried donuts between us.
“A picture?” I repeat, reaching for one of the sugar-covered balls of goodness. Thank God Anderson Capital has a gym. Between the cafeteria there and Super Panda, I’m going to need it.
“Yeah, like Google him. I want to see this hot boss who has your panties in a bunch.”
“My panties are free of bunches, thank you very much.” I dig my phone from my bag and Google Preston Maxwell Anderson III and ruefully hand over my phone.
I’ve never seen a finger move faster as Erin scrolls through the pages of tabloid reports, Financial Times articles, and paparazzi photos. “He has a thing for blondes.” She arches a brow, turning the phone to show me a picture of Max with a supermodel I recognize from Prada’s spring runway show.
“The exact opposite of me,” I say, and I may or may not be pouting about it.
“I thought you didn’t care?” she asks still scrolling.
“I don’t.” I shrug. “Just an observation.” The words come out self-conscious, and I tug on the end of my very dark and very textured hair just to keep my hands busy. I’m being stupid. Max is my boss and a dick. It doesn’t matter that he dates blonde supermodels because the only thing I want from him is a paycheck.
“Ohmigod!” Erin squeals. “Who’s the hottie with the perfect teeth?”
I peek at the phone. “Oh, that’s Mr. Thomas. He works on my floor, too. Remember, Jalen?”
“Lord, I’d be pregnant by the end of my first week,” Erin grunts.
“Okay, enough objectifying my bosses.” I snatch my phone from her and force myself not to look at the pictures.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
“Pray tomorrow is better, I guess.”
“To a better tomorrow.” Erin lifts her orange soda.
“To a better tomorrow.” I lift my Sprite and we clink glasses as I push aside all thoughts of Max and his stupid blue eyes.
“Good Morning, Mr. Anderson,” I chirp as the broody asshole breezes past my desk without so much as making eye contact with me. It’s been like this every day this week, and I’m not sure what I did to piss him off.
“Don’t take it personal, Ellie. He’s constantly PMS’ing.” Dex laughs, then schools his features. “No offense.”
I roll my eyes. This floor is in desperate need of an estrogen injection. The men—even the gay one—all act like Neanderthals. Though I love Dexter, he can be just as bad as Max and Jalen, a fact I gleaned more from eavesdropping than actually being invited into the conversation.
Max practically ignores me. The only time he even acknowledges my presence is when he’s asking where Dexter is. I thought I could make friends with Lynn, the receptionist, but she doesn’t seem to like me very much.
Jalen’s new PA seems promising, though. Winston is a recent Ivy League grad who apparently grew up with them. He arrived the day after me, and the redhead who used to work for Jalen got transferred to marketing.
“I just don’t understand what I did to make him hate me so much. I mean, he’s always been kind of a jerk, but at least at first, he was a funny jerk. Now, he’s just so cold.”
Dexter shoots me a sideways glance. “Daddy issues.”
“Ohhh.” I nod and slump back into my chair. “I don’t actually know what that means.”
Chuckling, Dexter says, “What I like to do when Max is being particularly brattish is quit.”
I snort, then take a sip of my coffee. “I can’t afford to quit.”
“I don’t mean really quit. Look.” He clicks a few keys on his desktop, then motions me over. The wheels on my chair squeak as I glide toward him. On the screen is a folder full of unsent emails. “I type up my resignation letter, detailing exactly what he did to piss me off, then I save it in my draft folder.”
“Why?” I ask, quirking my brow. My eyes scan the one he clicks into. Mr. Anderson. No, I will not stand in the rain to get you a dirty water dog from the cart in front of the stock exchange because there’s a perfectly FUCKING FINE CAFETERIA DOWNSTAIRS!!!!
Dex smooths down his powder blue tie. “This way, I’m able to express my frustrations without losing access to the state-of-the-art gym downstairs.”
“Ahhhh.” I tap my index finger against my forehead. “Smart.”
“I do have my moments,” he says with a flutter of his eyes.
We spend the rest of the morning going over how to access and edit Mr. Anderson’s schedule, how he likes his notes typed, and his preferred coffee order. All in all, the job seems pretty straightforward, though I know Dex is probably saving the hard stuff for week two.
When lunch rolls around, I am more than ready to visit Doris in the cafeteria. Winston is waiting near the elevator as I approach. “Hey.” He grins. His warm brown eyes light up from behind thick black frames when he spots me. It’s weird to think he grew up with Max and Jalen. He’s so different from them, less Gentlemen’s Quarterly, more Albert Einstein. It’s refreshing. I don’t think I could take another beautiful bastard on this floor. Plus, Winston is a little closer to me in age and life experience.
“Hey.” I grin back because it’s nice to not be the only newbie on the floor.
“I’m heading downstairs to grab a bite, you wanna join me?” His cheeks flush pink and he runs a hand through his messy sand-colored hair.
“I…umm…yes…” My smile widens. He’s not all growly and brooding like Max, but he’s kind of adorable. We ride the elevator down without incident and Doris hooks me up with a Caesar salad because that’s what proper ladies order at lunch, right?
Winston orders the same and gives me another one of his nervous smiles. “So, Ellie, tell me something no one else knows about you,” he asks once we are seated.
Pressing my lips together, I pretend to think. “I’m wholly underqualified for my job.”
“I’m pretty sure everyone knows that about you.” He chuckles, then snorts, then blushes.
I toss a piece of romaine at his head. “Okay, asshole. I have a twin sister named Erin.”
His eyes go wide. “There are two of you?”
“Yes, and if you get all pervy on me, I’m never having lunch with you again.”
It’s his turn to chuck lettuce across the table. “I resent that.”
Ducking, I say, “Your turn. How do you know Mr. Anderson and Mr. Thomas?”
Winston rolls his eyes. “My dad and their dads are best friends. Graham Sullivan?”
“Ohhhh, right,” I hiss. “Big-wig, nice.”
Winston’s eyes darken. “Not so much. Try growing up in that shadow. Plus, Jalen and Max hate me. I think it’s more punishment than anything else.”
“They hate everyone but each other,” I muse. “You think they’re banging?”
Winston snorts and he chokes on his salad. “I think I like you, Ellie.”
Tilting my head to
the left, I beam at him. “I think I like you too, Winston.”
We finish our food and I suggest we take the stairs, not wanting to tempt fate too many times in one day. My stomach is in knots the entire way. Lunch was nice, but now it’s time to go back into the trenches. I smile at Lynn as we pass, but the bitch pretends not to notice. Winston walks me to my desk. He dips his hands into his pockets and looks down at our feet. “Thanks for eating with me.”
“Thanks for inviting me.” My heart doesn’t beat nearly as fast as it does when Max is around, but maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe slow and steady is better than erratic and unpredictable.
“Same time tomorrow?” He chances a peek up at me, his brown eyes to my ash.
Biting my bottom lip, I start to nod, but something in my periphery catches my attention. “Get the fuck out of my office, Weiner,” Max growls.
Winston’s head snaps up and anger flashes across his face. Looks like Max has that effect on everyone. “Max, we’re adults. Can you leave the insults back in high school?”
Max strides over to us. He’s wearing a pair of black gym shorts and a matching compression shirt. Sweat rolls from the ends of his hair, down the sides of his face. That familiar pull has my body leaning toward him. He stands between me and Winston, just like he did with Jalen on my first day. “Get back to work,” he says slowly, menacingly.
Dexter eyes us curiously from his desk but doesn’t say a word.
Winston hesitates but ultimately remembers his place in the hierarchy and decides to keep his mouth shut. Turning to me, he grits, “Same time tomorrow, Ellie.” I nod and watch as he disappears down the hall.
Max’s shoulder blades rise and fall with each breath. I’m still as a statue, afraid that any movement will piss off my boss even more. The room is so tense, I feel like I’m going to explode. Finally, he turns and pins me with his gaze. “I don’t care if you have to eat lunch alone every day for the rest of your time here, but if you want to keep your job, you’ll stay the fuck away from Sullivan.” Then, without another word, he disappears inside his office.
Pretty Little Mess Page 4