His Temporary Assistant

I slumped back into my chair with a frown.

The comic was about the random life of Sylvia, the rescued fox, and her owner, Roz. It did not include a cat.

I reached for the eraser, but I couldn’t quite pull the trigger.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I couldn’t stop the grin as I swiped open my phone to read April’s text.

April: Thanks so much for helping out. Caramel and coconut things are bonus for bribery. Mr. Shaw has a sweet tooth. I know mornings aren’t your forte so you can definitely use that for backup.

I wished I could refute that, but I could not.

I hated and also loved that April knew me so well. Between the podcast and my bookings for tarot readings, I made a good living. Not a great one, but a decent one, thanks to the advertising we’d been able to add to the podcast. Because of that, I didn’t feel the need to do the nine-to-five schlock like the majority of my friends.

Yet another reason I’d said yes to April. Temping for her would give a nice boost to my not-so-cushy savings account.

Ryan: Funnily enough, I already went with the bribe for Monday morning.

April: Is that right? You’re still emailing him?

I tapped my finger along my top lip. Should I mention to April that we’d texted fast and furiously last night?

Nah.

I’d been a little too unprofessional in those texts. And maybe that clip from the podcast hadn’t been the smartest move. Not that PMS was any better, texting me out of the blue on a Friday night two steps away from midnight.

I’d just change the subject for safety’s sake.

Ryan: Kind of. Oh, and BTW, sending me wine is also a good bribe.

April: Already ordered and should arrive Monday. Did I say thank you?

Ryan: Yes. Perhaps the thank you should require more than just wine. This guy is a piece of work. Am I going to murder him by Friday?

I was kidding. Mostly. I

’d tried to put PMS out of my head. Yeah, I’d definitely put him in my phone as that. Preston Michael Shaw, Esquire—seriously? Could you get any more pretentious? I couldn’t wait to see what kind of repressed suit I’d be working for. Add in a little too much wine last night while I was editing the podcast I did with my other bestie, Luna…

Yeah, I should lock my phone down when there was alcohol involved. Things never went well.

And I’d probably given him the wrong idea about thirteen times based on my re-read of the text messages today. What had I been thinking?

I shoved up my glasses to perch on my head and went to refill my wine while I waited for April to reply. Now that I’d moved away from my desk, I realized I was hungry but not enough to go for a full meal.

The heat of the late afternoon had left me a little sweaty and always curbed my appetite.

I opened my tiny fridge in my equally tiny galley kitchen. There definitely wasn’t much to go on in there. I really needed to go shopping. Spotting spreadable wine cheese on the top shelf, I smiled—yes, please.

I hip-checked the door closed and reached for the box of Triscuits in the overhead cabinet. I shook the box with a disappointed sigh and didn’t bother with a plate. I’d definitely be finishing off the meager rattle of thin salty treats. I tucked my wine tumbler into the crook of my arm and padded over to the modernized Rococo couch that I’d bought from Kinleigh & August’s Attic.

Kinleigh Scott and her husband, August, were good friends of mine. Since they’d hooked up, there had been a lot more interesting rehabbed furniture in their combined stores. So far, I’d added two of their pieces to my little studio, the couch being my favorite. The back and sides of the sofa were hand painted in a gorgeous lavender, gray, and blue paisley. The over the top Baroque-style leaves and scroll work were painted a deep dark plum to offset the softer colors. The velvet upholstery was a few shades lighter.

It was like the universe knew I’d needed it to go with my tapestry rug and array of framed prints that made up the corner of my apartment. Just beyond the one good window, I had a huge cubed bookcase—one of August’s builds—as a room divider jammed with my collection of tarot and crystals. The other side held my bed with a special drawer the size of my full bed for storage below the frame, courtesy of Kinleigh’s clever mind.

A double-door closet had been turned into my podcast recording space. My clothes made for great noise buffering.

The other half of the apartment was my art studio, meager kitchen, and child-sized bathroom with standing shower.