The Filthy One

“That said, I’ve never seen you so riled up as when you talk about this Marco fella. Josie always said that she knew I was the one because I infuriated and made her horny all at the same time.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

* * *

“Good morning, Mr. Bobby!”

“Sweet girl, why are you up so early?” I bend at the waist and kiss my favorite neighbor on the crown of his balding head.

“Early bird and all that. I’ve got a business meeting. How’s that ‘youngster’ coffee treating you?” Last week, I introduced the deliciousness that is hazelnut mocha to Mr. Bobby as a token of my appreciation for him. He’d scoffed, telling me he only drinks coffee the way God meant for it to be: black—occasionally with a drop of whisky.

“It’s gonna be the death of me. For real, all this sugar is gonna kill me.” I shrug at his words.

“Nah, you’re stronger than sugar. You’re invincible!”

“Go on, go grab your own deadly concoction or else your business meeting will be a bust.” Blowing him a sassy little kiss, I skip down the stairs and speed walk to my favorite coffee shop before heading to Polly’s office.

So far, her company is running smoothly. Her secretary is a mastermind and her girls have enough autonomy that my job replacing Polly is actually pretty easy.

My only hiccup is Frank constantly calling me to keep me updated on this or that.

Sally hasn’t worked in two days.

Brandy is getting too involved with one of her johns.

Lucie has gained a couple of pounds. That one I responded to with an angry emoji and a middle finger telling him her weight was none of his fucking business.

He apologized. Profusely.

I walk the whole way up to Midtown and across to the West Side. I could have taken the subway, but early mornings mean lots of people and honestly, too many of them forget that showers exist.

Not to mention that I have my power suit on with my heels securely placed in my backpack.

“Good morning, Ms. Fox.”

“Good morning, Sheryl.”

“I have all of the schedules here for the week. Lina is out sick until next Tuesday, we’re compensating her as per the contract. Frank has notified me that Brandy may be having a personal relationship with her client, let me see…” She flicks through her pages while I read the updates, noticing that Brandy does, in fact, spend a lot of time with Mr. Beckett.

“Yes, Mr. Beckett. He’s a Senator. I think his re-election campaign starts soon.” Reading the man’s bio and all the background checks Polly had done on him, I stumble on a name that makes my skin tingle.

Eleonor Hunter is his biggest contributor.

Why does that name sound familiar? I’m about to ask Sheryl about this when Frank walks in and practically grunts his hello.

“Rose, looking beautiful as always.” I smile, nod, and just as I’m about to ask about Eleonor, Frank interrupts me again.

“We should talk.” His voice is grave, his normally neutral facial expression has a slight worry to it, which means it has to be important.

“Thank you, Sheryl, for this. Remind me to ask you about some of the names on here. I’ll meet with Frank and then call you in.”

“Sure thing. I’ll get to work on sending appointment reminders to our clients. Just buzz me in when you’re ready.” I’m guessing the confused look on my face is what prompts her to elaborate. “The phone? Just press the yellow button and I’ll know you’re ready for me.”

I smile gratefully at her, knowing she’s pretty much the backbone of this company and is the only reason I’m not running Polly’s business into the ground.

“Okay, Frank, let’s do this.”

Both inside Polly’s office, I close the door and sit behind her desk. I’ve often seen my clients—big business men or powerful politicians—using their desks as a tool to their advantage. I feel it now. The desk is a wide berth. A separation between them and you. It’s a way to establish hierarchy.