Sheikh's Revenge

It also encouraged him to play bizarre games with his staff. For her, it meant that he had about five coffee orders he loved to give her but he never told her which he was feeling in the mood for that day. He just let her know he had five favorites and either praised her or groused and sent her out for another run if she messed up. It made her nervous every morning, but it was just the type of power games that McDermott wanted to play. She must be better at it than his last secretary because he’d kept her around for eight months now. Most of her friends at the office had warned her from day one not to unpack her stuff as he usually went through secretaries as fast as he did Kleenex.

Today, she was hoping he wanted a cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso. That was what he was getting, if the lady in front of her would finish paying with the change from her coin purse.

There were at least eight other people behind Addison, and they were all frustrated because the elderly lady was eating up prime time at the coffee shop. It was seventy thirty and usually she’d be halfway through her walk back to the office. Mr. McDermott started at eight sharp and she’d be so screwed.

“Ma’am?” she asked, trying to force her frustration away. Maybe that was all the money the older woman had for today, and if she could help her, than at least everyone would win, even the people in line behind her. “Ma’am, I can get that for you, maybe?”

The women turned and straightened her thick, Coke-bottle glasses on her face. “I almost have this. I saved up my spare change and I like to get rid of it out of the bottom of my purse once a month. Weighs it down, you know.”

Scratch that. This lady had chosen the busiest time to buy coffee at a major metro shop just because she hated pennies.

Are you freaking kidding me?

The older lady turned back to the cashier and started picking out her pennies again, one by one. Addison wanted to bang her head against the high counter beside her. This was going to take a while, and it would be a miracle if she had a job after.

***

God her feet hurt.

She’d run the full five blocks back to the office in heels, or done the best job she could. That was another stipulation that Mr. McDermott imposed. All his female employees had to wear a certain amount of makeup and heels over two inches tall. She was sure when she got home tonight that her feet would be bleeding, but she’d desperately wanted to make up for the disastrous line at the coffee shop. She was already ten minutes late and terrified that he was going to yell at her or fire her. She needed this job. It was the best she could get straight out of college, and she now was responsible for over fifty thousand dollars in student loans.

Rushing out of the elevator, she almost tripped but righted herself before smashing onto the carpet. As she walked at a brisk pace to Mr. McDermott’s office, her friend, Cécile, pulled her aside.

Kind brown eyes evaluated her, even as Cécile pulled a brush out of her desk and started combing Addison’s thick red curls back up into the bun she’d had it swept in that morning. Under the best circumstances, her hair tended to have a mind of its own, but a run from Second Avenue had left it in disarray. Mr. McDermott wouldn’t like that. God, there was a manual the size of a phone book out there somewhere, she was sure, of all the things that Mr. McDermott didn’t like.

“Honey, you’re a mess. What happened? It’s almost 8:15!”

She nodded and swallowed hard. Addison set the takeout carton on the desk. The other staff could grab their labeled drinks. She had to deliver the cappuccino to Mr. McDermott and hope it wasn’t stone cold or anything else embarrassing. Maybe he’d just reduce her salary for the lateness. Maybe she wouldn’t really be the latest secretary with her head on the chopping block.

Sure, and I might sprout wings and fly out of this office right now.

“It was the worst line ever. Is he mad? Did he say anything? Wait, maybe he got into a traffic jam!”

Cécile shook her head and moved on to straightening Addison’s blouse. “No, you know him. He’s on time no matter what. I…good luck. Try and tell him you twisted your ankle. He might possibly buy an injury.”

“Great, I’ll try and hold on to that,” she said, hobbling anyway to the door.

Cécile mistook her actual pain for faking. “See, that’s good. Walk like that and he might not fire you. Once, a girl passed out at her desk so she was late delivering his lunch. Since she had a 103-degree fever and had to be taken to the ER, he just sent her back to the mail department.”

“See, that’s a bright spot,” Addison said, wincing inside.

She’d never been silver tongued—the type like her twin brother, who could talk his way out of any situation. If she were a better liar or smarter or quicker on her feet, then maybe she’d save herself.

Maybe.

Arriving at his door, she knocked on it.

“Mr. McDermott, it’s Addison. I have your coffee.”

“Finally. Did you go to fucking Colombia to get the beans and fresh grind them, too?” he demanded as he opened the door and shouted at her in front of the whole office.

It was so quiet that Addison imagined she could almost hear everyone’s heartbeats in the room as they gaped at her. A flush colored her cheeks, and she fought down the urge to cry. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Besides, the whole office would gossip about that for the rest of her life.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

He glared down at her, his blue eyes blazing. “Well don’t be sorry. Just come in here. I have some things I’ll need you to polish before e-maili

ng contacts anyway. Get in here now, Morgan.”