Grumpy Boss

I slept on it, and in the morning, I left the house feeling like things could work. Rees still hadn’t called, but I assumed that was fine—he’d be in the office, and we’d make it work. On the street, I fell into the rhythm of the commuters, dropped into the crowds that snaked their way toward the heart of the city, kept a few paces back from men in briefcases, some in expensive suits, some in cheap ones, of all of them harried, walking like they’d never reach their destination on time unless they pushed themselves to death.

I didn’t notice him at first. I was stuck in the flow of traffic and each person looked the same to me. But soon, after going down a few side streets that were less crowded, I noticed a young man following me, in a pair of dark jeans and a navy-blue jacket, a baseball cap pulled low over his face. His beard was trimmed close, and he walked with his head down and his hands shoved in his pockets.

Obviously, I freaked. I thought of Desmond, and wondered if he was unhinged enough to hire a hitman. Then again, this was a terrible hitman if he was coming for me in the middle of the day during rush hour, when there would be a hundred different people around as witnesses.

I took out my phone, pretended like I was looking at something, and pulled Rees’s number up on my screen. I didn’t hit call and I wasn’t sure if he’d answer. I considered calling Lori, sine she lived in the city, but I didn’t want to drag her into this mess either. I could reach out to a friend from college, but all my college friends had real jobs and families and kids, and all my law school buddies passed the bar and were regular human beings. I was the only one left behind, and I realized with a strange horror that I had nobody, or at least nobody I felt comfortable enough calling.

That left Rees. And I was pretty sure he’d still ignore me.

I walked faster, turned left down a quiet street, and stopped suddenly. I moved closer to the buildings so he wouldn’t see me. When he turned the corner, he looked up, startled, and stared at me. In that moment, I was sure of two things. One, he was definitely following me, and two, he was definitely not a hitman.

He couldn’t have been older than twenty. He had a soft, baby face, and light blue eyes. He wasn’t in great shape, and had a little paunch of a gut starting to form. I could see him in twenty years, full on pear-shaped.

“Excuse me,” he said, blinking twice, and brought his hands from his jacket pockets. He held a phone and a pen. “Are you Millie Drake? Rees Court’s assistant?”

“Uh, yes,” I stammered, too bewildered and freaked out to do anything else.

“My name’s Alex Milligan, I’m a reporter with—“

“You’re a fucking reporter?” I said, and a wave of relief hit me like a train. I let out a breath and groaned, looking up at the sky. “God damn you’ve been following me for blocks and I thought I was about to get murdered.”

Alex laughed nervously, and shook his head, waving his hands in the air. “Oh no, no no no, I’m so sorry,” he said. “God, yeah, I should’ve said something sooner, but I couldn’t catch up and I wasn’t sure it was you and— shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I said, gripping my phone like I might bend it in half. So it wasn’t Desmond sending a killer to whack me after all. I must’ve really been cracking up if I was killing to believe something so outrageous, and yet y heart kept racing, and I had to lean against the house behind me to catch my breath.

“Normally I call, but you didn’t pick up and I wasn’t sure I had the right number, so I tried email but didn’t get you, and then I reached out to your cousin—“

“You reached out to Lori?” I asked, shaking my head. “Why? Who are you?”

“I’m a reported with Business Monthly,” he said. “I write about business gossip and stuff like that. Do you know about all the rumors circulating about your boss and Lady Fluke?” He held his phone toward me, and I realized that he was recording.

I gave him a sharp look. “Turn that thing off.”

“Sorry, I just want to ask a few questions as background. I can keep you anonymous, if you’d be more comfortable.” He gave me a practiced smile that seemed more pathetic than convincing.

“I’d be more comfortable if you turned that phone off and put it away.”

He frowned a little, but he locked the street and shoved it into his pocket. “Fair enough, I guess I understand. You’re still working for Reed Court, right? You’re his new assistant?”