The Mixtape

On the outside, at least. Her insides very much resembled the devil.

“Here.” She frowned in disgust, holding the cup out in my direction. “Get rid of this trash.”

Geez. She sure had a Grammy-winner attitude, for never having had a Grammy nomination.

Bite your tongue, Emery. Bite your freaking tongue.

I kept that same fake grin against my lips as I walked in her direction. The moment I reached out to grab said cup, Cam flung the juice in my direction, coating me from head to toe in the red beverage.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shouted, my voice filling the space. I was never in the nature of snapping, but my gosh, she was pushing all of my buttons.

“Oops, sorry,” she cooed, smiling innocently. “It looks like you’ve made a mess.”

“Me? I didn’t do this!”

“Yes, you did. You spilled it all over you as I tried to hand it off. Truly, you should be more careful. You probably shouldn’t wear a white shirt, either, as a chef. It seems like a messy job.”

The mirth in her face pissed me off that much more. “You’re a, a, a, a—”

She stood to her feet and walked closer to me, standing as tall as she could in her red-bottom heels. “I’m a what?”

“A bitch!” I screeched, my rage boiling over and falling off my tongue.

“What’s going on in here?” Oliver asked, walking into the space to find both Cam and me standing there in the heat of our argument. The juice dripped down my chin as anger forced my whole body to tremble.

“Did you hear that, Oliver?” Cam remarked. “She called me a bitch! Fire her this instant!”

Oliver looked at Cam and then toward me but didn’t say a word.

She marched over to him like a prima donna, pouting. “Did you hear me, Oliver? Fire her.”

Oliver moved in my direction, and my heart started racing faster as a heavy grimace sat on his face. He looked beyond irritated at the situation at hand, and since it was impossible to read his mind, my thoughts began to go to the worst-case scenario. I couldn’t lose my job. Not at the hands of some wannabe superstar.

Fire me because I burned the toast last week, fire me because my casserole came out a bit dry a few days ago, but please, don’t fire me because of her.

That would’ve given Cam too much pleasure—being able to watch my pain.

Oliver’s brows lowered as he studied me and the mess that dripped from my clothing. His frown deepened. He reached for the towel hanging from the oven door, moved closer to me, and began wiping the mess from my face.

“What in the world are you doing?” Cam barked. Barking seemed to be one of her favorite pastimes. “Don’t touch that thing.”

Oliver ignored her and kept his eyes locked with mine. “Do you need a change of clothes?” he softly spoke, his voice low and controlled.

“Please.”

He nodded once and turned to leave the room, and I followed, leaving Cam to throw her tantrum. “Are you kidding me?” she cried out, but Oliver didn’t look back toward her for a second. I didn’t, either. My eyes were focused on him.

He led me to his bedroom and walked to his closet. I stood as still as possible, not wanting to ruin his carpeting. Within moments, he came back with a pair of sweatpants and a plain T-shirt.

“Does this work?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“You can change in my bathroom.” He opened his mouth to speak more, but no words came, so he shut his lips together.

“What is it?” I asked, wanting to know what it was that was running through his mind.

“Nothing. I mean, well . . .” He took a breath. “Did she do that to you? Throw the drink at you?”

“Yes.”

“Has she been rude to you before today?”

“Since day one.”

The pained expression on his face made me almost frown too. “I’ll speak to her about it.”

“Don’t apologize for her. She’s a grown woman who is responsible for her own choices.”

“Still. You work for me, and she shouldn’t be treating the staff like that.”

“I don’t even understand. Is she like this with everyone? I’ve never done anything to her. I honestly went out of my way to be kind and give her whatever she requested. Like freaking beet juice.” Who drinks beet juice?

“She’s jealous of you.”

“I don’t know why she’d have anything to be jealous about.”

“It’s because you’re a good person,” he softly said. “That makes her uneasy because it highlights her flaws.”

I was stunned by his comment, because it didn’t make any sense to me. “Wait, you know she’s not a good person?” Also, did he just call me a good person?

“Yes.”

“Then why do you put up with her? I see how she treats you. She’s mean, Oliver.”

“She wasn’t always like this,” he confessed. “She used to be different.”