Chapter 8 #2
Not what-the-hell-is-going-on-here well.
The next morning at work, I feel jittery. I even skip my usual cup of free office pod coffee, knowing it’ll only push me closer toward the edge of being a complete mess. At a certain point, there’s only so much teetering you can do before you topple right over the side completely.
I need to talk to Theo or call Accounting to sort out my paycheck.
I’d much rather they deduct the overpayment now than risk spending it on bills and ending up scrambling to return money I don’t have later.
One thing is for sure though, I’ll miss the lightness I feel in my chest whenever I stare at my current bank account balance.
Wanting to get it over with, I pick up the receiver on my desk and dial Gretchen in payroll. She answers on the third ring.
“This is Gretchen,” she rushes out.
“Hi, this is Marley, Mr. Prescott’s assistant. I was calling because I think there’s been some sort of mistake with my paycheck. I’m not supposed to get paid for another two weeks, and it’s much more than I’m supposed to be making.”
Her voice is gentle but hurried on the other end of the line. “It’s not a mistake, sweetheart. Mr. Prescott called us earlier this week to let us know he wanted you to be paid for your time earlier than we previously discussed. He also decided to include a housing allowance with your position.”
I freeze, the blood draining from my face. “A housing allowance?”
There has never been a mention of any type of housing allowance. I know, because I would definitely remember any type of extra money headed my way.
“Yes, it’s something that can be added on for employees in certain roles. He said it would help make the transition easier for you.”
Easy? This amount is more than easy. It’s life-altering. And I’m not sure what to make of that.
I stumble over my words, thanking her for her help, and set the phone down with shaky hands.
Why would he do that? Yes, I’m grateful. Hell yes, I’m relieved. I’m also simultaneously mortified at the thought that he’s personally taken notice of my financial struggles.
One ride home to my apartment, and suddenly, he pities me. The label I’ve worked so hard to shed, the poor girl, is still clinging to me, following me right into adulthood like a shadow I can’t escape.
This amount of money shouldn’t be mine. It seems ungrateful, selfish even, to want to give it right back. I don’t want special treatment or special allowances. Most of all, I don’t want his pity.
If I don’t talk to him, these frenzied thoughts are only going to spiral further. I’m not a hold it in until you explode type. I’m a get it out before it eats me alive type.
Knocking on the door, I step into his office without waiting. “Mr. Prescott, I need to speak with you about something.”
Standing in his office, I feel thankful and sick all at the same time.
The early morning sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the room. He’s leaning over his desk, focused on a set of plans spread out in front of him. When he looks up, he immediately assesses me, trying to piece together why I’ve barged in like this.
“It’s about my paycheck,” I add.
“Is there a problem with it?”
“Accounting told me that you gave me an advance. And also added a housing allowance?”
The tips of his ears turn red, and for a moment, he looks like he wants to strangle someone. “I still don’t see the issue.”
“The issue,” I say, heat rising to my face, “is that I don’t want your pity. I want to be treated like every other employee here.”
He tenses. His shoulders visibly tightening as he looks back down at the plans on his desk, as if the conversation isn’t worth his full attention. “It was Lisa’s decision. Not mine.”
The words hang in the air, hollow and unconvincing. He’s lying.
I walk closer, settling into the leather chair directly in front of him, refusing to let this drop.
“Why do I get the feeling that’s not true?
Between dropping me off at my shithole apartment, the risotto, and payroll telling me you called last week—it all feels a little more than a coincidence.
Why would Lisa suddenly decide to pay me early when she explicitly told me my first paycheck wouldn’t hit for thirty days? ”
His grip on the pencil tightens, and the mental calculations he’s running on this conversation are written all over his face.
“You need to get out,” he finally says, his voice low and dangerous.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, incredulous, leaning forward to meet his stormy expression. “I don’t want people to talk, and you know that’s exactly what they’ll do. And while I sincerely appreciate the gesture, it feels like you’ve simultaneously put a giant target on my back.”
His hand runs through his hair, a telltale sign of his frustration. “You’re overthinking this.” When his blue eyes meet mine, they’re wild with an emotion I’ve never seen from him.
“Am I though?”
“It’s not personal. You needed help. I gave it. End of story.”
“Not personal?” I echo. “You saw where I live. You felt sorry for me. That feels pretty damn personal to me.”
He exhales sharply, his hand dragging down his face as if trying to compose himself. And for a second, I think he’s going to tell me something real, something honest.
Instead, he leans forward, his tone final. “I don’t give a shit about where you live, what you eat, or how you feel about any of this. I do what’s best for this company, and you’re part of that equation now. Don’t make this harder than it has to be, just go do your fucking job, Marley. Please.”
The words sting, despite it being exactly what I wanted. Before I can even talk about this further, he picks up the plans on his desk, dismissing me.
I stand, pushing up and off his desk as I walk out of his office, knowing full well he’s looking at me from his peripheral.
Yes, I’m angry. And maybe that sounds ungrateful, because it is a kind gesture. So incredibly thoughtful that some people would cry tears of joy from his act of kindness.
Who wouldn’t want to get paid early? Who wouldn’t be relieved by a housing allowance suddenly added to their paycheck?
But kindness, in my world, has never come without questions.
Over the years, I watched men circle in and offer help.
Not because they particularly cared, but because they couldn’t stand the discomfort of the imbalance itself.
Giving made them feel noble. Fixing things gave them power over us, something to brag about.
They’d swoop in, temporarily saving the day, only to leave once it stopped feeling heroic. And I don’t blame them. It was never their job to stay.
But it did teach me early on that help is rarely selfless. That generosity, no matter how thoughtful, often comes tangled in someone else’s need to feel good.
And maybe Theo’s not like them. But even now, standing here, I can’t tell if what he did was for me or for himself.
It’s a reminder of all those past gestures. Temporary fixes that never touched the deeper cracks, only spotlighted how broken everything really was.
What I need is a chance to prove to myself and everyone else that I can earn respect from doing a damn good job, all on my own. Without someone taking pity on my situation and trying to swoop in to save me.
What I want is this job, a little stability, and a clean start.
While there is overwhelming relief that I won’t have to rely on Emmy’s bottom-of-her-dance-bag beef jerky, and the free poppy seed muffins during meetings, a heavy dose of guilt lingers over it all, raining down on the first stable thing I’ve had in years, because I don’t deserve it.
I want to call Lisa and ask if she’s the one who orchestrated all of this, like Theo claims. But stirring the pot won’t change a thing.
If anything, it’ll only make me look ungrateful.
Instead, I’ll do the only thing I can.
I’ll prove I belong here. That I’m not some charity case. That I’m the best damn executive assistant they’ve ever had.
I keep my head down and work my ass off. Compiling, organizing, pulling reports early for the board meeting. Booking Theo’s flights, his hotel, confirming the appointments he’ll actually show up for.
Because I’m done waiting for the world to save me.
This time, I’m saving myself.
At ballet rehearsal later that night, Emmy and I stretch side by side, sneaking handfuls of cheese crackers whenever Colette isn’t looking.
Emmy and I first met six years ago, both of us auditioned for this company on the same brutal afternoon.
The head director had been extra terrifying that day, shoving aside her rare motherly moments in favor of weeding out the weak.
Emmy and I put on brave faces, busting our asses for one of the few coveted spots.
We found each other instantly, the only two willing to smile or crack a joke in a sea of nerves. One sarcastic comment about the terrifying death glare from Colette, and it was basically friendship at first sight.
As soon as the audition wrapped, she turned to me and asked if I wanted to trauma bond over Italian food. I probably screamed yes a little too loudly. And it turned out we had a hell of a lot more to bond over than just an audition from hell.
Like me, Emmy had a rough childhood. The main difference being that hers was wrapped in a lot more glitter and frills.
Where my mother lacked in sobriety, hers lacked in protecting her from the cruelties of child beauty pageants.
Where my father was nothing more than an urban legend, hers took a backseat when it came to standing up for her.
Same chaos, different brand.
I pop another fish-shaped cracker into my mouth and fill her in on all the recent developments going on with my new job.
She stares at me wide-eyed. “They gave you a housing allowance? And you’re upset about it?”
“I know it sounds ridiculous,” I admit. “But imagine if the rest of the employees found out. As far as I know, no one else in a position like this has ever gotten a freaking housing allowance.”
She tilts her head side to side, considering.
“True. It is kind of suspicious. Makes me wonder if he has ulterior motives.” Then she shrugs.
“But maybe you do deserve it. Maybe he’s been thinking about adding a benefit like this for a while, so an assistant will finally stick around. Ever thought about that?”
While I don’t think that was his reasoning, she does make a valid point.
“You’ve got me there. I guess I don’t know how long it’s been in the works. It just seems like the timing of it all is a little too perfect to be a coincidence.”
She stands, resting her ankle atop the wooden ballet barre, stretching her hamstrings. “And that guy at lunch the other day, the one who asked you out? What’s going on there?”
“I don’t think I even liked him,” I admit. “I guess I just wanted to prove to myself I could be normal and go on a date with a stable guy. But it’s not worth the weirdness now. Especially with the way Theo looked like he wanted to put a hit out on Sean when he found out.”
She smirks. “Why do I get the sense Theo’s jealous? You do what makes you happy.”
Colette claps her hands, calling everyone to take their places at the barre for pliés. As I move into position, I lean toward Emmy, keeping my voice low.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, Em, but I actually care about keeping this job. And screwing things up over a guy who sends selfies indoors with sunglasses doesn’t exactly scream ‘responsible adult’ of me.”
“You’re twenty-eight,” she whispers back. “Barely out of the womb. You’ve got time to be irresponsible.”
Before I can reply, Colette’s sharp voice cuts through the studio. “If you two are done gossiping, perhaps you’d like to focus?”
We jump, biting back laughs, as our heads snap forward like two kids passing notes.
I turn my attention to the mirror, forcing my thoughts away from Theo and his company.
It’s proving to be much harder than I’d like, though, because even in my own reflection, I can see it.
The thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking, and the feelings I have no business feeling when I suspect that beneath Theo’s tough persona, he might actually be a caring person.
And worse, he might even care about me.