Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
ADRIANNA
I hit send on an email and smile. Done. Now what, though?
I contemplate what to do since all my work is done until someone calls or another email comes through.
My eyes drift to the clock, and I sigh. It’s not even nine a.m. yet.
This is ridiculous. If Gloria were still in charge, I would be knee-deep in approvals by now and on my third cup of coffee. Now, I have nothing.
My eyes drift to my bag, and I think about the podcast that just came out that I want to listen to but haven’t had the time. Should I?
Fuck it.
I grab my headphones from my bag. I put my earbuds in and press play on my phone. The intro for my favorite true crime podcast begins, making me smile.
Perfect.
I kick my feet up on the edge of my desk and grab my nail file and start to go to town. My nails are just long enough that it’s causing me to make errors when I type.
Which really isn’t that big of a problem right now where the devil himself has me doing grunt work. Something that I’m currently all caught up on until he gives me a new task.
In some ways I hate Mason for putting Elijah in charge of the foundation.
Neither man has ever spent any time here.
They don’t know what all we do or what it takes to get our jobs done.
As far as I can tell, Elijah has scrapped everything we had planned for the gala and is starting over, which is a fucking crime.
I worked my ass off planning how it was supposed to be, and he didn’t even take a look at it before saying no. It’s going to be a disaster.
Not my problem, though. Not anymore.
I have to keep reminding myself of that.
If I don’t, I start to get angry again. The gala holds a special place in my heart.
I have been handpicking the charities for three years.
This year I chose one that deals with domestic violence.
I’ve been in a women’s shelter a time or two as a child with my mother, so this year was truly near and dear to my heart. I hate that he took it from me.
Part of me wants him to fail so I can get that CEO job.
It’s selfish of me, but that part is only small.
The bigger, more important part wants to see it succeed.
So while he thinks I’m plotting against him, I’m secretly rooting for the asshole.
I’m also planning my exit from the company that has held so much for me.
I don’t want to leave, but I have to hope he does his best for the charity, which will mean I’ll have to go.
Taking a deep breath, I push away all thoughts of Mr. Samson and the shit show around me.
The podcast talks about two girls that were led off a set of train tracks and into the woods, only to be murdered.
My heart aches at the thought. Their poor families.
I’m not a parent myself, but I can only imagine how devastating that would be.
A child should never die before their parents, especially when they are perfectly healthy and it’s unexpected.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t see him when he arrives until he slaps my feet off my desk, sending them crashing to the floor.
“What the fuck?” I hiss as I sit up, glaring at him.
I hit pause on my phone and rip out my earbuds. Mr. Samson stands above me, glaring down at me.
His green tie matches his eyes today.
I don’t know where the thought comes from, but it pisses me off. I shouldn’t notice things like that.
A look of pure fury is on his face. “What the hell do you think you are doing? Shouldn’t you be working?”
I look down at my file and contemplate murder. All I would have to do is stab him in the neck. I’ve listened to enough true crime podcasts and shows that I think I could pull it off. It’s the not getting caught part that would be tricky.
I don’t look good in orange.
“I’m caught up on everything you have asked me to do,” I tell him as I place my file back in my desk, saying goodbye to the opportunity to take Elijah out of my life for good.
Elijah scoffs. “There isn’t any way you are all caught up.”
“All the emails are answered. I’ve gone through and deleted the junk messages that came in overnight.
You have a list on your desk in order of who you need to respond to since you don’t want me dealing with that anymore, and your calendar is up to date.
The phone hasn’t rung, and I couldn’t get you your coffee until now since you weren’t here. ”
“Surely there is something you could be doing more than whatever the hell that just was,” he says, waving a hand toward where I had my feet propped up.
“I can assure you, I don’t. You’ve literally taken every task I’ve ever done and ripped it away from me. You only want me to answer emails and phone calls,” I say between clenched teeth.
My eyes drop toward the drawer with the file.
I can get over my aversion to orange, right? Like who cares if it washes me out when no one but other criminals will see me?
“Why do you keep looking at your desk like that?” he demands.
I look up and see that he’s frowning. Shocker. I want to tell him it would be a crime if his face got stuck like that, but it’s none of my business.
My eyes drift to the clock on my monitor. “You have a meeting across town in forty-five minutes with the florist since you shot down the flowers I chose. If I were you, I would get on the road. Traffic can be brutal this time of day.”
He shakes his head. “That wasn’t on my schedule.”
“It has been for three days,” I say slowly.
Is this man really so full of himself that he doesn’t check his calendar? Jesus, I feel bad for his last assistant. She or he must be a saint.
Elijah grunts but doesn’t press the subject anymore. If he did, though, I would pull up the last time that block had been edited to prove that I was right.
“Stay out of my office, and if you need something to do, how about you sweep the floors or clean the windows?”
“Why, Mr. Samson, are you wanting me to take work away from our cleaning crew?” I gasp in fake outrage.
“I don’t have time for this,” he mutters before storming away.
I can’t help but watch him walk away. It’s a shame that he fills out the suit as well as he does. It cups his ass just right, and I can’t help but wonder if you could bounce a quarter off of it.
Shaking my head, I hit play on my podcast and start listening again as I grab my nail file.
As I get situated, I can’t help but feel a little bit guilty.
I should have probably warned him that the florist’s husband, who deals with all the contracts, is an absolute asshole.
He forgets that the customer gets the final say in designs and thinks it’s his way or the highway.
Elijah and he will get along just fine. Either that, or it will give Mr. Samson a taste of his own medicine.
No, I shouldn’t feel bad.
Not one bit.
ELIJAH
The last thing I wanted to do today was look at flowers.
If I were still at The Williamson Group, I would have sent my previous assistant to do the job.
Alice was constantly showing off pictures of her garden to anyone and everyone.
It was her pride and joy. If she hadn’t retired, I would have brought her with me.
Maybe I could call her and convince her to come help me. Just for a few hours, I think as I walk through rows and rows of flowers and plants.
“What theme are you going for?” Mr. Burns asks.
My jaw clenches when I hear his voice. I told him I wanted some time alone to see what the options were and get an idea, but the man won’t stop following me or give me a moment of peace.
“We aren’t doing a theme this year.”
Mr. Burns scoffs. “Adrianna always does a theme.”
My eye twitches. When I arrived this morning, the first question out of his mouth was, “What was wrong with the purple flowers that Adrianna had chosen previously?” I didn’t know she had picked purple, but now that I know, I’ll make sure to stay away from anything with that shade.
God forbid she thinks I took her idea for my own.
When she left that file on my desk, I tossed it in the trash. I refuse to accept her help.
“Adrianna is no longer the one making decisions,” I tell him coolly as I adjust my cufflinks.
Mr. Burns makes a noise of disapproval, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
This man is truly insufferable. I can’t help but wonder if this is how he always is or if it’s just for me.
He does seem pretty smitten with my assistant, maybe she put him up to it.
As soon as the thought enters my brain, I dismiss it.
While I have my reservations about her, she does seem passionate about the charities we help.
I’m reluctant to admit that I looked at the past year’s galas after making the bet with her.
I was surprised to see about a year after she started, the galas steadily started bringing in more money.
Last year’s numbers were astounding, but I’m determined to beat them anyway.
Still, it’s obvious that she cares deeply about the people we help, and everyone sings her praises.
I haven’t found a single piece of evidence that she has done anything wrong, yet I still can’t admit to myself that I might have made a rash judgment about her.
Maybe she really didn’t fuck over the foundation.
She did say that the foundation couldn’t run without her…
“Are any of the flowers speaking to you?” Mr. Burns cuts in, making my eye twitch.
I turn to the man, giving him the attention he seems to so desperately want. “Tell me, Mr. Burns, are you the main florist?”
His forehead crinkles as he shakes his head. “No, but I own the place. My wife is the one who puts everything together.”
I hum. “So maybe she’s the one who I should be dealing with.”
“My wife doesn’t deal with customers,” he says with a forced smile.
Interesting. I wonder if that’s because she doesn’t like interaction or if it’s something her husband controls.
“I want everything to be green and white. Some brown will be acceptable as well.”
Mr. Burns’s bushy eyebrows raise. “No color?”
“No color.”
He shakes his head. “Adrianna always adds color.”
“Adrianna isn’t in charge, I am. What she would do is irrelevant. Can you do the job or not?” I challenge.
Mr. Burns’s jaw clenches, but he nods his head. “Of course, Mr. Samson.”
“Wonderful. I need an estimate to fill about three thousand square feet. I want it on the walls, tables, and ceiling,” I tell him, making shit up as I go.
He opens his mouth to say something, but my phone rings.
Thank fuck.
“Excuse me,” I say before walking away.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. “Mr. Collins, how are you?”
“Drop the formalities, Eli, we’ve known each other for too long.” Garreth chuckles.
I smile even though he can’t see me. Garreth and I met in a finance class years ago in college and have stayed in touch.
“What’s up?”
“You never sent me the contract, and I need it before I can get started.”
“Shit, my bad,” I say as I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Garreth became a real estate broker right after college, and every time I’m interested in a place, I send it to him to see what he thinks.
Not because I need his approval or I don’t trust myself, but because it’s nice to have someone else’s opinion from time to time.
Especially when they know the topic better than you.
“I’m out of the office, and it’s on my desk. I’ll call my assistant and have her send it over right away.”
“Did Alice finally retire?” he asks, sounding surprised.
“She did.”
“Good for her,” he says, making me grunt.
“I’ll get it sent right over. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Will do, man, talk soon,” he says before hanging up.
Scrolling through my contacts, I find the number I’m looking for and hit call. The line rings three times, making me frown. Jesus Christ, it shouldn’t take her that long to answer the goddamn phone when she’s sitting right there.
“Mr. Samson’s office, how can I help you?” Adrianna says breathlessly.
“Why did it take you so long to answer the phone?” I demand.
“Elijah?”
“Yes, now answer my question.”
Adrianna sighs, and I just know she’s rolling her eyes. “If you must know, I stepped away to go to the restroom. Now how can I help you?”
I bite my tongue to stop myself from telling her that she can’t leave her desk, even for bathroom breaks. Who knows how many calls she missed, but that would be a PR disaster if it got out.
“I have some papers on my desk that need to be scanned and sent over to Garreth Collins. The email is on the sticky note attached to the first page. Don’t look at it,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry, sir, that can’t happen.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Why is that, Ms. Baker?”
“Because you gave me very specific instructions not to go into your office when you aren’t here.”
“Yes, usually that would be the case, but just this once I’m making an exception. So I need you to do your job, or I’ll have no other choice but to fire you.”
“Fine, I’ll do it. Just know, I’m doing this against my will.”
“Noted. Text me when it’s done.”
“Yes, sir,” she says before hanging up.
Looking down at my phone, I shake my head. She’s an absolute pain in my ass and one that needs to go as soon as possible.