Page 12 of The Relationship Clause

“The last one quit. Couldn’t stand staring at Mr. Ferguson’s juicy tush day after day and not taking a bite out of it.”

“Ew! Kiera, he’s your brother!”

“I know, right?” She shrugs. “Her words, not mine.”

Right. I’m going to kill Kiera. And Pete. And Marlee. Everyone shall feel my wrath.

But before I can go about my wrath rampage, Kiera shoves me unceremoniously through an open door and promptly disappears. I’m about to run when Mr. TDC—uh, that is, Mr. Ferguson, er, Owen, Mr. Ferguson!—lifts those dark eyebrows of his and notices me. He’s standing behind a big, cherry oak desk, leaning over a laptop, but as soon as he sees me, his eyes narrow and he straightens.

There is a long, excruciating moment when neither of us speaks. It’s just the two of us in this surprisingly cozy-looking office, staring at each other.

He opens his mouth, but there’s a glitch in my system and I speak first anyway.

“Coffee.”

He blinks. “What?”

“You forgot your coffee. But it wasn’t your fault. It was Marlee’s fault. Not that I’m throwing her under the bus or anything. I wouldn’t do that. But I thought you should probably get your coffee since you paid for it, and your office wasn’t far away so I brought it up, but I know you’re incredibly busy so I’ll leave this here and be on my way when I finally get my mouth to stop saying stuff.”

I clap my free hand over my lips.

“There,” I say through my fingers. “See? I’m done.”

Mr. Ferguson opens his mouth, but before I can find out what he was about to say, I hear the far off sound of the elevator dinging again. He looks past me, and his face pales a shade. Unable to help myself, I turn to see what he’s staring at.

A woman who is an entire VIBE steps out of the elevator. She’s wearing black everything, and her dark-brown hair is cut and shaped into a perfect, chic bob. There are some serious The Devil Wears Prada similarities. This woman clearly means business, and her low heel pumps punctuate this with each step. Every head in the office turns to watch her, and when she takes off her sunglasses and casts a glare across the room, the eyes avert.

I spy Kiera skittering away from the incoming threat, but I can only stand there, coffee still in hand, marveling at the warpath this woman must create in her corporate world.

“Don’t think I don’t see you running away from me, young lady,” the woman barks.

Kiera freezes, and I’m all kinds of confused. Shoulders hunched, my friend turns around and follows the woman into Owen’s office. Unsure what else to do, I tuck myself into a corner. Maybe the woman won’t see me and I can sneak back out the door. Only, I still have the coffee in my hand, and now the woman is effectively blocking the doorway. The room feels infinitely smaller.

Her eagle eyes survey the space, and then they land on me. Sweat literally beads on my back.

“I was bringing by the list of applicants you carelessly forgot at dinner last night, but I see you’ve decided to forgo my recommendations and took hiring a secretary into your own hands.”

I look around, trying to figure out who the woman is talking about. Kiera told me Owen has no secretary.

The woman’s eyes land on me, and that’s when I realize who she’s referencing. It’s me. I’m the secretary. Obviously, since I’m holding the coffee. My eyes widen and dart first to Kiera then to Owen. Kiera looks as surprised as I am, but Owen has a murderous scowl on his face.

“She’s a little too pretty for my taste,” the woman says with a calculating stare. The picture starts coming into clearer focus. This person must be Kiera and Owen’s mother, judging by the uncanny resemblance in the dark hair and brown eyes. “What are your qualifications?” she snaps.

“Um, excuse me?” I am dead.

“Your qualifications. Where you went to school, what you studied, where you’ve worked before, what are your qualifications?”

I swallow, waiting for someone, anyone, to correct her, tell her there’s been a misunderstanding, but no one does. They’re all staring at me, waiting.

“Mrs. Ferguson, I—”

“I am not Mrs. Ferguson, nor have I been Mrs. Ferguson for over a year. You may call me Ms. Burton. Now, your qualifications?”

Okay… I remember Kiera mentioning her parents were still in the middle of an ugly, drawn-out divorce. Apparently, her mom didn’t want to wait for everything to be official before changing her name.

“Well, uh, I went to the University of South Carolina where I majored in accounting and minored in English. I—I was a personal secretary for Mr. Browning at Browning and Sons. I worked at—”

Ms. Burton cuts me off with a wave of her hand. Too bad, because I was about to get to my stint at good old Mickey D’s. “I’ve heard enough. Go on, girl. Give him his coffee and get back to your desk.” She glares at me and nods toward a tall desk standing outside the office. I must have passed it without even realizing it.

---