Page 11 of Infinite

“You didn’t answer my question.” she presses. “Did you or did you not break up with Pricilla?”

“Tiffany, why would I bother answering a question you already know the answer to? My time is precious, sugar cakes.” I lift the stack of reports I read through and toss them in the garbage where they belong. “Tell the Wall Street wannabees that if they don’t receive feedback, they need to redo their work if they intend to stay on with me. Oh, and kindly inform them that they didn’t get a proper enough education regardless of how much their mommies and daddies paid.”

“Tiffany? Sugar cakes? Really, Hale?”

Neesa is the only one in my firm allowed to call me by my first name, although she tends to use “asshole” more frequently than the name Momma bequeathed me. I’ll give her this, asshole is often a better fit.

“Hale?”

I look up, twirling the pen in my hand. I know Neesa. I know when her birthday is and that her favorite color is sunflower yellow. Just like I know I’d be nowhere without her. Calling her any name I want, just because I can, is sadly my only opportunity for a good chuckle given my workload and so-called life. Besides, it’s plenty fun. “My apologies, Marianne. I know you’re sensitive when it comes to your name.”

“Asshole.”

There it is.

Neesa leans at the edge of my desk, yet another thing she is allowed to do that no one else is. I know she’s only attended secretarial school or whatever the hell it’s called these days, but Neesa is razor sharp. If I died, right here where I sit, she could run this entire firm single-handedly. One day, she may even kill me for it. And if I keep up my pestering, that day may come sooner rather than later.

I flip through the next report. Better than the first few, but not as good as Neesa’s. “Where the hell are they getting their information from?”

“I’m not answering any more questions until you tell me why you ended your relationship with Priscilla.”

I take a sip from my coffee and voice command my laptop to fire up and open my email and stock market apps. “Ladasha, is now a good time to remind you you’ve hated Priscilla since the first time she called here, yelling at you and demanding you put her through to me?”

Neesa shoves her hands onto her hips. “I’m not defending her nor am I telling you that she’s not a terrible human being. I’m respectfully asking, why did you break up with her?”

The word respect was in there somewhere. I heard it. But her tone is anything but. The way she’s speaking and how she’s coming across? She’s ready to lift the ten-thousand dollar mahogany desk she’s looming over and crack my body in half with it.

The incident surrounding Priscilla has gone from a barely there memory to some highly entertaining interaction with Neesa. I flash her the “smirk,” that lopsided smile she hates more than anything else. “Pris called you, didn’t she?”

“And texted and sent me an email, and Gosh Almighty and cheese and crackers, will you wipe that stupid grin off your face!” She rolls her eyes and checks her phone, ramming the screen three inches from my face so I can read it.

I don’t bother, too entertained by Neesa’s fussing. “You know, you could poke my eye out with that thing.”

Neesa ignores me. She does that a lot. Call it a strategy to hold tight to her sanity. “Do you haveanyidea what it takes to run this office and to put up with your crapola on a daily basis?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “No. You don’t.”

“I don’t?” I ask innocently, which only fires her up more.

She leans forward, using all five-feet-seven inches of her to her advantage. “Absolutely not. I don’t need to deal with the likes of Priscilla all day long, sending me messages like this.” She waves the phone at me. “You know what she said?” Again. She doesn’t wait. “She says you have a small member.”

“You mean my brother, Carson?” I pretend to give it some thought. “He is a little shorter than me, but I wouldn’t exactly call him small—”

“She’s saying you have a small—” She glances at the door, as if suspecting someone might be listening, and drops her voice to a whisper. “—penis.”

I sigh. “Now Neesa, we all know that’s not true.”

If she wasn’t ready to beat me with the desk before, she is now. “For the last time. Why did you break up with her?”

I scrunch my brows. “Why do you care?”

Neesa has this ability, a gift, if you will, to singlehandedly shrink men’s balls inward and cause them to scurry behind their kidneys. All it takes is one glare. The same glare she’s pegging me with now. I’ve grown accustomed to the glare and it’s not a regular day if I don’t see it at least once.

I still have my balls, mind you, and after all these years with Neesa, they barely even twitch anymore. Except, the glare I know and love so well doesn’t last. Not this time. Her small features soften, matching the delicate ringlets of soft black hair she gives so much care to keep professional. “It’s not that I care about Priscilla. I don’t like her. I never will.” Her voice quiets in a way I’ve never quite heard. “It’s that I don’t like you alone.”

In the world of cutthroat business, where men and women use the knife they stab their friends in the back with to slash their enemies’ throats, all the while laughing at the blood pooling on the floor, Neesa’s words shouldn’t bother me as much as they do.

I reason it’s because no matter how much I make her mad, Neesa wouldn’t pull that knife on me. Nope. She’s too busy wiping off the sweat and blood pouring from my body when I return from battling my competitors. Just because I’d never hurt anyone doesn’t mean I won’t stand and fight. Like I mentioned, it’s a cutthroat business and the way it stands, I hold the biggest blade.

“Anything else?” I ask.

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