Page 23 of Sinful Beauty

He absolutely did not tell me about the meeting, but there’s no point in arguing. “Which meetings would you like for me to reschedule?”

His blistering glare tells me I should know the answer.

“I’ll be with Landry. And you need to clear the calendar until three.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make it clear it’s your error.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How are you coming on the competitive review?”

“It’s finished, sir. I sent it to you two days ago for your review.”

Again, wrong answer. I drop my gaze to avoid his withering one. While no one is currently dependent on my income other than myself, being fired won’t help me get another job, so I need to keep it in check.

“Print it and leave it on my desk.”

“Yes, sir.” Of course, corporate has asked that we print less but apparently that only applies to the lower ranks.

He pushes back his chair and straightens his tie. “Message me if anything urgent comes up.”

“Yes, sir.”

I follow him out of his office. Dread fills me as rescheduling the Blanchard meeting will be painful. Blanchard has been prepping his team for this presentation for over a month. She will not be pleased.

“And don’t leave your desk. I need you there in case anyone calls while I’m out.”

“Yes, sir.”

He’s down the hall without actually hearing my acquiescence. It’s assumed. And today of all days I didn’t pack lunch because I was counting on picking up something from the catered team lunch. I’m supposed to be in the conference room in ten minutes to receive the delivery and set up the conference room.

“What’s got his britches twisted?”

I spin in my chair. I’m usually in this hallway by myself, but appreciate a third party’s assessment of the situation.

“I’m not sure.” I never know. Sometimes I wonder if he and his wife have had a fight, and he’s taking it out on me. It doesn’t matter what causes his bad moods, what matters is that now I need to face Blanchard and apologize for an error that is not mine.

“He doesn’t normally treat you like that, does he?”

“No.”

I don’t have time to share that Pelz is never wrong, and as long as I remember this fact, we get along splendidly. He went through assistants like chocolates before me. I’ve been working for him for almost two years.

Blanchard’s assistant answers the phone. There’s not much he can say. The same ball of dread at informing his boss has probably hit him, but Robert won’t argue. I don’t say it’s my fault. I don’t have to. No one will question the need to reschedule last minute. Of course, if Blanchard calls me directly, I’ll need to beg forgiveness.

“You know,” I tell Robert, hoping to soften what won’t be a pleasant communication to his boss, “you can give the team the free lunch. There’s no time to cancel it.”

“I’ll let you know how Blanchard takes the news when you join me to set it up.”

“I can’t help. I’m so sorry, but I’ve been instructed to not leave my desk.”

“In the doghouse, are you?”

“You could say that.”

“Well, no worries, love. There are worst disasters. Let me hop and get the word out.”

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