Page 34 of Morsel

17

Dolly

My first day back at work, I sit at the desk for three hours before I finally open my email. I’ve got over three hundred messages. Most of them are important, but I delete the ones that aren’t. A few people come into the building. I get them checked in and direct them to where they’re going.

My phone rings, and I answer it immediately.

“Shadowvale Industries. Dolly speaking. How may I help you?”

“It’s me.”

Oscar.

“Why are you calling me?”

“I’m upstairs,” he says.

“I’m aware.”

“Gretchen is coming down in ten minutes to relieve you,” he says.

“What?”

“You’re having lunch with me in my office.”

Somehow, I realize that this once again is not a request.

“Oscar, you can’t just force me to eat with you.”

“I can,” he says. “You’re my pet.”

“Why do you always call me that?” I feel my cheeks heating again. Do I ever do anything but blush when I’m with him?

“Because you’re mine,” he says. I almost expect him to add, “and I love you,” but he doesn’t.

“I’m not yours, Oscar. I’m not anyone’s.”

“It’s okay that you think that. Be up here in ten.”

He ends the call, and I stare at the receiver for a long moment before I place it back in the cradle. A woman comes into the lobby and stands in front of the desk.

“How can I help you?” I ask. She’s got long, red hair that stretches to her waist. She’s wearing a black dress that goes all the way to her ankles.

“I’m here to see Oscar Shadowvale,” she says.

“Do you have an appointment?” I ask. This is almost always my first question. The number of people who walk in without an appointment and demand to see one of the Shadowvales is insane.

“No.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Shadowvale only sees guests by appointment,” I say politely. “I can pass along his assistant’s information if you’d like to reach out to schedule something.”

“I’d like to see him,” she says.

I press on a fake smile. I don’t really want to play the bitch card today, but that’s why the Shadowvale boys pay me a stupid amount of money. They could have gotten someone to work for them for minimum wage, but they pay a lot, and they get respect because of it.

“Again, I can put you in touch with his assistant,” I say. Although, to be fair, I might not be doing that if this chick doesn’t calm the fuck down.

“Is there a problem?” Brenton, the security guard on this floor, starts walking toward us.

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