Page 7 of The Grump's Assistant

We both agreed to finish out the rest of our shifts on the schedule, which meant four days of trying to grab sleep whenever I could between running errands for Mr. Sloan and doing my overnight shift at the diner. I just finished up my last shift, and I’m dead on my feet. Today is Friday, so I just have to get through one more day of doing Mr. Sloan’s bidding, and then I’ll have the entire weekend to sleep. Thank god.

The only thing I’ll miss about my job at the diner is working with Gabby.

My friend squeezes my hand but I need a hug for this momentous occasion. Gabby is stiff at first, then relaxes and hugs me back. It makes me sad to think she either doesn’t like hugs or never had any growing up. I give her a final squeeze and take a step back.

“I’m so proud of you for getting your real estate license and applying for all of those jobs,” I tell her. “Where is it you’re going again?”

“Top Spot Realty in Hope Mountain, Colorado,” she announces. “They are going to pay for me to take the test to get my license in Colorado, then assuming I pass, I’ll be out of here for good.”

“You’ve worked so hard for this, Gabby. I hope it’s everything you’re looking for,” I tell her truthfully. “Promise me you’ll still call and text?”

“Of course I’ll call. I don’t have any other friends,” she says with an eye roll. “Now get on out of here before Ron tries to make you work one last shift.”

I nod and wave goodbye, hoping everything works out for my friend. She deserves so much more than the rough start she’s had in life. I have no doubt she can take care of herself no matter where she lives, but my secret wish for her is that she’ll find someone who will support her and show her it’s okay to be vulnerable.

As I step outside into the cool early morning air, I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, feeling the weight of being an underpaid waitress fall off my shoulders.

And then my phone pings, letting me know my assistant job has begun.

Busy day today. Quarterly meetings are coming up soon. I emailed you transcripts and notes that need to be organized, collated, and printed.

The text goes on to list my errands for the day as well as a few other tasks. First, however, this girl needs some caffeine and a change of clothes. Stat.

Twelve freaking hours later, it’s nearly seven p.m. and I’m starving, exhausted, and aching everywhere. Mr. Sloan must be hungry and tired as well. None of my errands included lunch oreven coffee. The man must be in the thick of it if he didn’t ask me to grab his standard triple shot cappuccino. He usually has me set his drink outside of his door and text him when it’s there. Seriously, the man likes his privacy.

However strange he is, we’ve settled into a little routine, Vincent and I. Sorry,Mr. Sloan.He’s already corrected me multiple times. I get that it’s more professional that way, but it’s also impersonal. I mean, I pick up the man’s dry cleaning and have access to his calendar. Plus, I got him a dry cleaning discount, and I always keep a constant supply of boysenberry cream scones. That should earn me first-name status, in my opinion. Then again, Mr. Sloan does have those ridiculously high standards of his.

My stomach lets out another loud, disgruntled growl, and I decide enough is enough. Scrolling through my phone of available take-out options, I pick an old favorite that’s close by and start heading that way. Mr. Sloan may not have asked for dinner, but that’s what he’s getting. I’m supposed to anticipate his needs, right? That’s what he told me over the phone that first day. I’d like to think I’ve more than proven myworth, though I still hate that phrase.

Of course, he’d never admit I’m doing a good job. I’ve learned the only time Mr. Sloan talks to any of his employees is to either hand out more tasks or tell them what they’re doing wrong. He’s sparse on praise. At least, I’ve never been on the receiving end of it. I wonder if he’s just that aloof or if no one meets his expectations.

I should be annoyed, but honestly, it makes me feel sorry for him. Mr. Sloan must be lonely all the way up there in his high rise, surrounded by wealth, disappointment, and nothing else.

Stepping into the little hole-in-the-wall burger joint, Burgatory, I get a whiff of fresh burgers on the grill and fries sprinkled with their signature spice blend. Like a lot of placesin the city, this hidden gem looks questionable on the outside, and the inside, too. But one bite of the best burger in the whole universe will erase all of that.

My mouth waters as I look over the menu. Double Royal Cheeseburger with bacon and blue cheese, Luau Burger with pineapple, Canadian bacon, and spicy BBQ… the list goes on and on. I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve had every burger on this menu over the years, and it’s still hard to decide which one to get.

Once I’ve decided on the Taco Burger, I peruse the menu for Mr. Sloan. I nearly snort out a laugh at the thought of Forbes’ most eligible millionaire bachelor in a ten thousand-dollar suit stuffing his face full of a greasy burger. However, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my time working with the annoyingly formal Mr. Sloan, it’s that he doesn’t like waste. Therefore, I know if I drop off a burger for him, he’ll feel obligated to eat it. Or maybe give it away, but that would require him actually talking to someone.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Denny, the owner, says in greeting. He’s a heavyset man in his early fifties, though he looks decades older. My mom and I used to come here a few times a month growing up, and I’ve heard bits and pieces of his story. Denny has lived a rough life with gangs, drugs, and a few stints in prison. It shows in his leathered skin and faded tattoos. But he left all that behind to start up a burger joint with his wife and kids.

Looking at him now, there’s no doubt he’s happy with the life-altering decision. I’ve only ever known him as the happy burger man, though I know that wasn’t always the case. Something flickers in my chest, making my heart stumble all over itself. Could Mr. Sloan ever be happy like Denny? Would he ever leave the business world behind to pursue something else? Or, at the very least, he could let someone into his life. Just a little.

“I’ve been swamped with working two jobs,” I answer, giving him a smile. Denny frowns, and I know what he’s going to say next.

“Two jobs? You’re too young to be breaking your back to pay the bills.” His voice is gruff, but his brown eyes are kind.

“I worked my last shift at the diner today, so it’ll just be the one job from now on. Better pay, better hours, and healthcare.”

Denny whistles. “What’s the catch?”

I smirk at him and think about my grouchy boss. “I’m an assistant at Sloan Investments. Working for Mr. Sloan himself.”

“Hot damn, you got an upgrade!” he exclaims. “Is it true though? About Vincent Sloan? Word around town is he’s cold and never speaks to anyone.”

“He’s a private person,” I hedge. I don’t want to talk bad about my boss, even if it’s to an old friend that wouldn’t tell a soul. In fact, I have the urge to defend Mr. Sloan. He’s not cold, he’s just… different. “And very focused on his work.”

Denny nods knowingly. “Is that why you’re here then? Feeding the boss?” The way he winks makes me think there’s a euphemism in there somewhere, but I’m choosing to ignore it.

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