Page 28 of The Grump's Assistant

“Vincent, uh, Mr. Sloan. I can explain. I needed the job, yes, but I didn’t plan on falling for you. That was real. It still is. Please believe me,” I beg.

“It’s worse than I thought,” Jennifer tuts. “She’s just trying to manipulate you.”

“No, I?—”

“I said, enough.” Vincent’s booming voice echoes around his enclosed office, shaking me to my very bones. “Ms. Leigh, you are fired, effective immediately. Collect your things and leave the premises without further incident, and I’ll give you one month’s severance.”

“I know I messed up,” I choke out. “I understand you firing me, but please, can we talk about us?” I can go back to the diner, I know there are shifts available. Or I can find another waitressing job. Anything. It’ll suck, but if I have Vincent, it would be worth it.

“Us?Us?” he sneers, his tone full of acid. “There is no us. There never was, isn’t that right? Leave, Ms. Leigh, before I have to call security.”

I stand there, mouth agape, watching the love of my life reject me. Even worse, the tall, leggy, Malibu Barbie is grinning like the Cheshire Cat, watching my life fall apart with glee.

My vision dots with black spots, and I can’t seem to get a full breath in. Sweat beads on my forehead and brow as I back away from the scene, turning to run away. I open the door with a shaky hand and stumble out into the hallway, not even bothering to look at Rhonda as I head to the stairs.

I can’t stand the thought of waiting for an elevator, so I throw the door to the staircase open and nearly fall down the first flight of stairs in my haste to escape. I only make it down three flights before collapsing in the landing and curling up on my side. I have about five more to go, but I don’t have anything left.

Trembling from head to toe, I let the tears consume me, muffling my cries with a hand over my mouth.

There is no us.

Vincent’s words are on repeat in my head, his cruel tone slicing my heart into tiny shreds as I fall apart in the fifth-floor stairwell. The worst part is, I only have myself to blame.

10

VINCENT

“Well, that was awkward,” the flirty blonde says, twirling her hair as she blinks up at me. “I’m glad it’s just us now though.”

She takes a step closer to me, but I hold my hand up to stop her. The woman pouts, a look that is unbecoming and rather annoying. In fact, everything about her makes me want to recoil. She’s as fake as they come, and I know she wouldn’t have lasted one day as my assistant. I’m not looking to hire her on now.

“Thank you for informing me of the job mishap,” I say, clearing my throat.

“Like I said, we both were played. I’ll go ahead and take the rest of the week off to care for my father, then I’ll officially start on Monday?”

“I thought it was your mother who was unwell.”

“Oh. Right, yes, well, they both need caring for these days,” she responds, darting her eyes down to her purse and then over to the side, focusing on anything but me. “I may need a few afternoons off next week to take Mother for her MRI.”

“She needs an MRI for a broken leg?” It’s clear Jennifer is a shit liar, and I’ve had enough of liars for the foreseeable future. Before the frustrating woman can say anything else, I throw thedoor of my office open and gesture for her to leave. “The position is no longer available. You may see yourself out.”

Her jaw drops, and she stares at me in shock. Then, her face twists into an ugly, entitled sneer. “Is that it?”

“Send my well wishes to your father. Or was it your mother? For her head injury. Or, sorry, broken leg.”

She knows I’m not buying her bullshit. The woman swings her thousand-dollar purse over her shoulder and lifts her chin up high. She’s about to tell me something bratty, but I cut her off.

“Out.”

No sooner have her six-inch stiletto heels crossed the threshold than I’m slamming the door shut. Deflating against the wall, I comb my fingers through my hair, tugging at the strands until my scalp stings.

I try swallowing, but something is stuck in my throat. Jesus, I choke out a cough and wipe moisture from my eyes. What is wrong with me?

Pushing myself away from the door, I stride across my office and slam my fist down on my desk. The heavy wooden surface creaks under the pressure, but I don’t feel any pain. I should be furious. I should sue Juniper for every cent she’s wrongfully taken from me under the guise of my assistant. I should call my best lawyer and have him drag her through the wringer.

Instead, I dig the heel of my hand into my chest, hoping to alleviate the tight ball of pressure forming over my heart. I wipe away more wetness from my eyes, still not sure what is happening to my body. Surely these aren’t tears. I don’t cry. Not for anyone or anything. Certainly not for the woman who made me believe in fairy tales only to betray me in the end.

Then why can’t I breathe? The thought of going up to my penthouse alone, without my angel, twists something deep inside me. Pain sears through my lungs and heart, rattling meto my bones. I slump into my office chair, trying to gain some control of my body and emotions.

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