Page 6 of Fierce

Lean In

I jumped a mile when I heard the voice at my elbow.

“I’m off,” Martine said. “See that that schedule is in my inbox first thing in the morning. And I mean first thing.”

“Of course,” I said, biting my tongue. Good thing I’d had practice.

It was four long—and I mean long—days into my new job. Martine had given me the scrawled notes and hasty instructions for the Paris show’s publicity schedule at four-thirty—at least two hours of work. And I was also supposed to have her wildly disorganized expense report in her inbox “first thing.” That one had seemed possible. In fact, I’d already finished it. And then she’d given me the schedule.

“I know it feels like a lot,” she said, her elegant features softening. “But you’ll get the hang of it soon, and it’ll go much faster.”

Was that a compliment, or a slam? Was I really incompetent? Then why had she hired me? I choked back the retort—or the excuse—that rose to my lips and said, “I’m sure you’re right. Have a good evening.”

She sighed. “I hope so. Dinner and the opera. Opera can be so tedious, can’t it? Especially Wagner, you know? But my friend loves to be seen there, so—” She shrugged an elegant shoulder. “Needs must.”

No, I didn’t know. Wagner had never come around my way. But whatever.

The atmosphere settled a little with her departure, as if the very air molecules were calmer once she wasn’t there. Nathan, my fellow Publicity Assistant, popped his razor-cut head of black hair over his cube and made his Prairie Dog face, his front teeth chomping on his lower lip, and I laughed.

“Ding-dong,” he said softly. “The witch is—well, gone. You can’t have everything.”

“She’s not that bad,” I said. “You’re spoiled, if you think that’s bad.”

“All I can say is, thank God you’re here.” His head disappeared, and I could hear him scuttling around in there before he appeared at my cube doorway.

“Better,” I told him. “It’s poor cube etiquette to play Prairie Dog.”

He laughed. “Aw, you love it.” He bent down and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Flirting, but no more seriously than usual. “Bye, pretty girl. I’m off, and you’re not. Isn’t life grand?”

I swatted him away. “Go.”

He hesitated a moment. “No, but really. Want me to do some of that?” He nodded at the stack on my desk.

“No, thanks. Not a two-person job.”

“What, you already did the expenses?” He whistled through his perfectly straight white teeth. “You’re faster than me, girl. Anyway, I can’t. Just thought it was polite to make the offer. I’ve got to get myself devastating, though.”

As if he weren’t already. Nathan didn’t have to keep himself looking put together on his assistant’s salary. Only son of a Manhattan ad exec and a former model, he’d gotten the job some months earlier through “connections, baby,” and didn’t seem to care too much about keeping it. Which, ironically, made him terrific at publicity. Instead of scurrying and sweating like I did, he made his calls, chatted and laughed and charmed, knew every assistant from New York to Rome, and made it all look easy.

“Hot date?” I asked.

“Warmish. Old friend with potential new benefits. The only way to fly.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “So if you’re in the market…”

“Wow. You really know how to turn a girl’s head. That’s so…special. Go away.”

He laughed, not in the least fazed. “See you tomorrow. We’ll go out for a drink after work and celebrate you surviving, how about that?”

“Thanks. Sounds good.” No, it sounded great. But first, I had to make it through to tomorrow.

He took off, and I grabbed my phone and called Karen. One last thing before I got back to the spreadsheet.

“I’ll be late again,” I told her. “Call for takeout.”

“OK.” Her voice was listless.

“You all right?” I asked. “Something happen?” Oh, no. I had to get this done.

“Just tired.”

---