Текст книги "BEAUTY and the BILLIONAIRE"

Автор книги: Glenna Sinclair

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 5 страниц)

I hesitated a few moments before sending it. The last thing I wanted to do was to give the impression that I was some entitled gold digger. The fact that Roland had given me his credit card to try and straighten out my life had been a kind gesture. I wanted to make sure he knew I was grateful.

My computer gave a tiny ping, and I studied the screen. I’d received a message back from Roland, and my stomach did a funny little flip flop in response. Why was he at work so late? I glanced at the clock. It was already approaching nine o’clock. The movers had done my bidding and left, and I was all alone in my new home.

I realized in a flash that the office kind of was Roland’s home. He lived in the same building, after all, so I guessed that he didn’t much mind attending to business matters whenever he pleased, even if they occurred after hours.

A quick stab of guilt hit me. Was I making him attend to office matters after hours? I opened the email.

Your pay won’t be docked. All employees receive reimbursement for moving expenses. I expect you in the office at 8 a.m. sharp tomorrow with hot coffee and a newspaper you haven’t stolen.

I expelled my breath—which I hadn’t realized I’d been holding—in an exasperated laugh. What an asshole. He didn’t even acknowledge my gratitude, and I seriously doubted that Shepard Shipments bought everyone their apartment and filled it up with furniture, new clothes, and electronics.

Why did he have to be so gruff all the time? The receptionist up on the floor where I worked had called him a beast. He seemed to have a reputation for acting beastly, and it didn’t help that his scar was so terrible to look upon.

How had he gotten such a scar? It looked fully healed, as far as I could tell in the darkened office, but still somewhat new. I would’ve thought that someone with as much money as the president of a major corporation had could pay to get that kind of thing at the very least reduced, if not completely removed.

And wasn’t there some kind of twisted adage somewhere that advised if you weren’t particularly handsome, you had better at least be kind? Roland was neither of those things, which probably explained why he secluded himself in a darkened office and never set foot near his employees—except for his assistants.

Well, soon to be assistant, only one. Me. The thought was terrifying but empowering. I was somehow entrusted to be the face Roland couldn’t show to the rest of his employees. And maybe, once he got to know me at little better—or once I figured his quirks out myself—he wouldn’t have to be such a jerk.

I sighed and closed my laptop before standing up. There were still groceries to purchase, dinner to be made, and an outfit to be picked out before work tomorrow. I’d have to ponder the mystery of Roland Shepard and his company some other time. I apparently had a life to get back to.

Chapter 6

“Oh, no. Not you. I know you. You get away from here.”

I was slowly approaching the newspaper vendor I’d stolen from yesterday, my hands palms up, arms outstretched, trying to prove that I wasn’t a threat, that I could be trusted.

“Sir, I told you yesterday that I would pay you back today,” I said. “Yesterday was a terrible mistake, and as I work in that building behind me now, I’m going to have to frequent your kiosk every day to buy the Times.”

“You’re just going to have to frequent somewhere else,” he said, shaking his head. “No way, no how, newspaper stealer. Your business isn’t wanted here.”

“Here,” I said, holding out a crisp twenty-dollar bill, a remnant from my grocery-buying binge from the previous night. “I’d like a copy of the Times, please, and to cover any pain and suffering I caused yesterday by taking the newspaper without paying. It was my first day, and I was really nervous.”

He narrowed his eyes at my bribe attempt before taking the bill and shoving a paper at me. “I heard you all have some kind of monster living up there, making your lives hell.”

Was he talking about Roland? “I don’t know about that,” I lied. “Like I said, I just started yesterday. I wouldn’t know about that kind of thing.”

I was about to walk into the building when I heard the street vendor whistle sharply.

“Yesterday, that old woman who’s assistant to the monster came down and gave me a hundred bucks for you stealing!” he said, waving my paltry twenty-dollar bill in the air. “I’m gonna get rich off of you. I know it!”

I snorted and walked into the building, waving defiantly at the security guards and receptionist who had almost thrown me out bodily just the morning prior. I wanted to shout at them about all the things I’d bought that I’d never owned before, such as a gallon of milk, but I didn’t want to sound pathetic.

When I arrived at my floor, the Times newspaper intact and paid for in my arms, ready to set my shoulders and get on with any awkwardness with my coworkers after I fled from this place yesterday, I was instead surprised by the receptionist giving me a big hug the moment I stepped out of the elevator.

“We call what you did yesterday the actual moment you start working for Shepard Shipments,” she confided, giving me a pat on the back. “Everyone who has to deal with that beast does it, eventually. You might hold the record for how quickly it happened, but you’re going to be his assistant, after all.”

I was forced to laugh. “I just wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into yesterday,” I admitted. “It’s kind of my first office job.”

“If you’re back today, then you’re doing just fine,” she assured me. “Most people don’t come back after they have an encounter like that. His office door isn’t soundproof, you know. We could hear him yelling at you—not the words, of course, but the volume. What did you do to piss him off?”

I was an idiot, I wanted to say. It didn’t make me feel good to badmouth a man who’d just ended my status as homeless and poverty stricken with a simple plastic card and license to spend whatever I needed to. However, I wanted desperately to fit in with my coworkers, to have some bright spot in my day if I knew Roland was going to be yelling at me later.

“I was a smartass to him,” I confided.

“No!” she gasped, scandalized. “What’d you say? You have to tell me!”

“I’d spilled most of his coffee on his newspaper, and he said he didn’t ask for a coffee that was half empty,” I said, unable to stop myself from smirking at the memory. “I told him that some people would say it was half full.”

The receptionist shrieked with laughter, and I tried to shrink inside myself as people craned their necks to see just what was so funny.

“You are going to get so fired!” she whispered, her shoulders still shaking with laughter. “How you are back here today?”

“Believe me, I’m asking myself the same question,” I muttered. The receptionist had confirmed one of my suspicions. Why had my sass been tolerated yesterday—not only tolerated, but rewarded with a veritable limitless shopping spree? Add that item to the official “Shit Here Does Not Make Any Sense Whatsoever” list.

“Well, I’m glad you’re sticking around,” she said. “You’re spunky. I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Beauty,” I said, shaking her hand.

“Oh, honey,” Sam laughed. “Everyone knows your name after yesterday.”

I cringed. That felt more like a bad thing than a good thing.

“Well, I better go focus on not spilling Roland’s coffee on his newspaper,” I joked.

“Don’t let anyone hear you call him by his first name” she hissed, surprising me. “They’ll think you actually like him.”

“Like him?” I frowned and shook my head. “I don’t like him. And he definitely doesn’t like me.”

“He doesn’t like anyone,” Sam confirmed. “Well, good luck in there, soldier.”

“Thanks,” I said, laughing and feeling uncomfortable at the same time. I felt almost traitorous talking about Roland behind his back. He’d helped me probably more than he’d helped anyone in this building. So why did all of these people work here if they all hated him so much?

I stopped by the break room, filled a mug full of freshly brewed coffee, and took small, slow steps to ensure all of the hot liquid stayed firmly in the cup. I was going to do this right today. I wasn’t even going to give him a reason to shout at me.

There was something almost comforting, though, in the knowledge that if he did shout at me, it was just another part of my self-enforced punishment. I’d take the licks and keep on going for as long as I was employed here. Having a clear plan—no matter how messed up it might have been—was strangely nice.

Myra’s purse was on our desk, but she was off to parts unknown again. Was I going to be that busy once I took over for her? The thought lingered in my mind as I leaned against Roland’s office door, knocked with the hand securing the paper, and entered.

“I have your coffee and paper here, Mr. Shepard, just as you asked,” I announced as cheerily as possible for so early in the morning.

“No, not as I asked.” He was seated at the desk, like yesterday, but the chair was turned around. He was hunched over the keyboard to his computer, his phone display alight, working hard. The office was just as dark today as it was yesterday, the only source of light coming from his devices and that single lamp on the desk.

“Not as you asked?” I repeated. “I promise that I paid for the paper, and the coffee is hot, and I haven’t spilled any of it…yet.”

“Would you care to tell me what time it is?”

My eyes darted around the room for a clock, but the light was just too dim. I jammed the paper under my arm and fished around in my purse until I came up with my cellphone, keeping my eyes on the coffee mug, willing the beverage to stay put with all of my strength.

I mashed the button to engage the display.

“It’s eight o’clock,” I said, confident.

“Wrong.” He pointed at his own phone. “It’s 8:03.”

“I rounded down,” I admitted. “If it was 8:05, I would’ve gone up to 8:10.”

“When I say that your day begins at eight o’clock sharp, that’s what I mean. It’s not three minutes after, not five minutes after, not ten minutes after. Not thirty seconds after. Eight in the morning. Precisely. If you find you need to get here a little earlier to ensure you’re on time, do what you need to do.”

His words were harsh, but his tone was mild. I absorbed this information without so much as a noise of protest.

“I understand, Mr. Shepard, and I’m sorry,” I said. “It won’t happen again.”

“Don’t waste my time with apologizes,” he said, taking the paper from me first and then the coffee, his fingers brushing mine and making me shudder inexplicably. “Just get it right the next time.”

“Yes, of course,” I babbled. I could still feel his fingers on mine but had no idea why they’d made such a strong impression. It had been an accident, our hands touching. Was it because of that terrible scar? Did it repulse me?

“Anything else?” Roland asked pointedly. I realized that he was staring at me, staring at him, and I quickly lowered my gaze.

“No, sir,” I said, “oh, except this.” I located my wallet and extracted his credit card. “Thank you, again, for everything. This may sound kind of stupid to someone…well, someone like you, but it’s really fun to be able to get a huge tub of ice cream and not have to eat all of it at one time. I’ve never had my own freezer before!”

He gave me an odd look that I couldn’t quite define before taking the card from me.

“You also got a cellphone, I see,” he said, not acknowledging my gratitude again, or somewhat thankfully, my awkward admission about the ice cream.

“Yes,” I said. “It seems like there’s kind of a steep learning curve, but I’m pretty confident I’ll get the hang of it.”

“Email me your number,” he said shortly, looking back down at his keyboard before launching into a storm of typing. “You need to be available at all times as my assistant. I need to be able to count on you if I reach out and need something done.”

“Of course,” I said, bowing like an idiot before spinning around to hide my burning blush. Why was I so stupid and awkward around this man? “I’ll email you right now—as soon as I get back to the desk. No problem. Just let me know—or Myra, she’s still here, obviously—if you need anything. When you need anything, I mean. I know you’re really busy and you need lots of things.”

“Beauty?”

“Yes?” I turned around eagerly. “What can I do for you?”

“Shut up and leave.” He’d never stopped typing.

I all but ran to the door, more to escape my embarrassment than to escape the man still seated at that desk, running a company in the dark.

“There you are!” Myra exclaimed, as I popped back into the main office. This place was so much friendlier than Roland’s cave. Maybe it was just the lighting, but it even felt easier to breath out here.

“Sorry I ran off yesterday,” I said, sheepish, but Myra waved my apology away.

“Well, you already know the worst of your new job, which is to say that your boss can be a little difficult.” She smiled. “But since that little bit of unpleasantness has passed, we can continue your training.”

Myra said it like Roland’s temper was nothing, just something to endure now that I’d seen it myself.

“Does it ever get better?” I asked, taking the day’s box of documents to be digitized from her and opening the lid.

“Better?” She blinked at me.

“I mean, does he ever stop yelling and stuff?”

“You have to understand, Beauty,” she began, “just how much stress that poor man in there is under. He’s running this big company through a computer and a phone and his brother. If his temper’s short, it’s only because he doesn’t have very much time to waste on anything else.”

“So he was easier to get along with before the company was really successful?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.

“Well, sure, he was really easy to get along with before…” Myra trailed off and frowned.

“Before what?” I prompted. Whether she liked it or not, this training was going to include all the company gossip. I felt like I needed to know if I was going to be the man’s assistant.

“Did I show you where the company cafeteria was yesterday?” she asked, completely shifting tack. “You ran out so soon. I had a list of things I was going to teach you yesterday, and another one for today. Now we have to get through both of them today—and that blasted box of documents.”

I hid a small smile behind my hand. If Myra was going to stonewall me, fine. And if she was going to make me feel guilty for leaving her here all alone yesterday morning, fine again. I had other sources now. I was sure I could get my new friend, Sam, the receptionist, to divulge some secrets.

“You didn’t show me the cafeteria,” I told Myra, “but that can always wait until lunch, right? What else should we be doing?”

Myra rarely stayed at her desk, receiving an agenda of items to attend to on Roland’s behalf via email at the start of each workday. I shadowed her on her jaunts across the office and to other companies on floors below, observing the surprisingly high energy in a woman about to retire. If I’d put in as many years as she had in the workforce, I would’ve been taking it easy during my final week.

And when she did go back to her desk to check the agenda or if there was some free time to work on digitizing between tasks, the phone would often blare, scaring us both. The only person ever on the other end of that line was Roland.

“I’m surprised you don’t have many missed calls from him,” I said, as Myra prepared to forward him some information he’d asked for.

“What do you mean?” she asked absently, clicking away at the computer.

“I mean, if you’re rarely here, at the desk, always running errands around the building, then don’t you think he’d call? He seems to be really needy.”

“There’s no need for him to call when I’m not here,” she answered, sending the email with a small sound of triumph and bringing the agenda back up on the screen. “He can see if I’m here or not for himself.”

She pointed toward the ceiling to a small, black lens.

“A camera?” I nearly shouted, causing several people to swivel around in their desk chairs to try and see what was wrong with me. “Sorry. But a camera? Really?”

Now I understood my creepy feelings, the impression that I was under scrutiny. I’d felt like that when I first got here because it was true. There really were eyes on me, and they belonged to Roland Shepard. My skin crawled in earnest.

“I don’t see why you’re so upset about it,” Myra said, shrugging. “How else do you expect the man to keep track of what’s going on in his own office?”

“Well, he could come out here, for one,” I said. “Not lock himself away. He doesn’t have to spy on us. Oh, wait. Does that thing have audio?”

“Of course it does,” she answered, almost crossly. “So does that one, and that one, and that one, and the one in the break room, too. How have you not noticed them?”

Because there were too many other things to notice, like how attractive Dan was, or how afraid I was of not fitting in, or how fast I was running away from my past, or how frightening Roland was, or how mightily I was struggling to prove that I could do this job…somehow. There had been many, many distractions to keep me from noticing the cameras this place was apparently bristling with, but now that I knew they were here, I couldn’t not see them.

Roland watching me get his coffee in the morning, or stopping by to chat with Sam. Roland watching me as I sat at this very desk, staring right back into his eyes through the camera.

I averted my gaze.

“There are cameras everywhere, you know,” Myra said, calm as a cucumber. “You should pretty much assume you’re being recorded everywhere you go, you know. Even our phones have video.”

“It just seems weird,” I said, feeling defeated and cagey. Roland had heard everything I’d said about him while sitting here. I’d been true to how I felt, but that didn’t mean I didn’t feel guilty about my words. They probably weren’t things I’d say to his face, given the chance.

“You’ll get used to it,” Myra said absentmindedly. “It gets nice, after a while. Like a guardian angel, always looking out for you.”

I blinked at her, surprised at her sentimentality. Up until now, Myra had seemed like a no-nonsense woman. She looked up at me, bewildered.

“What?” she asked, then frowned. “Oh, Beauty. Silly girl. It’s not as if Mr. Shepard doesn’t have anything better to do than stare at his employees all day. I imagine he simply glances at the camera on our desk to see if there’s a body in the chair so he can ask us to do something.”

I did feel silly, but I felt no less scrutinized. There wasn’t an inch of the office that escaped the camera’s singular glare. No matter what I did or where I went, there would always be the chance that Roland would be watching me, probably ready to leap at the chance to criticize me for messing up.

The day passed slowly, the cameras a constant, distracting companion. It was difficult to keep up with Myra and keep tabs on the things she was telling me I would have to be doing soon with the feeling that I was being watched and judged very thoroughly.

It was a relief to leave the building at the end of the workday, practically skipping to the parking lot in the sheer joy of not being watched by Roland Shepard on a camera. I imagined him hunched over his laptop, studying my every step, and shuddered. It was too creepy to think about.

“Looking much better than yesterday, if I may say so.”

I turned around in the parking lot to see Dan, twirling a set of keys around on his finger.

“Feeling much better than yesterday, and since I’m not sobbing with makeup running down my face, I think it’s fine that you say so,” I sassed, happy to see that friendly face of his. It was also a relief to be able to talk to whomever I wanted to however I wanted to. I always felt like I was treading on thin ice with Roland. How could Dan be so different from his brother?

“Well, I’m glad that you’re finding your rhythm,” he said, looking me up and down in a way that made me blush. “Though I do remember you used to have plenty at a shitty little bar across the state.”

“I’d prefer to leave the past where it lies,” I said, twirling my own keys to match his boisterous fidgeting.

“That’s the problem with the past, Beauty,” he sighed, his face playing at resignation. “It never lets itself be left behind.”

“Maybe for some people,” I allowed. But not for me. I couldn’t have my past be present right now, not when I was so focused on doing well here, on tentatively moving forward.

“Yeah, maybe just for some people,” he mused. “Well, would you care for a ride to wherever you’re headed? Dinner, perhaps?”

“I have a car,” I reminded him, jingling my keys loudly. “And dinner’s waiting for me at home.”

“Oh?” Dan asked, his ears practically perking up in interest. “Someone waiting for you at home? A boyfriend, eager to impress you with his prowess at the stove?”

“No,” I snorted, laughing. “A crockpot.”

One of the purchases I’d made when I still had Roland’s credit card in my possession was a slow cooker. The packaging promised that I could dump a bunch of ingredients in before I went to work and get home to a delicious dinner. To a person who wasn’t so confident in her cooking skills, that seemed like a damn miracle.

Dan laughed, too, and shook his head. “Well, I’ll let you get to that,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you to burn your house down with scorched dinner. But could I take you out sometime? When dinner’s not waiting for you?”

I put my hands on my hips. “That sounds awfully like a date,” I mock scolded. “And I don’t think you want me reporting to human resources that I’m feeling pressured to date my boss.”

“I’m not your boss,” he scoffed. “That’s my brother’s job. And there’s no office policy about dating.”

Dating? Really? Did Dan actually want to date me? My cheeks colored of their own accord, and my stomach seemed to try to take flight inside of my body.

“That may be,” I said, keeping my voice as light as I could. “But it’s still not really professional, is it?”

“Not really professional is me asking you for another lap dance,” Dan purred, unperturbed.

My face was so hot I wondered if I was running a fever. How could he just stand there, straight-faced, propositioning me to take my clothes off? I should’ve known back at the bar that agreeing to dance for him would come back to bite me in the ass.

“You’re right about that,” I managed to say. “That wouldn’t be very professional at all.”

“Just keep it in mind, is all I ask for,” he said, grinning and turning to go. “The date, that is. Not the lap dance. Though a man can dream.”

He sauntered over to the nicest car in the lot by far, and I watched him go, wondering just what was so great about a crockpot dinner that made me pass up that tall drink of man. He was so sexy, and in spite of my misgivings about our professional relationship, I actually wanted to go on a date with him.

Hell, if I were being perfectly honest with myself, I would’ve given him another lap dance. That’s how much I liked him.

Maybe I’d understand Dan and Roland’s differences better if I’d had a sibling. Alas, though, I’d been a single child—probably for better than worse. I didn’t envy the idea that I’d have to deal with a living sibling, angry at me for causing our parents’ deaths.

But the difference between the two men was vast. Dan was handsome, for one, and outgoing, easy to talk to and get along with. He was flashy but compassionate, and flirtatious to boot.

And then there was Roland. Reclusive, unpleasant to gaze upon, and endlessly rude. How could they both be products of the same parents? I resolved to ask Sam as soon as possible if Roland wasn’t perhaps adopted into Dan’s family—or the other way around.

The rest of the week flew by. I started getting to work at 7:30 in the morning just to try and avoid Roland’s ire at my incompetency, but he still found things to be critical about.

“Too casual,” he barked at me when I gave him his paper and coffee while wearing dark wash jeans—which I thought looked fantastic with my blazer.

“This isn’t a club,” he said again, when I wore a dress with some sequins in the detailing.

However, it wasn’t until his sly “where’s the funeral” comment regarding my sleek, all-black suit that I struck back.

“This is my first office job!” I spat, sick of him commenting on my appearance. “If there is a dress code, forward it to me. There will be some wardrobe hiccups as I try and adjust to this particular culture! My previous job…” I gulped. Dan might have known what my previous job was, but I wasn’t about to divulge it willingly to Roland.

“Decidedly more casual, I’d imagine,” he replied coolly, making me flush to the very roots of my hair. Oh my God, he knew. I wished I could die right then and there.

“If you’re struggling with fitting in with the office culture here,” Roland added, not looking the least bit embarrassed, “you could always, I don’t know, open your damn eyes and look around the fucking office to see what the other women are wearing. Is that too hard a task? Want to screw that up, too?”

“No, I’ll open my damn eyes and look around the fucking office, like you said,” I replied, my shame thankfully replaced with irritation. “And maybe I’ll get some shitty fashion tips from some of these assholes, too.”

He gave me an appraising look, like all the tough language had impressed him, and I felt a weird little glow of pride. Yes, this girl had a sailor mouth right alongside the best of them.

“Get out,” he said almost amicably, and I left feeling like I’d won that round—or, at the very least, held my own.

At the end of the week, though, after a whirlwind of training and digitizing and trying to gain my footing at this confusing place, one major safety net was removed: Myra. On Friday afternoon, we all gathered near the breakroom to celebrate her very last day with Shepard Shipments. Most of me was consumed with panic. I always felt better at Myra’s side, accompanying her on the errands Roland sent her on, always knowing that she had my back when that frightening phone rang. Now, it was going to be just me, training wheels off, trying to do her work.

There was a swell of people I normally didn’t see on this floor, and I realized that employees from companies occupying the floors below had arrived to see Myra off. That was how important a contribution she had made to this place.

One person, however, was noticeably absent from the celebrations, which included an enormous cake and plastic flutes of champagne: Roland. The door to his office remained closed, even as the volume of laughter increased as the amount of champagne people drank increased.

It made me unreasonably angry to realize that he wasn’t here, sending off Myra, who’d been his right hand woman and then some. Couldn’t he at least come out and give her a hug in front of everyone? I didn’t expect him to imbibe in cake or champagne or anything else that symbolized happiness. He obviously wouldn’t touch happiness with a ten-foot pole.

“What’s that face for?” Myra asked me, handing me a slice of cake on a plate.

“It’s nothing,” I said, grumpy as I stabbed a fork into the treat, staring daggers at Roland’s office door, which remained closed and impervious to my anger.

“You might as well tell me,” she said, sipping on her champagne. “Your face tells the world what’s going on in that head of yours. And I won’t be here after today for you to vent to.”

“It’s just that Roland isn’t here for your going away party,” I complained, stuffing a piece of the cake in my mouth. It was moist and heavenly, but I didn’t want to get distracted from my purpose. “You’ve been with him all these years, doing everything for him. You’d think he’d climb down from his throne and at least say goodbye.”

“Silly girl,” Myra sighed, shaking her head at me. “You just don’t know the man yet. We’ve already said goodbye. So don’t you worry about that.”

That might’ve satisfied Myra, but it did very little to satisfy me. I thought it was disrespectful that he wasn’t here to celebrate the end of her career, cowardly, even.

I couldn’t relax, pacing around in consternation. Even Dan was here, topping off Myra’s glass of champagne whenever she wasn’t looking.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” I announced suddenly, hoisting my glass up. Something had to be said, and I was going to be the one to say it.

“A toast, a toast,” Dan said, clinking a plastic knife against his plastic glass of champagne.

Myra looked at me sternly and shook her head.

“I really want to say a few words,” I said, plunging forward in spite of her. “I know I haven’t been here very long at all, but Myra has really been something special for me this past week. I can only imagine what it was like to work with someone so caring and capable all this time.”

“Here, here!” Sam called, but I wasn’t anywhere near done.

“If I were Roland Shepard,” I continued, smiling dangerously as half the room paled, “I’d be kissing her feet right about now—no, the very ground she walked on. I don’t believe this place would function if not for Myra. I mean, she practically ran the place, wouldn’t you agree? The eyes and ears and hands and brains of the president of Shepard Shipments. Why not the president himself? I’d vote for her!”

A few people clapped uncertainly. I was downright shocked that Dan looked uncomfortable. He’d been able to ask me out on a date without so much as batting an eyelash. Why was what I was saying—the truth, by the way—so much worse?

“In closing,” I added, noticing that Myra looked noticeably relieved, “I just want to say that I’ll miss you, Myra, very much. I don’t think I will ever fill your shoes, and I’m sure Roland Shepard will never let me forget that fact. So cheers to Myra, everyone. May she enjoy her retirement far away from this place and stop having to feel like she has to be a lifesaver for everyone here. Cheers!”

The answering calls for cheers were few and far between. Many people looked like they’d maybe had a bad piece of cake, though I didn’t know how that would be possible. It was great cake.

“I’d just like to say,” Myra cut in, “that I greatly enjoyed my time here, and I will miss it very much. I’ll miss most of all trying to save you from yourself, silly girl. Beauty, good luck. You’re going to need it.”