the bakery at eight today.”
Montana has been working at the nicest bakery in town for just under a year. It’s not your average bread-and-pastry joint—it makes specialty patisserie items, wedding cakes and crazy showpieces like you’d see on a baking reality show. The food is expensive as hell, but the place is raking in money.
People in Chicago can’t get enough. Neither can I, now that she brings me stuff from there all of the time.
Montana has a career that she loves, the body of a goddess and the best personality of anyone I’ve ever met. It’s safe to say she’s the full package, and it’s still impossible to be jealous of her because she’s also super nice. She’s my sister from another mother, and she totally deserves the best.
“I’m sure your body would forgive you for missing one workout,” I tease, sticking my tongue out.
Montana laughs. “Oh, nooooo, I couldn’t. That attitude leads to laziness, right? If I don’t go now, I’ll go this evening. Do you want to come?”
I immediately raise my hands, palms out. “No, thanks. I’ll get my exercise running to the coffee machine.”
Montana laughs and piles a bunch of ingredients into the blender. “You know I hate the idea of you sticking around that job with the monster you work for. ‘Man of Stone.’ I mean that was the title of the magazine profile I just read in Business Insider. Does the guy even smile?”
I snort. “Never.”
Montana laughs, then squirms a little. “India, you know I love you. I just think this job is really hard on you. I mean just two nights ago the guy was calling you at—what? What time was it when I heard your cell phone ring all the way in my room? 3:00 a.m.?”
“William’s a workaholic. He doesn’t know when to stop. He thinks nobody sleeps when he isn’t sleeping,” I say, wondering why I’m defending him when I hate the guy’s guts. Intensely.
“I just thought maybe... Well, I don’t want to see those circles under your eyes anymore, Indy.”
I smile wanly, tucking my laptop away. “Trust me, I don’t like it either. But this job is my lifeline. It’s the reason I can still afford to feed myself while I write my novel. It’s the reason I haven’t become completely miserable, even if I hate my job.” I frown at Montana.
“Look, we can’t all love our job. I appreciate the thought, but I’m just fine. Anyway, I’ll be out of there in no time because this book is going to be big,” I say optimistically.
Montana returns my smile as she switches on the blender. “You know, if you want something different, I could try and get you a job at the bakery.”
I groan. “Montana, we both know that’s not going to happen. I can barely toast bread, let alone fancy cakes.” I shake my head, picking up my shoes. “Just forget we had this conversation, okay? I’m fine. Everyone has to work a shitty job at some point in their life.”
Montana nods absently, but we both end up laughing because we know she can’t really relate.
Before the bakery, she worked as a personal trainer at the local gym. Before that she helped out in her mother’s dance studio, teaching kids dance routines to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” and Disney Channel theme songs. She’s never worked in a café, washing pots and pans, or as a house cleaner or cashier. She’s always liked her jobs, and once admitted to me how she hadn’t realized how lucky she was until she heard from others—like me—who didn’t have it as easy.
Montana is in the process of carefully pouring her smoothie into a glass, biting her lip in concentration. “Okay. But if you’re staying there, don’t take any more shit from the guy. Give him hell if he deserves it and remember who is the ultimate boss of you, Indy. It’s you.”
I nod, forcing a smile so fake that I’m surprised my roomie doesn’t notice.
“Well, that’s some great advice, Mon,” I say, eager to stop talking about work. “Thanks for that. I’ll see you later, okay?”
Montana beams at me, sipping her smoothie through a pink straw and waving with her free hand. “All right, sweetie. Have a great day at the office. Love you!”
“Love you too!” I leave the room, acutely aware that each step I take to my front door takes me closer to the office. Closer to William Walker, the man they say has a heart of stone. Oh, yes. Every inch of that guy is rock-hard, heart included.
I almost shiver at the thought of the way he looks in his suits. Shiver from dread, that is.
Yes. Yes, it’s definitely dread. I could not be so masochistic that I’d shiver for other reasons.
So I force myself to leave the apartment and head for the train station. The commute to work is short—too short. It gets me to hell far too fast.
Want to know something funny?
I usually spend it thinking of ways that I can wind my boss up and still keep my job. It’s not easy, but I can be subtle. I have nothing better to do with my time between filing papers, answering the phone and making sure everything is perfect for a man who’s impossible to please.
Sometimes, in the few free minutes I have each day, I daydream about putting a pinch of salt in his coffee or putting all of his files in the wrong place, though the perfectionist in me would never actually perform this prank. In fact I never carry out any of these fantasies. I do have some regard for my job and how lucky I am to have it. But on mornings such as this, a girl can dream.
My mother has often grilled me about my job. When I describe William’s abuses, she always seems to think that I’m overreacting. She drones on about how she saw him in Business Insider and how handsome he looked. She tells me that his stern attitude is the sign of a good boss. I half wish I could drag her to work with me, like a bring-your-parent-to-work day. Then she’d see. Then she’d understand.
Though she’d probably still say he’s husband material.
Ha.
It’s pretty funny.
I pity the woman who ever gets saddled with him.
He may be a billionaire, but he’s got a billion walls up around him, and a girl would pass out and die before scaling the first few.
I emerge from the Chicago “L” station to the usual windy morning in the city, and there it is. The building I spend all day in. The home of Walker Industries, one of the biggest online-game companies in the country. Mom says I should feel proud to work for such a prestigious company. I should be proud to have been picked from hundreds of other hopeful women to be William Walker’s assistant. But as I stare at the gargantuan building, I think I’d rather be cleaning toilets than walking inside right now.
Why? What’s happened to me?
I was so excited when I was first hired by Walker Industries’ human resources department. I wanted to learn, and in my opinion I would be learning from the very best if I got to work with William Walker. True, he had a reputation for being an ass, but he was a genius in every way that counted. He’d single-handedly built his company from the ground up. But the moment I turned up for my first day
