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receptionist turns and swishes smugly away, triumphant. He’s halfway through the spacious office when he calls over his shoulder again.  
    “The name is Christian, by the way.”

Chapter Seven

    It takes me twenty minutes in the bathroom to pull myself back together. I know it was my own fault for being such a bitch to the guy; and right out of the gates. Me and my big mouth. *Of course* the guy was a jerk to me when I arrived. He was hoping for my job and he probably deserved it, too.  
    I stand in front of the mirror for a long time, staring at my reflection. At that moment I look uglier than I’ve ever been. My ninth-grade glasses have never looked more horrendous—oversized and embarrassingly out of fashion. My hair, which hasn’t been cut since I was a kid, hangs in a long, straggly black ponytail that almost reaches my waist. My clothes look like something a middle-aged lady would wear to church.  
    The truth is, I just don’t pay attention to those things. It’s like this Chinese dude I met at a shelter once said, “To desire is to suffer.” He said that’s why Buddhists don’t get attached to things. It’s been my mantra ever since. But it wasn’t until now that I truly understood it, because suddenly I desire so much that I can’t have. I desire a normal life with a roof over my head. I desire a kind, supportive mom and dad who check in with me and worry all the time. And though I hate myself for admitting it, I desire—oh, how I desire—to be beautiful.  
    “Don’t let the bastards get you down,” I say to my reflection. “Don’t. Let. Them. Break. You.”  
    When I get back to my empty desk, there’s a croissant in a bag sitting on top, and it’s still warm. I open the bag and take a long whiff.  
    “I was hoping you’d like it.”  
    The voice startles me and I quickly put the bag down, embarrassed. I look up to find Jude Lazarus leaning against the doorframe, smiling at me. His hair looks runway ready and he’s clean-shaven again. He’s dressed in a black tee shirt under a dark sports coat with casual trousers. He’s even more gorgeous than I remember.  
    “Thank you. This is really nice.”  
    “Just wanted you to feel welcome on your first day.”  
    He gives the doorjamb a little pat, then turns and walks back to his desk. I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to follow him or stay where I am. I linger in the doorway and wait. When Lazarus reaches his desk he turns around.  
    “Michaela?” he says, arching his eyebrows in an *are you coming or not?* kind of way.  
    “Sorry,” I mutter and rush across the office to where he’s standing.  
    He picks up a thick folder packed with laminated pages and hands it to me. “Here is the assistant’s manual. It holds everything you need to know. I have no time to train you and no one else around here has a clue what I need. So please read the manual. Memorize it.”
    He walks around his desk and sits down. “Turn on the computer in your office and you’ll find my calendar. And answer the phone.” He gives me a smile that’s half friendly, half officious. “That doesn’t sound like much to ask, does it?”
    It doesn’t, actually, and yet I feel overwhelmed. Sweat trickles beneath my loose blouse and I can feel the hot blood flushing my face. *Please don’t fuck this up.* I give him my best poker face. “Not at all.”  
    “Good. I don’t expect you to know this stuff today, but I will expect it tomorrow. I only have the time for fast learners.” He nods and lowers his head to read through a cluster of papers on his desk. I feel like an idiot again, not sure if that’s my cue to go or if he’s about to tell me something else. But he doesn’t look up at me again. Finally, I turn around and head back to my office.  
    It’s a relief to be alone again. I let out a long, quiet exhalation and turn on the computer. Immediately, a calendar pops up chock-full of events and meetings. I stare at it, understanding