7: An Honest Mistake (That Might Get Me Fired)

My office is exactly where he said, glass walls on three sides positioned right outside his door, and there’s a massive desk and a leather chair. I drop my bag and just stand there trying to process what just happened.

I need to talk to Lena, so I take the regular elevator back down to forty-two and find her at her cubicle eating trail mix like always.

She sees me coming and her face lights up. “Oh my god, EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT?! Girl, tell me everything!”

“It’s…” I collapse into her stolen rolling stool. “It’s so weird, Lena, like three years of junior designer and suddenly I’m his personal assistant?”

“Weird but good weird though, right?” She’s grinning. “You’re out of the creative department, no more Dante taking credit for your work—”

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing, he just handed me an NDA and told me to sign it or leave.”

“That’s standard for executive level though.” She offers me some of the trail mix. “At least you won’t have to murder him now.”

“The jury’s still out on the murder thing,” I mutter and she laughs.

Someone clears their throat behind me and I turn and Vera is standing there. my stomach drops because Vera started the same day I did and we used to be friendly until she wasn’t.

She’s been trying to impress Rhys ever since and I’m pretty sure she has a crush on him although she’d never admit it.

“Astrid, congratulations.” Her voice is sweet but there’s something sharp underneath it. “I heard about your promotion, must be so exciting.”

“Thanks, Vera.”

“I’m sure you earned it somehow.” Her eyes flick up and down. “I mean, Rhys never promotes from within, he always hires externally for executive positions, so you must have really impressed him with something.”

The implication hangs in the air and I feel my face get hot.

“I impressed him with three years of work—”

“Right, well, some of us believe in earning promotions through our actual work.” She’s already turning away. “Not through other methods.”

She walks off and I can hear whispers starting around us, people leaning over cubicle walls and murmuring to each other, and I catch fragments of conversations.

“Did you hear about Astrid?”

“Executive assistant out of nowhere…”

“Blackwood never promotes internally…”

“Must be nice to have special skills…”

Lena reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Ignore them, they’re just jealous.”

“They think I slept with him.” My voice comes out flat.

“So? Let them think whatever they want, you got the promotion and they didn’t.”

I want to tell her that I didn’t even want this promotion, that I’m trapped in a situation I can’t explain, but I can’t say any of that so I just nod and stand up.

“I should get back before he fires me on my first day.”

I hug her and then take the elevator back up to forty-five, and when I walk into my office Rhys is standing at my desk looking at something on the computer screen.

He glances up. “Where were you?”

“I was talking to Lena—”

“During work hours you’re here, not socializing on other floors.” He moves away from my desk. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The words come out automatically and I hate how small my voice sounds.

“Good, now your first task is simple.” He gestures toward his office. “There’s an espresso machine in the cabinet behind my desk, I take my coffee triple shot, straight, no sugar, no milk, the beans are in the top drawer.”

I stare at him. “You want me to make you coffee?”

“That’s what I just said, yes.”

“I’m not a barista—”

“You’re my assistant and I’m asking you to make coffee, is that going to be a problem, Ms. Voss?”

The way he says it makes it clear that if I say yes it’s a problem, I’ll be out of here, so I swallow my pride and say “No, sir.”

“Excellent, I’ll expect it in five minutes.”

He goes into his office and closes the door and I stand there wanting to scream, but instead I walk into his office and find the espresso machine which is this complicated chrome thing that looks like it belongs in a fancy Italian café.

I spend ten minutes trying to figure out how to turn it on and where the water goes and how to load the beans, and when I finally bring him the cup he takes one sip and his expression tells me everything.

“This is horrible

“I followed the instructions—”

“The beans need to be ground fresh for each cup, there’s a grinder in the cabinet, and the water temperature needs to be ninety-three degrees Celsius exactly.” He hands the cup back to me. “Try again.”

I take the cup back and I’m grinding beans and checking the water temperature and feeling like this is absolutely ridiculous, and the second attempt takes another fifteen minutes.

He takes a sip. “Better, but you’re pulling the shot too fast, it should take twenty-five to thirty seconds for proper extraction, this was maybe fifteen.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” He sets the cup down. “Again, Ms. Voss.”

“I have actual work—”

“Your actual work is whatever I assign you, and right now I’m assigning you coffee, so figure it out.”

The third attempt takes another twenty minutes and when I bring it to him he takes a sip and nods.

“Not so horrible, remember that for next time.”

Next time comes at 10:30 when his intercom buzzes and he says “Coffee” and I have to do it all over again.

And then again at 1:00 PM.

And again at 2:30.

And again at 4:00.

By the time 5:45 rolls around I’ve made him seven cups of coffee and I’ve done literally nothing else, no emails, no scheduling, no meetings, just coffee after coffee after coffee, and I’m so frustrated I want to throw the espresso machine out the window.

The intercom buzzes again. “Ms. Voss, coffee, same as this morning.”

I walk into his office and I don’t even try to hide my anger. “Is this what you’re going to make me do? Just make coffee all day?”

“Until you can do it properly without complaint, yes.” He doesn’t look up from his computer. “I suggest you get started, I have a seven o’clock meeting and I’ll need it before then.”

I go back to the machine and I’m so angry I can barely see straight, and I’m grinding beans and pulling shots and I start having this fantasy about what I could put in his coffee, salt maybe, or or maybe just way too much coffee grounds so it’s thick and disgusting.

I make the first cup exactly the way he likes it, perfect extraction time and temperature, and then I set it aside and make a second cup.

This one gets a generous pinch of salt from the container I find in the break room drawer, and then I add three extra scoops of grounds without tamping them down so it’ll be thick and bitter, and I’m standing there looking at both cups imagining his face when he tastes the second cup.

The fantasy is so satisfying that I’m actually smiling, and then reality crashes back. I can’t actually give him the second cup because he’ll know immediately that I did it on purpose and I’ll be fired before I can even enjoy the look on his face.

“Your coffee, Mr. Blackwood.” I set it on his desk.

I grab the second cup and pour it down the sink and rinse it out quickly, washing away my brief moment of rebellion, and then I pick up the good cup and take a deep breath and walk into his office.

He’s on the phone speaking what that crazy language again and he nods without looking at me. I turn to leave feeling slightly better because at least I got to imagine poisoning his coffee even if I didn’t actually do it.

I go back to my office and sit at my desk and start shutting down my computer for the day. I’m gathering my stuff when movement catches my eye through the glass wall.

Rhys has ended his call and he’s reaching for the coffee cup, and I watch him lift it toward his mouth because there’s something satisfying about watching him drink the coffee I made even if it’s not the revenge cup.

He takes a sip.

His hand freezes.

His expression doesn’t change but something in his posture goes very still, and he lowers the cup slowly and stares at it for a long moment, and then his eyes lift and find mine through the glass.

We make eye contact and my brain is screaming that something is wrong, something is very wrong, and then it hits me like a truck.

The good cup.

I poured out the good cup.

The one in his hand, the one he just tasted, the one that made his entire body go still, is the cup with salt and way too many coffee grounds.

I gave him the revenge cup.

I watch his jaw clench and he sets the cup down very carefully, very precisely in the center of his desk, and then he reaches forward and presses the button on his intercom.