Was there a guidebook for this sort of thing? Maybe an introductory course I could take because this kind of stuff just didn’t happen in the Midwest. Cheating, backstabbing or a good old teenage pregnancy? Sure, it wasn’t a nunnery by any means, but it usually never went any further than a bar brawl and a few bruised egos.

I inwardly snorted.

I guessed I’d had my first bar brawl.

My dad would be so proud.

I looked up to find Mr. Cavenaugh still staring at me, as if he was trying to figure out why I was sitting here.

“Listen… things got out of hand last night,” I explained, surprised I’d managed to speak actual words.

Now, I was the one who was proud.

“You’re here…” he said, looking at me with big, wide eyes.

“Yes,” I managed to say, the brave face I’d had just a moment earlier dwindling under his speculative stare.

Should I not have come in at all? Was my pink slip a foregone conclusion the second my hand had come into contact with his face?

Oh my gosh… had he hit on me, knowing who I was?

Did he sleep with all of his employees?

“Why are you here? How did you find me?”

Before my rambling thoughts got away with me and tears began to form in my eyes, I stopped, realizing what he’d just asked.

How did I find him?

He still didn’t recognize me!

“I work here!” I said with force, the fire and spunk finding its way back into my voice because I was now angry. Angry he only recognized the version of me in mile-high shoes and a short dress. Angry because I’d sat here for nearly two days, waiting for some sort of direction and help, and all I’d gotten for it was a cheesy pick-up line and a few hours of Solitaire.

Pieces of the puzzle must have finally started to settle into place as he sat back into a chair at the foot of my desk, the smell of alcohol and cheap perfume following him.

“You’re my secretary,” he said finally as he slumped back, his hands cupping his face, as if the weight of the world rested there.

“It’s 2016. We prefer the term assistant now,” I responded flatly.

“Jesus,” was all he said.

He sat there for what seemed like an eternity, but in reality, it was most likely three minutes. I listened to the wall clock above me tick by and silently wondered if he’d fallen asleep in the plush dark leather chair, but just as I was about to begin another round of Solitaire, he rose, wobbling slightly.

“I have a meeting on Wall Street. I won’t be back for the rest of the day,” he announced, looking slightly green around the edges.

“Okay,” I said, waiting for further instructions, wondering when that final gauntlet would be thrown down.