For instance, at their engagement party last week, Alexandra had given a tipsy, passive-aggressive speech, halted by a glass of champagne in the face—courtesy of Angelika. Natasha, drunk, pelted them with pistachios while Sofia tried to wrestle them apart, resulting in a broken heel.

When she’d fallen, she’d taken Angelika’s strapless dress with her.

Like I said, I had my work cut out for me, and until this wedding was over, I was likely going to be a nightmare, one fueled by my boss’s breath on my neck as she waited to push me in the fire to keep herself warm.

Speak of the devil …

One of my texts was from Addison Lane, the senior coordinator in charge of ruining my life.

Johanna Berkshire was just in here with her lawyer. I told them I was handling it, so I hope for your sake that you fixed the flower issue.

A sharp inhale and flex of my jaw accompanied the tap of my fingers. It’s handled.

Of course Addison had and would continue to take credit. This was the crux of our relationship: I did all the dirty work—particularly dirty today—and she got all the kudos. I also got blamed for everything that went wrong whether I’d done it or not.

God forbid Addison actually owned up to a mistake. She was so far up our boss Caroline Archer’s asshole, she’d taken a bag of Doritos up there with her and made a nest, and the last thing she would ever do would be to tarnish her perfect reputation, especially with our high-powered boss. Addison lied easily, manipulated without thought, and held the keys to my career in her evil, ambitious talons.

So, I took all the garbage she dumped on me with a smile and an internal promise to someday ruin her. Someday, we’d be equals. Or—if I played my cards right—I’d be her boss. I smiled at the thought of her retrieving my dry cleaning and picking up coffees that I could send back for lack of proper foam. She could take the fall for my screwups. It’d be so nice to be infallible.

But as satisfying as that might be, I was all talk. I defaulted to honesty and fairness to the point of personal injury—mine or others, depending. But the impulse sometimes made it hard to get things done.

Never was a fan of the easy way.

With a glance down at my screen, I cleared out the rest of my notifications and sighed, looking out the window as the city slid past.