I don’t know how his last PA put up with his crap. If I could find a job that pays more than my current salary, I’d leave this one in the dust.

Point blank—this job is like prison, you do your time and you get out.

The line moves, and I stand in front of the granite counter. Tina is slouched behind the register, greeting me with a perky smile. Pimples dot her face, and her inky black hair is piled into a high ponytail that sways back and forth.

“Does Mr. Underwood want the usual?” Her voice is soft, and her pale cheeks turn pink. She wears a smile on her face as wide as the ocean. It’s cute that she has the biggest crush on him. If only she knew the real Gunner, she wouldn’t be so smitten with him. I think most women who work here want him. Too bad he isn’t all that pretty on the inside.

“Yeah,” I say, slapping a fake smile on my face.

She parades to the black machine, clutching the pot, and pours his coffee into a tall brown cup with the Underwood Banking logo stamped across it. She slides the cup onto the counter while her long bony finger taps the cash register.

“One large cup of joe, black. Tell Mr. Underwood I said hey.” The register dings, spitting out the drawer, and she pushes it back with her hip.

“Will do,” I murmur before rushing out of the café.

When I make it back to his office, I set the cup on his glass desk while he’s talking on the phone. I nibble on my bottom lip, waiting to tell him about his next meeting. His office is bigger than my shoebox apartment. He has a huge bathroom with a shower, a toilet, and an eating area with a mini-fridge stocked with Gatorade and water. His desk is clean, bare, and boring. A wide window showcases the skyscrapers of the city, Brooklyn, and the Statue of Liberty. It’s like looking at New York City from a bird’s-eye view.

Rolling his eyes, he slams the phone down on the desk, grabs his cup, and takes a long sip. “Took you long enough.”

“You have a meeting with Darien Casey about American Banking in thirty minutes,” I say as annoyance drips from my words.

I turn on the balls of my feet, go to my office, pack up my HP laptop in my pink bag, and head to the massive conference room located on the twentieth floor.

Darien peers up at me, flashing me his straight white teeth. He sits at the long white table, and I take my seat across from him, setting my laptop on the table and hitting the power button.

“Where’s dickweed?” His tone is as serious as a heart attack. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from bursting out laughing.