I drop the phone back on the desk. Grabbing the fork from on top of the Styrofoam container, I stab it into the Chinese food that has been sitting out for a few hours. I take a couple of quick bites, then slide the whole thing in the garbage can. My hair is pulled into a bun at the nape of my neck, every strand perfectly in place, even though I’ve been working for the past thirteen hours. I adjust my high-end black blouse and brush off my tailored skirt. I straighten my desk, which is in complete disarray and not typically how I live my life. With court dates and depositions looming over me, a little mess is going to have to do. I look out the windows of my office, admiring the lights of the city, the cars moving in unison, the people out and about enjoying their last few hours of the weekend.

“Anne, are you still here?” I call out.

The door of my office opens, and my sweet-looking assistant pops her head in. She’s a petite woman with shoulder-length brown hair, and although she doesn’t turn heads, she’s pretty in a modest way. Her eyes while faint light up and she smiles at me, ready and eager to please. While I am the only other person in the office right now, it is not uncommon for Anne to scramble into work once she starts to see me sending work emails.

“Yes, Mrs. Morgan.”

I drop my hands on my desk and give her a sympathetic smile. “Anne, how many times do I have to tell you? Just because I work ridiculously long hours doesn’t mean you need to, and what’s with the Mrs. Morgan?”

“Sorry, Mrs.—” She begins and stops as I put my hand up and stand. I approach Anne. The office has plush carpeting, which I picked out myself as it feels incredibly soft beneath my bare feet. I made sure to decorate so it had a homey feel, with a plush couch and recliner, a coffee table, pillows, a bookcase stuffed with books for both work and pleasure, and beautiful artwork on the walls. This office is my home away from home, as I’ve spent more time here the past eight years than I have at my actual home. I even got a treadmill for it, which sits in the corner facing the Washington Monument.

I reach Anne and put a hand on her shoulder. “Anne, you have worked for me for five years. We eat lunch together every Friday. We occasionally grab drinks after work. You travel with me for business. You’ve been to my house on countless occasions. You’re my friend first and my employee second. Please for the love of God, never call me Mrs. Morgan again.”