27

Maisie was so exhausted, she wanted to go right to bed. But instead she sat on the sofa upstairs, waiting for Ethan and Trent to come home.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she woke in the morning in her own bed, still dressed. She wanted to believe Ethan had carried her down, that he’d gently tucked her in. It was a nice fantasy that lasted for all of ten seconds. Because she vaguely remembered Trent picking her up off the sofa.

On her way to the bathroom, she noticed the envelopes, still sitting on the coffee table. Maybe it was so easy for Trent to forgive her because he’d screwed up, too.

As she cleaned the scuzzy taste out of her mouth, she pondered her immediate future.

She hadn’t been kicked out. That didn’t mean it might not still happen. She leaned over the sink and rinsed.

Maybe the men hadn’t made a decision yet. What was her best move, then?

Act like everything’s normal until you’re told otherwise?

It was as good a plan as any.

She found a notebook and a pen, and then she called the applicants for the personal assistant position.

After talking to each one for fifteen minutes, she made her decision, offered the woman the job, and asked her to put together a list of interior designers who weren’t too gaudy.

They negotiated a start date for the following Monday.

And… that was the totality of Maisie’s to-do list for the day.

At ten, her phone rang. It was LB&B’s main line, so she answered.

“Are you going to grace us with your presence?” Mrs. Donahue asked.

“Well, good morning,” Maisie said. “How can I help you?”

“Your office is ready. I was led to believe you would be here at nine.”

Maisie rolled her eyes. It was tempting to mention that the marriage had indeed taken place, to rub that in Mrs. Donahue’s face, but that was something Heather would have done.

She didn’t want to be like Heather. Not even a little bit.

“Please don’t speak to me in that way,” Maisie said. “It’s rude. I’ve always been respectful to you, and I demand the same in return.”

Silence.

“I’ll be in shortly.”

In under half an hour, she was standing in front of Mrs. Donahue’s desk.

The older woman gave Maisie a wary look. “Forgive me if I was rude,” she said.

An apology? Maisie couldn’t believe it. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Donahue leaned in. “If you play games with him, I’ll make your every breath miserable.”

Too late, Maisie thought. I already hurt him, and every breath feels like the air has turned into jagged shards of glass.

But what she said was, “Ethan’s an adult. He can take care of himself.”

They glared at each other. Maisie realized she couldn’t fully despise anyone who clearly had Ethan’s best interests at heart. It was obvious they would never be friends, but she sensed a mutual grudging respect.

Fine, then.

As it turned out, Maisie had been allotted one of the back corners. It wasn’t prime placement, but that was fine—she didn’t have clients to impress.

The view through the window, on the other hand, was amazing. She had a clear shot all the way down to the river.

And if she squished herself up into the corner where the windows came together, she could see a sliver of Fate Tower.

Work was already piled up on her desk. Someone—surely Mrs. Donahue—had brought the boxes of completed self-evaluations. Maisie knew they’d been compiled and analyzed, but she was more interested in the write-in fields.

She riffled through the papers. Half the employees had left the fields blank. And why wouldn’t they? The surveys were like homework, and no one was getting paid overtime to fill them out.

Too bad there wasn’t someone who had a sense of the most common reasons workers were dissatisfied.

Or maybe…

Ginelle wore an enormous grin as she looked around Maisie’s office. “Wow, lady. A desk and a rolling chair. Your own window? You’ve come up in the world.” She paused. “Literally! How’d you do it?”

“It’s a long story,” Maisie said.

“Were you undercover?”

“No. It was more like… a punishment.”

That made Ginelle laugh. “I’ll say. You need some plants in here. And some photos.”

“Definitely.” Maisie licked her lips and tasted the strawberry gloss she’d slicked on that morning. “How’s Abby?”

“Back in school. Behaving, so far. That reminds me.” Ginelle reached into one of her gray uniform’s pockets and pulled out an oblong packet. “You probably don’t need this anymore, but I thought of you when I saw them.”

She slid the packet over.

“Dragonfly hair clips.” Maisie laughed. “Oh, they’re so pretty.” And they really were.

“It’s nothing. I mean, you could get them at any drug store. I wanted to show how grateful I am for what you did.”

“I love them. Thank you.” She felt herself getting strangely choked up. “Can I ask you some questions, and you’ll be totally honest?”

Ginelle nodded, but Maisie could tell she was already wondering what the catch was. And that was a shame.

“Actually, maybe I can buy you lunch in the lobby and we can talk in the lunchroom?”

“All right.”

Maisie felt bad that Ginelle didn’t order much, but it wasn’t like she could force the woman to buy more food. They settled into the back of the lunchroom, and Maisie almost regretted that she didn’t have a uniform to put on so she could blend in.

She pulled the plastic lid off her bowl of tomato bisque and crumbled the packet of saltines into it. “I have good news and better news,” Maisie said. “The owner of Fortune Tower doesn’t want to outsource you guys.”

Ginelle closed her eyes for a moment. Her blue eyeshadow was perfectly and impressively intact. “Thank god. I thought you were being nice because you had bad news.”

“My new job is to look for ways to improve employee happiness. I report directly to the owner, so if I have a good proposal, I can probably get it pushed through. I wanted to ask you for some suggestions to make this a better working environment. Especially in regard to parents. What percentage of the staff has kids, do you think?”

“Almost everyone,” Ginelle said after a brief pause. “And the people who don’t have kids are taking care of elderly parents.”

Maisie hadn’t thought of that.

“If you wanna make our lives easier, offer voluntary split shifts.”

Maisie’s phone buzzed. “One second,” she said apologetically.

It was an email from Heather. Maisie, I thought about it and you’re right. Our friendship is more important than some silly misunderstanding. I miss your pretty face. Let’s go out this weekend! You can tell me about Trent and Raphael…

Maisie laughed and deleted it.

“Good news?” Ginelle asked.

“Nah. Just spam. So, split shifts? I would go crazy.”

“Well, they’re awful in the sense that the day feels longer, but at least I could be home when she gets off school. At night, when Abby’s in bed, one of the neighbors can keep an eye on her.”

That didn’t sound like a good solution. “What if there were a nine-to-four shift?”

“Until three would be better. But it’s not enough hours in the week. You’d never get the union to agree.”

“From seven to three?”

Ginelle shook her head. “Abby would be playing hooky within a week. I gotta drop her off at school, or she won’t go.”

“How about a dedicated place for children of employees to come after school? A monitored room. Tables. Board games. Maybe a little library.”

“You mean an after-school program? They’re pricey. I don’t think management will go for it.”

Maisie wondered if she could convince Ethan to expand the program to include parents working anywhere in the building. They could sell the service to the individual companies. She had no idea if that was possible, though.

“I know a philanthropist who might step in,” Maisie said, thinking about Trent’s charities. “What else would you like to see?”

“Oh, I’ve got ideas,” Ginelle said, grinning wickedly. “Dental insurance. Poor Louise has been chewing funny for months. Help figuring out the retirement plans. I spent two weeks slogging through them. My god, the fine print. An ant with bifocals couldn’t read it. And some of the cleaning chemicals give me headaches…”

Nodding, Maisie frantically scribbled down everything Ginelle said. Some of it would never fly, but she figured she could find a way to address quite a few of the problems.