“How’s the future Mrs. Max Donovan?” I perched on Payton’s desk.

“Hey. What are you still doing here?”

“I’m the ghost of Christmas past. Hand over your lunch money.”

She raised a brow and folded her arms over her chest.

“Want food? I’m starving. And if I know you, you have—” I checked my phone “—fifteen minutes between meetings to grab something.”

I filled her in as we made our way down to the cafeteria. Her hazel eyes got rounder and rounder as I told her how Avery’d intercepted the reference. About the deal we’d struck.

“I don’t understand. You could’ve gotten around him the next time.”

“I know, but that’s not the point. He doesn’t believe that I helped him. That I get shit done. I’m not leaving him in that cloud of delusion. He needs to understand that, rhinestones or no, he’s never had it better.”

“Charlie, if I found out my assistant had been messing with me, I would’ve fired them too.”

“But he deserved it. He only cares that everyone here worships him except his own assistant.”

“You think he’ll follow through and give you your reference at the end?”

I turned it over in my head. “Yes. I think he’s a dick. He’s not a liar.”

My friend grabbed a salad out of the fridge and I picked a sandwich, dropping it on my tray. Normally I’d go for bacon and eggs, but the breakfast place closed at noon.

“No watermelon slushy?” I asked as she bypassed the machine that dispensed her favorite frozen pink goo.

She made a face. “I’m not feeling it this week.”

We approached the cash register, and the burly man there lit up when he saw us.

“Charlie. My angel.”

“Hi, Martin.”

Hot Martin wasn’t going to grace the cover of GQ anytime soon, but he was sweet. As his nickname was self-proclaimed and he had a great sense of humor, we went with it.

He set a wrapped cookie on my tray with a flourish. “Your cookie.”

“Thanks, handsome.”

“It’s the least I can do for the radiant light you bring into our humble office every day.”

Payton cleared her throat, amused.

We paid for our food and continued to a table, where I unwrapped my sandwich. “What is aioli except mayonnaise on a power trip?”

“I think it has herbs.”

“Fuck herbs.” I dropped the bread back in place and bit into the sandwich.

“So you’re just going to do everything he wants until he can replace you.”

I chewed and swallowed. “I’m on Mallory’s project team for the gala. I’m going to be picking out napkin colors and debating bacon-wrapped scallops versus bacon-wrapped shrimp. Spoiler alert: It doesn’t matter. You could wrap garbage in bacon and feed it to the people. They’d love it.”

“Sounds like Avery’s going to enjoy this.”

“At least the putting-me-through-hell part.” I remembered the flourish on the Post-it stuck to the cart full of stacks of paper next to my desk earlier. And the level look he’d shot me over my cubicle wall when he’d walked past on the way to his meeting. “I don’t even know why Avery’s the one on PR duty. If they want a fresh face to represent the company, they should pick someone who likes people.” My gaze landed on my friend. “Like you.”

“Thanks. I’m not qualified.”

“You’re as qualified as Avery. You have the highest client satisfaction ratings. You’re good at your job. And your hair’s always so goddamned bouncy.”

She laughed. “So for the next three weeks you’re picking out napkin colors?”

“No. I’m going to get him that promotion.” I told her about Avery’s ambition and Jamie’s departure.

“Shit. So you’re trying to make Avery my boss?”

“Only indirectly. You know associates basically work for themselves. It’s about client numbers, nothing else. Besides, what happened to ‘he’s not the worst guy’?” I teased.

Payton shot me a look before flicking open her phone.

“Huh. As part of Redpath’s cleanup of Alliance, they’re literally cleaning up Alliance. The terrarium in the foyer’s getting redone. Plus, they finally realized the skylights were a dumbass idea. New carpet in the common area on eight, starting tomorrow. Says it’ll take a week.”

“Where will all the admins go?”

“Probably the Reagan room. It’s the biggest.”

I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Amazing. I’ll be further from His Highness. Which is what it’ll take for me to get through to the gala without committing an act of bossicide. You prepared to give me an alibi?”

“Jerry, from accounting. In the Jefferson room. With a stapler.”

“You’re a true friend.”