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Two months ago …

The man’s mouth kept moving but I’d long since tuned out.

They weren’t paying me enough for this. Impossible. Day two on the job and I was ready to throw myself out a window. The music biz will be fun they said. It’ll be glamorous they said. They lied.

“… is that so hard to understand? Am I getting through to you? An éclair is a long, chocolate-frosted donut with custard in the middle. Not this, this … round thing you’ve bought me. AGAIN,” the idiot thundered, jowls shaking.

Over at her desk, his P.A. slunk further down in her seat, just in case he decided to make her the next target, no doubt. Fair enough. She probably wasn’t getting paid enough either. Only a masochist would enjoy this for under a hundred bucks an hour. Usually I tried to get temp jobs that lasted a couple of months or so. Long enough to make some money, short enough to avoid getting caught up in any drama.

Usually.

“Are you listening to me?” Fake-tanned flesh turned from orange to a startling shade of burgundy as his anger grew. If he had a heart attack, I wasn’t giving him mouth-to-mouth. Some other brave soul could make the sacrifice.

“Miss … whatever your name is,” he said. “Go back to the shop and get me what I asked for this time!”

“Morrissey. My name is Lena Morrissey.” I passed him a napkin, taking care not to touch him because a true professional always kept her distance. Also, the guy was just that repugnant. “And this is for you.”

“What is it?”...
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