Greyson Sloane was the only one with an office up there. “I wouldn’t keep him waiting, if I were you,” Margery in HR sounded sympathetic, but not sympathetic enough to throw another, less desperate PA to the wolf waiting on the twentieth floor. I’d drag myself into work half-dead, but Koko’s well being was another matter. He was a little under the weather this morning, a cute little sniffling sneeze and cough, and I’d seriously considered staying home with him.

It reminds me that I exist, even if it is just for opening a can of cat food. There is a reason why single ladies and cats are a stereotype after all, and I’m not ashamed to admit that the little meow of Koko when I come through the door makes me happy. Why not? If you’re a walking stereotype in all other ways, might as well go all in. Without said dead-end job, how would I pay for my studio apartment to cloister my single self inside on a weekend? How would I pay for cat food? Yes, it’s true, I had a cat. The only constants in my life for the last two years had been my dead-end job and my terminable singleness. He was also known for firing incompetent people on the spot and being the CEO of the entire billion-dollar company I worked in, he had all the power to do so. My boss Chris might be the laziest, repugnant coffee-breath bore in the world, but he wasn’t terrifying. You need to head up there.” I stared at the speakerphone on my desk and found my trusty words had deserted me. “Tessa, Chris is out today, and Greyson Sloane’s PA called in sick.

Vincent by Gia Bailey