Divorced By The Boss I Slept With

The next morning, Arnetta arrived at the Vanguard top floor exactly at seven-thirty.

Her calves still burned from the boardroom punishment, and she had bandaged the blisters on her heels, forcing her feet back into the cheap pumps. She dropped her scuffed briefcase onto her small desk and sat down.

Before she could even log into her computer, a shadow fell over her desk.

Kenya Foreman, Alexis's chief executive assistant, stood over her. Kenya wore a designer skirt suit and a smile that looked like a weapon. She slammed a thick, leather-bound folder onto Arnetta's desk.

"Good morning, rookie," Kenya said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Alexis wants you to handle the morning beverage run for the executive suite."

Arnetta looked at the folder. She opened it. Inside was a list of twenty different drink orders.

"This is a coffee run," Arnetta said flatly.

"It is a Vanguard tradition," Kenya sneered. "Every new assistant has to prove they can handle the pressure. The executives have very specific tastes. Do not mess this up."

Arnetta scanned the list. The orders were absurd. Half-caff, soy milk, exactly three pumps of sugar-free vanilla at 140 degrees. Matcha latte with oat milk, whisked, not steamed.

She looked at the address of the designated coffee shop. It was a boutique roaster three avenues away.

"I'll get right on it," Arnetta said, keeping her face blank.

"Good," Kenya said, turning on her heel. "And Arnetta? They expect it on their desks in exactly forty-five minutes."

Arnetta grabbed her coat. She didn't argue. She knew exactly what this was. A hazing ritual designed to make her fail, to make her look incompetent in front of Brennan and Alexis.

She took the elevator down to the lobby and pushed through the revolving doors.

The New York morning was brutally cold. A biting wind whipped down the concrete canyons of the financial district. Arnetta pulled her thin coat tighter around her body and started walking. Her bandaged heels screamed in protest with every step, but she forced herself to walk faster.

She reached the boutique coffee shop. The line spilled out the door.

She stood in the freezing wind for twenty minutes, her teeth chattering. When she finally reached the counter, the barista looked at her with exhausted eyes.

Arnetta didn't look at the list. Her photographic memory, the very skill that made her the legendary 'Aura' in the VC world, had already cataloged every detail.

She rattled off the twenty complex orders without a single stutter. The barista stared at her, impressed, and started pulling espresso shots.

Ten minutes later, Arnetta walked out of the shop carrying four massive cardboard drink carriers. The weight of the twenty cups strained her wrists.

She had to walk back three avenues.

The wind howled, threatening to tip the carriers. Arnetta locked her elbows against her ribs, using her core to stabilize the load. She approached a busy intersection. The walk sign flashed white.

She stepped off the curb. Suddenly, a bicycle messenger blew through the red light, hurtling directly toward her.

Arnetta's eyes widened. She couldn't jump back without dropping the drinks. She planted her feet, twisted her torso violently to the left, and pulled the carriers tight against her chest.

The bicycle whipped past her, the handlebars missing her shoulder by inches. The rush of air fluttered her coat.

She exhaled a sharp breath. The coffee sloshed violently inside the cups, but the lids held. Not a single drop spilled.

She crossed the street and practically ran the rest of the way to the Vanguard building. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the freezing cold.

She rode the elevator up to the top floor, using the mirrored walls to quickly smooth her wind-blown hair and adjust her glasses.

The elevator doors opened.

Arnetta walked into the executive suite. Her arms were trembling from the weight, but her posture was flawless.

Kenya was leaning against a filing cabinet, holding a stopwatch and smirking.

Arnetta walked past her without a word. She moved from desk to desk, setting down each specific drink with absolute precision. She had used a black marker to write the executives' names on the cups in neat, block letters.

She placed the final cup-a black, single-origin pour-over-on Brennan's desk.

She walked back to the bullpen. Kenya was staring at the empty carriers, her jaw practically on the floor.

"Forty-two minutes," Arnetta said softly, looking directly into Kenya's eyes. "And the matcha is perfectly whisked."

Kenya's face flushed a dark, ugly red. She opened her mouth to snap back, but a voice cut her off.

"Impressive."

Alexis walked out of her office. She looked at the perfectly distributed drinks, then looked at Arnetta. Her expression was unreadable, the overt hostility from the day before replaced by a sharp, calculating scrutiny.

Alexis walked over to Arnetta's desk and dropped a blue personnel file onto the laminate surface.

"You're resourceful. I'll give you that," Alexis said coldly, leaning slightly over her desk. "I don't know how you survived the boardroom yesterday, and I don't know how you pulled this off without a single mistake. Don't get comfortable, but for now, Mr. Kirkland wants you, so you will handle his affairs."

Alexis turned to look at Kenya.

"Kenya, you are relieved of all primary duties regarding Mr. Kirkland's immediate schedule," Alexis announced.

Kenya gasped. "What? Alexis, you can't be serious! She's a nobody!"

"She is the one who didn't spill the matcha," Alexis corrected, her tone leaving no room for argument. She turned back to Arnetta, her eyes narrowing into a warning glare. "Arnetta reports directly to Brennan for his daily needs. But make no mistake, you report every single detail of his schedule back to me. We clear?"

Kenya glared at Arnetta, pure hatred radiating from her eyes. She spun around and stormed back to her desk.

Alexis tapped the blue folder on Arnetta's desk. "Your new security clearance is in there. Don't make me regret this."

Alexis walked away.

Arnetta opened the blue folder. Inside was a black, heavy-duty keycard. Level 1 Access.

She picked up the card and hung it around her neck. She looked at the heavy walnut doors of Brennan's office. She had survived the hazing. She had secured her position.

Now, she just had to survive another dinner with the devil himself.