LITMIR.BIZ

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      “I just thought maybe... Well, I don’t want to see those circles under your eyes anymore, Indy.”

      I smile wanly, tucking my laptop away. “Trust me, I don’t like it either. But this job is my lifeline. It’s the reason I can still afford to feed myself while I write my novel. It’s the reason I haven’t become completely miserable, even if I hate my job.” I frown at Montana.

      “Look, we can’t all love our job. I appreciate the thought, but I’m just fine. Anyway, I’ll be out of there in no time because this book is going to be big,” I say optimistically.

      Montana returns my smile as she switches on the blender. “You know, if you want something different, I could try and get you a job at the bakery.”

      I groan. “Montana, we both know that’s not going to happen. I can barely toast bread, let alone fancy cakes.” I shake my head, picking up my shoes. “Just forget we had this conversation, okay? I’m fine. Everyone has to work a shitty job at some point in their life.”

      Montana nods absently, but we both end up laughing because we know she can’t really relate.

      Before the bakery, she worked as a personal trainer at the local gym. Before that she helped out in her mother’s dance studio, teaching kids dance routines to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” and Disney Channel theme songs. She’s never worked in a café, washing pots and pans, or as a house cleaner or cashier. She’s always liked her jobs, and once admitted to me how she hadn’t realized how lucky she was until she heard from others—like me—who didn’t have it as easy.

      Montana is in the process of carefully pouring her smoothie into a glass, biting her lip in concentration. “Okay. But if you’re staying there, don’t take any more shit from the guy. Give him hell if he deserves it and remember who is the ultimate boss of you, Indy. It’s you.”

      I nod, forcing a smile so fake that I’m surprised my roomie doesn’t notice.

      “Well, that’s some great advice, Mon,” I say, eager to stop talking about work. “Thanks for that. I’ll see you later, okay?”

      Montana beams at me, sipping her smoothie through a pink straw and waving with her free hand. “All right, sweetie. Have a great day at the office. Love you!”

      “Love you too!” I leave the room, acutely aware that each step I take to my front door takes me closer to the office. Closer to William Walker, the man they say has a heart of stone. Oh, yes. Every inch of that guy is rock-hard, heart included.

      I almost shiver at the thought of the way he looks in his suits. Shiver from dread, that is.

      Yes. Yes, it’s definitely dread. I could not be so masochistic that I’d shiver for other reasons.

      So I force myself to leave the apartment and head for the train station. The commute to work is short—too short. It gets me to hell far too fast.

      Want to know something funny?

      I usually spend it thinking of ways that I can wind my boss up and still keep my job. It’s not easy, but I can be subtle. I have nothing better to do with my time between filing papers, answering the phone and making sure everything is perfect for a man who’s impossible to please.

      Sometimes, in the few free minutes I have each day, I daydream about putting a pinch of salt in his coffee or putting all of his files in the wrong place, though the perfectionist in me would never actually perform this prank. In fact I never carry out any of these fantasies. I do have some regard for my job and how lucky I am to have it. But on mornings such as this, a girl can dream.

      My mother has often grilled me about my job. When I describe William’s abuses, she always seems to think that I’m overreacting. She drones on about how she saw him in Business Insider and how handsome he looked. She tells me that his stern attitude is the sign of a good boss. I half wish I could drag her to work with me, like a bring-your-parent-to-work day. Then she’d see. Then she’d understand.

      Though she’d probably still say he’s husband material.

      Ha.

      It’s pretty funny.

      I pity the woman who ever gets saddled with him.

      He may be a billionaire, but he’s got a billion walls up around him, and a girl would pass out and die before scaling the first few.

      I emerge from the Chicago “L” station to the usual windy morning in the city, and there it is. The building I spend all day in. The home of Walker Industries, one of the biggest online-game companies in the country. Mom says I should feel proud to work for such a prestigious company. I should be proud to have been picked from hundreds of other hopeful women to be William Walker’s assistant. But as I stare at the gargantuan building, I think I’d rather be cleaning toilets than walking inside right now.

       Why? What’s happened to me?

      I was so excited when I was first hired by Walker Industries’ human resources department. I wanted to learn, and in my opinion I would be learning from the very best if I got to work with William Walker. True, he had a reputation for being an ass, but he was a genius in every way that counted. He’d single-handedly built his company from the ground up. But the moment I turned up for my first day of work and I saw him seated at his desk, my knees went a little weak. The blue-eyed stare he gave me almost made me trip. I guess it wasn’t the best way to make a good impression.

      Trying to save face, I said good morning, and my voice came out shaky and nervous because I was intimidated by him. He just stared at me, his eyebrows drawing closer together as I spoke. His jaw clenched. His eyes slimmed to slits. He’s been a dick to me ever since, and I’ve hated my job more and more each day, for years.

      Still, my feet carry me forward. I put on my brave face and nod to the workers gathered at the front desk. They shoot me smiles that are tainted with sympathy. They know what my job is and whom I work for. They return to their conversations, happy in the knowledge that they’re not me.

      I head for the elevator. There’s no one else waiting—everyone here thinks they get bonus points for taking the stairs. But not me. Not when I’m thirty-two stories up, on the top floor. In the executive suite, with the owner and CEO. The big cheese. Top dog. Head honcho. Biggest asshole, aka Man of Stone.

      Well, at least William isn’t waiting for the elevator today. If he calmly pushes the close button one more time when he sees me approaching the elevator, running like crazy to make it on time, I just might kill him.

      The top floor is relatively quiet. All of the most important people get stuck up here, and if they know what’s good for them, they stay as quiet as possible. William hates to be disturbed. It makes it all the more tempting to create a disturbance, but I head to my office silently, not in the mood to cause trouble. I settle in my room, which is essentially a glass box. I’ve gotten used to my sleek computer, my ultramodern desk and my breathtaking view of Chicago. In any other job, I’d probably appreciate these perks. But now it’s just a reminder that I’m stuck here for the next eight hours.

      As I settle in, I notice that William isn’t around. He’s the kind of person who turns up early to work for no good reason. It’s probably because he has no social life—he’s a lone wolf, according to my mother, but to me that translates as he’s an asshole with no friends. Despite the lackeys who follow him around everywhere, I know he doesn’t have any real friends. After all, I control his calendar for personal appointments, and in truth there aren’t many.

      But where is he today? Not being early is like being late for him. Until he arrives there’s little I can do, so I meander to the coffee machine and make a cup for myself. As the machine is churning up coffee beans, the elevator dings and William appears.

      I’ll admit, something about his presence always knocks the breath from me. He stalks forward, with three people following in his wake. His hair is perfectly slicked, his stubble trimmed close to his sharp jaw. His eyes are a shocking blue. I can picture him now on

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