less. I understood and appreciated that, too.
I'd worked for him for almost six months. He'd told me to
cal him Paul, not Mr. Johnson, but we weren't anything
like friends. That was okay with me. I didn't want my boss
to be my chum.
Though sometimes it felt as if al I did was make coffee
and file, my job did actualy have more responsibility. I had
documents to proof and send, invoices to fil out and
appointments to book. I did al this to leave Paul free to do
whatever it was that he did al day long in his lush, swanky
office. If hard pressed, I wouldn't have been able to tel
anyone what, exactly, that was. I didn't hate or love my
job, but it sure as hel beat working at a sub shop or being
an au pair, which was what I'd done while looking for a
an au pair, which was what I'd done while looking for a
job that would use my freshly minted degree in business
administration. If I never slung another plate of hash or
wiped another ass I'd be happy for a good long time.
There was another advantage to having a boss who
needed everything just so. He was wiling to do what it
took to make sure he got what he wanted, whether it was
leaving me a three-page e-mail of the week's work, or
taking five thorough minutes to describe to me exactly
what he wanted me to get him for lunch. Also, if he sent
me out to get him some lunch, he usualy treated me.
Today it was a pastrami sandwich on rye from Mrs. Deli.
Mustard, no mayo. No tomatoes, no onion. Lettuce on the
side. Potato salad and an extralarge iced tea with real
sugar, not what he caled cancer in a packet.
I met Brenda in the hal on my way back. She took one
look at the bulging paper sack from Mrs. Deli and sniffed
hungrily. She held a smal, boxed salad I recognized as
coming from the same guy who sold bagels in the morning.
I'd had one of those salads once, when I'd forgotten my
lunch and had been so desperate for food I'd been wiling
to use my laundry quarters.
'Gawd, Paige,' Brenda said. 'Lucky. I wish my boss
would send me out for lunch. Heck, I'd like to just get out
of this place for an hour.'
Officialy, we got an hour for lunch, but since our building
was located in a business complex on the outskirts of the
city, by the time you drove to anyplace decent for lunch,
you'd barely have enough time to eat and come back.
Rhonda might not hover over Brenda, but she was a
stickler about office hours and break time. Everything has
a trade-off.
'Let me just drop this off with Paul and I'l be right down.'
Brenda looked at the box of sadness in her hand. 'Yeah,
okay. I've only got about forty minutes left, though.'
'I'l hurry.'
