“Hey,” he said.
“Dan, this is Annie’s replacement,” Ian said.
Dan turned so he walking backward down the hall. “Nice to meet you, Annie’s replacement,” he said. “Good luck keeping this one in line.”
“Ha ha, funny sonofabitch,” Ian said. He folded his arms across his chest. “Good morning, Daisy. I see you come bearing gifts. Or you’ve got an insatiable caffeine habit.”
“I . . . I got you coffee,” I said, thrusting the cup out to him. Right as I did so, I saw Jonathan turn the same corner that Dan had just disappeared around and walk toward us, a smile on his face. I let go of the coffee cup, thinking that Ian had a grasp on it, but he must not have because once I let go, the cup fell, the lid came off, and coffee exploded everywhere, a little bit getting onto me, but mostly onto Ian.
“What the fuck?!” he shouted, jumping back. “That shit’s hot!”
“Whoa,” Jonathan said, rushing over. “What happened? Everyone okay?”
“Oh my god,” I said. I looked around for a place to put my own coffee cup and set it down on the desk, next to an unwieldy stack of papers. “I’m so sorry. I thought you had it. I’m so, so sorry!”
He had a grimace on his face, and for a second, I thought he was going to tell me that I was fired. But instead, he looked at Jonathan, and he started to hobble off. “I’ve got to change these pants,” he said. “And probably go get treated for second-degree burns while I’m at it. She’s all yours, Jay. Show her the ropes.” He shot a look in my direction. “That’s quite the way to make a first impression.”
“I . . . I . . . I’m so sorry.” That’s the only thing I could seem to say. I felt mortified; I knew that my face was probably beet red and my voice sounded shaky. I wanted to say something else, but Ian was already walking off, presumably toward the bathroom. I looked at Jonathan. “He’s so mad at me, isn’t he?” I said.
Jonathan had an affable smile on his face. He didn’t look too concerned. “He’ll be fine,” he said. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Ian’s tough.”
“I know, but that coffee was so hot and . . .” I looked at the desk where my cup was still sitting. I hadn’t brought one for Jonathan. “I’m sorry—I didn’t bring one for you, too.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I already had some this morning. Really, don’t worry about Ian. He’s been through way worse. He’ll get over it. Come on, let’s get started.”
I glanced over my shoulder in the direction Ian had just stalked off in. I hoped Jonathan was right—that he really was fine and he’d get over it—but even if that was the case, I knew I wasn’t going to get any gold star in the first impressions category.
Chapter Three
Ian
For fuck’s sake.
I went back into my office and shut the door. Maybe more like slammed the door. Nothing like starting the morning with a scalding beverage spilled all over your pants, though I guess it was better that it wasn’t down my pants. Most of the coffee had splattered below the knee, and I’d been wearing jeans, so they’d done a fairly good job protecting my legs. But still. I didn’t drink the sorry excuse for coffee from Starbucks, but I thought I’d play nice and at least take the cup from her, and then dump it down the drain later. Worst, she’d put half-and-half in it, probably sugar too, which she’d probably done for hers as well, meaning she herself didn’t even like coffee—she liked coffee-flavored beverages.
There was a big floor-to-ceiling window to the right of my office door, which had blinds that I didn’t bother to pull as I took my jeans off. Let her have a nice long look at my ass; that was just the sort of thing that would make a girl like her squirm even more than she already was. Especially because she’d think I didn’t realize what I was doing.
I kept a spare change of clothes in the bottom drawer of my desk, and I pulled out a pair of olive green canvas trousers and put those on. I changed my socks and left my sneakers on the window sill to dry. The only other footwear I had here were my Timberland boots, so I put those on.
I sat down at my desk and pulled up my left pant leg and looked at my calf. The skin was a little red, but there was no blistering, no real burns. I couldn’t help but think about the time my stepfather, Pete, tried to knock a pot of boiling water onto me. I was eleven, twelve, maybe, boiling water to make spaghetti because Mom was working and Pete couldn’t be bothered to actually make any meal that didn’t involve a microwave. When Mom was around, he mostly ignored me, but when she was out, he had free rein to treat me however he wanted.
If Pete had started this shit with me when I’d been older, I’d like to at least think I’d hit him back or tell him to fuck off. But as it was, Mom met him when I was five, and he started knocking me around not long after that.
“Go ahead and be a pussy and go crying to your mother about it,” he’d sneered at me, as though daring me to rat him out. “Just like a little girl. You think that sort of shit’s going to save you? You think anyone would look at you and think you’re anything but a pathetic little fuck that no one will ever want to be around?” It was always some sort of variation of that—I was the world’s biggest pussy, no one would ever like me, there was nothing I could do about it.
I wasn’t the only kid I knew who had a stepfather—or father—that liked to treat them like a punching bag, but it’s not like it was something you’d talk about at school. Not back then, anyway. There was no after school support group for kids from abusive homes; there’d just be the kids with the black eyes, the bruised arms, the split lips, and were our gazes to ever meet as we passed in the hallway, we’d be quick to look the other way.
That night he’d tried to knock the water on me, I had stepped back at the last second. Had I not, I would have been scalded from the torso down; as it was, I still had a few tiny scars on my legs that no one would ever notice unless I pointed them out. He had tried to play it off like it’d been an accident, like it was my fault that it had happened, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes that it hadn’t turned out worse for me. That all I was going to take away from that particular incident were a few tiny scars that were barely even noticeable.
But they were there, nonetheless. No one else might have been aware of them, but I sure as hell was.
Chapter Four
Daisy
I tried to focus on what Jonathan was saying, and not think about the fact that I’d just spilled hot coffee all over Ian. So far, my first day wasn’t going that great.
“So,” Jonathan said, “I guess I’ll just start by telling you all the stuff that our previous admin used to do. I don’t think it’s going to be anything new to you.”