Miguel appraised me, putting his hands on his waist in a way that spread apart his blazer to reveal his paunchy belly. I made sure to tightly cinch my legs together under the table, though the violet pencil skirt I was wearing hugged my thighs enough that I was sure he could use his imagination as to what was between them. I didn’t want him to do that, of course, but there was no stopping Miguel Herrera when he decided he wanted something.

When his gaze finally dragged back up to meet mine, I realized what he wanted was for me to toss away my lunch and go back to my desk. I held his stare, trying not to let my mouth twitch or my knee shake, trying not even to blink. I didn’t want to make any move that might be perceived as a sign of weakness, because today, after a shitty annual review and yet another thirteen-hour shift the day before, I was taking my goddamn lunch break.

Eight hours. That’s what I get paid for, I reminded myself, a low heat rising in the pit of my empty stomach. Lunch is supposed to be an hour. Lacy gets an hour. So do Ross and Ben. Miguel himself takes as long as he likes. I’m entitled to sit and eat once a day, thank you.

“Okay. You just sit there, then, while there’s a crisis up front,” Miguel growled, waving a hand dismissively in my direction. He looked utterly disgusted with me. “I’m sure the rest of us can manage your job for you.”

I ignored his tantrum. It wasn’t easy—I could feel my cheeks beginning to scald and my throat tighten. “What sort of crisis?” I managed as I took in another deliberate mouthful of rice. I tried not to wince as my tooth sunk into a shard of carrot.

“One of last month’s interviewees showed up,” he answered, and I could tell by the tone in his voice exactly which one it was. “Again.”

I finally looked away, heaving a sigh through my nose. Last month, Miguel had wanted to hire a few more salespeople and had put out an open call on Craigslist. We’d received hundreds of applications, and he and Ross, our staffing manager, had decided on group interviews being the most efficient way to separate the wheat from the chaff, as it were. Unfortunately in their enthusiasm, they’d made promises they couldn’t keep, and some of the prospective hires had to be told they either weren’t good fits (mostly due to some background check revelations) or that there simply wasn’t enough room for them on the team.

Except that Ross refused to tell them that. He just dodged their calls, allowing each and every one to go to his voicemail and directing me to say he wasn’t in the office. Miguel had declared the matter was “beneath him” and that Ross would just have to deal with it.

But when Ross didn’t deal with it, it suddenly became my problem. Suddenly I had to let someone down regarding a decision I hadn’t even been a part of. Suddenly I had to bear the brunt of their anger and frustration. Me, the woman who was constantly reminded that she was “only” an administrative assistant and not a manager.

“Isn’t Ross around?” I asked, though I was sure I already knew the answer.

“He’s at lunch. And you are our front desk girl, so this seems like it falls under your purview.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You know what he’s here about, don’t you? It’s been a month, and Ross hasn’t returned his calls. He’s probably furious.”

Miguel shrugged. “Part of your job, Madison, is to handle customer service issues. If you can’t hack it, well, then…”

He trailed off as he always did. He never actually said he’d fired me or that I should look for some other job, but the threat was always there hanging in the silence. He knew it. I knew it. But he didn’t have the guts to utter the words out loud. He was that type of asshole, the one who did everything in his power not to do his own dirty work, not to seem like the dick that he really was. If I went to HR to complain now and said, “He made me feel as though my job was in jeopardy,” Miguel could come right back and say, “I never said that.” And it would be true. The bastard sure knew how to wiggle.

“I’m entitled to a lunch break,” I reminded him, but I knew I was losing the fight. There was no point, really. We both knew he wasn’t going to make Lacy take care of it. When it came to reminding people about the nature of their job, I was the sole target.

“Like I said, you’re two minutes over.” Miguel’s gaze flicked to the clock. “Five, now. You’d better get back to your desk and take care of this before it becomes a payroll issue.”

I slammed my plastic fork down onto my tray and stood, making sure to scrape my chair all the way back across the floor. I tossed the tray hard into the garbage can, maybe too hard, because as I passed Miguel he stepped directly in my way.

“And stow the attitude,” he said, a smugness lifting the corners of his lips.

I stared at him for a moment, and in that time, something just… snapped. I was sure this was a bad idea. I was almost certain I would lose my job. But in that one exhausted, frustrated, hungry moment, I lost my temper and brushed past him, thumping my shoulder into his as I careened down the main hall.

“Hey!” he called after me. I could hear and feel his footsteps pounding the carpet behind me. “Madison! Don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

I ignored him, continuing on my path. As I passed Ross’ office, I could hear the soft sound of his Pandora station and see a light on from under the door. I tried the handle. It was locked.

“Ross!” I said, banging hard enough for one of our clients to poke his head out further down the hall. “Ross, you have Mr. Davies here to see you!”

“I’m not in,” he said. I could practically taste the cowardice in his tone.

“You’re a manager,” I said, for once reminding my so-called betters of their positions rather than the other way around. “And you’ve been ignoring his calls for a month. Just come out and tell him he hasn’t been hired. It’s not that big a deal!”

Ross didn’t answer, and by now, Miguel was catching up. I shook my head, snorted, and strode toward the front desk again. Even in heels, I was quicker than Miguel’s fat ass.

“Maddy,” Lacy said as I came into view around the corner. She was texting while Mr. Davies sat in one of the reception area chairs. She brushed a dark lock of hair from her face and tried to pretend like I hadn’t just caught her slacking off once again at work. “Mr. Davies is here for…”

“For Mr. Culling,” I finished, smiling at Mr. Davies. That smile felt wrong and wild, but the momentum of my anger was thrusting me forward now. I couldn’t stop. “I’m Madison Hearst. We’ve spoken on the phone.” I extended my hand for his.

Mr. Davies stood up and hesitated a moment. My eyes fell to his left hand, the one that was shriveled and tucked against his side. Some kind of accident, I’d been told. But I didn’t need that one. I only needed his right.

After a time, he grasped my hand in his good one. “I remember. You helped me with my application before my interview.”

“I did,” I said. One might have thought our very own staffing specialist would have been able to do that, but alas, Ross wasn’t terribly familiar with the application process—nor anything else of particular value, it seemed. “And I apologize that Mr. Culling hasn’t returned your calls. I assume you’re here about the status of your background check and interview?”

Mr. Davies nodded. I turned slightly over my shoulder to see Miguel hanging back by the offices, keeping out of sight of Mr. Davies. His face was turning redder by the second and he had a look of unease about him, almost as if he knew what I was going to do.

I’d been lying for Ross and Miguel for far too long. I was going to tell Mr. Davies the truth, and that was something Miguel was desperately afraid of.

“Mr. Davies,” I said, turning back to him, but this time without a smile. “I’m afraid Mr. Culling has been avoiding you.”