Idiot For Hire [On Hold]

1: It Started with a Latte

***

Saturday morning, I woke up in a rage, screaming bloody murder at the top of my lungs. It kind of hurt my throat, but I didn’t really care. I had bigger problems.

“Where is my oatmeal and almond milk?” I threw my glittery sleep mask on the floor and pushed myself up, crossing my arms over my chest.

The nearest maid scrambled into my room with a startled expression, nearly breaking the door down in her haste. Of course, it just so happened to be Trish, the crazy loudmouth I could never bring myself to fire, and I got a bad feeling after seeing the look on her face and the items she was carrying—a fire extinguisher, a wooden bat, and a some rope.

Trish didn’t bother checking her surroundings; she just went for it. She sprayed the fire extinguisher all over my room, wildly swinging the bat around as she did so.

“Trish! What the hell?” I screamed, but she chose to emit a battle cry just as I began to speak.

Eventually, she realized there was no one else in my room, and she slowly stopped swinging the bat around. “Er…”

“Are you serious?” I asked, looking at the mess she’d made in horror. “Seriously?”

She paused for a second. “I may have misinterpreted this situation.”

“You think?”

“Just to clarify: there’s no intruder?”

I shook my head slowly.

“Then why’d you scream?” She let out an exasperated breath, throwing the fire extinguisher, bat, and rope aside, placing a hand on her hip.

Like I said earlier: I could never bring myself to fire Trish. She’d been working for my family for as long as I could remember and was a big part of my childhood. We’d grown up together, and as an only child, she was pretty much all I had at home. As a child, I didn’t see the class barrier that my mother so desperately tried to establish, and Trish and I formed a bond even my mother couldn’t destroy. Whenever Trish was out of line—which was often—I stuck up for her and helped her get her millionth free pass. If she messed up around me, I helped her fix it before my mother noticed something was wrong. She was my best friend. 

“My breakfast,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “I wanted my breakfast.”

“Oh.” She actually looked disappointed. Learning I’d screamed over my breakfast was kind of anti-climactic, I guess, at least compared to what she’d envisioned, and I’m pretty sure she actually wanted to hit someone with a bat.

“Well, where is it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Your assistant always handles it. See, this is why you should just make me your assistant already. I wouldn’t forget your breakfast!”

Except this was nowhere near true. She would totally forget my breakfast. I loved Trish, but I knew she’d make a horrible personal assistant. There was just too much she could mess up, and my mother wouldn’t tolerate mistakes when it came to my career. It was too risky.

“Mousy didn’t forget my breakfast. I fired her.” Images of an upset Mousy flashed in my mind, and I had to wonder what the hell I’d been thinking. At least she remembered to bring me my breakfast.

“Yeah… I was just kidding about being your assistant,” Trish said. “They don’t last that long.”

I tiredly rubbed my face and sighed. “Just bring me my breakfast and clean this up before my mom kills both of us.”