Pay Your Rent

Chapter 5: Arabella

"Now that you're here, go downstairs and get me a coffee. I'm in the mood for something sweet—caramel." He leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked on mine with a lazy, indifferent gleam.

I blinked, trying to process. "I'm sorry...?" My head tilted slightly, confusion creeping into my voice. Was he treating me like some sort of intern? The kind you see in those corporate dramas, running errands like a personal assistant?

"A caramel coffee," he repeated, propping his chin on his hand, his expression bored yet amused.

"A coffee," I echoed, incredulous. "You want me to get you a coffee?" Surely, I had misheard.

"You ask too many questions already," he said with a dismissive wave. "I thought you were capable. Or am I wrong?" His smiles were more like permanent smirks. "While you sit there gaping, I have calls to make. When I come back, there had better be a coffee waiting for me."

With that, he stood up, the subtle rustle of his clothing breaking the silence. The door clicked softly as it swung shut behind him, leaving me standing there, momentarily dumbfounded.

The image I had of him shattered, crumbling into pieces as quickly as it had formed. A sexist, egotistical prick—of course. My jaw clenched. But despite the simmering anger, I needed this job. This wasn't a fantasy drama where I could quit in a fit of righteous indignation. No, this was reality. A reality where I had bills to pay.

I closed my mouth and stormed out of his office, head held high, though inside I was seething. He hadn't even told me where to find the café. Typical.

The elevator doors slid open, and I pressed the button for the 1st floor, the annoyance building with every passing second. As much as I didn't want to obey an arrogant ass like him, I had bills to pay and I couldn't be going around getting fired while letting my mouth pop off at it.

With a huff, I crossed my arms and leaned back against the cool elevator wall, waiting for the doors to reopen.

Without hesitation, I slid my phone from my pocket, fingers flying over the screen as I sent a quick text to Sarah: "Boss is a total asshat." I hoped the sharpness of my frustration came through with the simple words. She knew me well enough to pick up on it.

Now, I'm not usually one to judge based on appearances, but honestly, whatever higher power sculpted that man must've had a sense of humor. Who gives someone a face and body like that, only to turn them into an absolute jerk? It was almost criminal. And to think, for a brief, shameful moment, I'd let my mind wander into dangerous territory—imagining him bending me over on his desk...

I shook the thought away, my fingers automatically twisting a strand of hair around themselves. It was a nervous habit, something I did when I was stressed, deep in thought, or... sexually frustrated. And yeah, I was very much the latter right now. Maybe it was time to start dating again, put this energy somewhere useful.

Before I could stop myself, I was already downloading Tinder. Probably not the best move in the middle of a coffee-fetching errand, but hey, multitasking, right?

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open, and I stepped out into the lobby. Scanning the area, I spotted a janitor. Without wasting a second, I hurried over and asked him where the café was.

Armed with his directions, I set off at a brisk pace, weaving through the building as if I was on a mission. And in a way, I was. I had to get that damn coffee before Mr. Perfectly Terrible returned from his phone calls.

As I turned the corner, a whole new wave of thoughts hit me. Would I even be reimbursed for this? Coffee wasn't exactly cheap, and knowing this place, it wouldn't surprise me if I ended up eating the cost. Typical. He didn't even have the decency to tell me what size he wanted. Did he expect a large? Medium? Small? I should get him the smallest, out of spite. And maybe "accidentally" get it iced instead of hot. Yeah, that'd be satisfying to see his face.

Suddenly, I found myself standing in front of the café. I was surprised to see this building was equipped with everything. I mean a whole spa is on the 9th floor. The warm scent of coffee and pastries filled the air, and for a brief second, I forgot why I was even here.

The line wasn't terrible, but there were at least five people ahead of me, each of them staring at their phones or chatting quietly. I shifted from foot to foot, willing the line to move faster. As I stood there, the sound of my phone vibrating in my pocket broke through the chatter. I fished it out—Sarah had responded: "What did he doooo? I'll throw hands with him."

I smiled at the message, feeling a bit of the tension in my shoulders ease. Sarah always knew how to make me feel better. I shot her a quick reply: "You're not gonna believe this one. Making me get his coffee like I'm his assistant."

The line finally moved, and I reached the counter, greeted by an overly chipper barista. "What can I get for you?"

"Uh, one caramel coffee... I guess." My hesitation must've been obvious because the barista raised an eyebrow.

"What size?"

I cursed internally. Of course, I hadn't thought this through. "Medium? Or whatever your version of medium is," I mumbled.

She nodded and started typing away at the register. "That'll be $7.98 after tax!"

Seven nighty-eight for a coffee? My jaw clenched, but I swiped my card and took the receipt anyway. I better get reimbursed for this... or maybe I'll just hold onto it forever and sip it slowly in front of him. Let him stew in his own smugness.

As I waited for the drink, I looked around. The café had that sleek, modern vibe—polished wood counters, metal chairs, and abstract art splattered on the walls. It was the kind of place you'd expect in a high-rise like this, all pretentious and overpriced. Ew- rich people.

Finally, after what felt like ages, the barista called out, "Caramel coffee!" I grabbed the cup and gave it a cautious sniff. It smelled good enough, but honestly, I was tempted to just toss it and tell him they were out. Let him suffer his caffeine withdrawal. But I knew better than to push my luck.

Clutching the cup, I started the trek back, already dreading the moment I'd have to hand it over to him. If he so much as smirked, I swore I'd throw it at him. Okay, maybe not, but the mental image was satisfying enough to get me through the elevator ride.

By the time I reached the office, I had the coffee in one hand and my phone buzzing with notifications in the other. Tinder had finished downloading. Might as well set up a profile while I wait for the next round of bullshit, I thought, smiling at the absurdity of the day.