a simple favor (h.s.)

one

He's late again. And there's nothing I can do about it.

If I were his boss, I would have fired him a long time ago. It's a game I play with myself sometimes, something to pass the time on the days where it feels like I'll never get to go home. Like the day he trailed into the office almost four hours late and didn't give me so much as an explanation—he'd be fired in a heartbeat for that if I was his boss. Of course, he doesn't owe me an explanation. He doesn't owe me anything.

Today is already shaping up to be one of those days, but unlike the previous times, I'm slowly beginning to unravel. The smile I wear on my face at all times without fail is becoming more and more forced, and whenever I wish him a good morning, it's always followed by a resentful asshole in my head.

He never says good morning back—he doesn't say anything at all. I've never even gotten so much as a hello. On good days, he'll give me a disgruntled, blink-or-you'll-miss-it nod. What does it say about my work environment that my boss nodding at me is a good day?

If the good days are subdued, then that just makes the bad days even more aggressive. He storms into the building like a petulant child, where I'm waiting patiently outside his office with his coffee. I've come to learn that on the especially bad days, the only thing that keeps him from flipping his desk over is making sure there's a freshly-baked batch of cupcakes waiting for him. As usual, he's never thanked me for them, or asked where they come from. One time, when he'd kept me late for what felt like the millionth night that month, he'd asked—no, he'd ordered—me to get him those cupcakes from that bakery he liked so much. I froze, unsure how to tell him that the bakery was just my kitchen. Eventually, I settled on apologizing and saying that they were closed for the night, which only escalated his frustration.

I'd like to think that I'm a patient person, although my best friend prefers to use another p-word—pushover. Jen thinks that I let people walk all over me, no one more so than my boss. I hate to admit that she might be right. She's been trying to convince me to quit for as long as I've worked here—the past four years. I've always told her that it's not that simple.

I'm sure that if I'd been able to get a college education, I wouldn't have stayed at this job for more than a month. When you have options, it's easy to recognize when you're being mistreated—it's easy to acknowledge when you deserve better. As much as I love Jen, she doesn't always understand that. I don't keep this job because I enjoy being treated like I don't exist. I keep it because I'd prefer not to be homeless. Harry Styles may be an asshole, but he's an asshole who pays well. At least for an assistant position.

At the beginning of every new year that I've started with him, I resolve that this is the year things are going to change. I'm going to stand up for myself. I'm going to ask for a raise. I'm going to tell him enough is enough. And if he doesn't want to listen...well, I'm still not sure what my threat is going to be, because I've never actually reached this stage of my plan. I never find the courage—or the time—to take him aside and air out my frustrations, and then all of a sudden, it's the first day of the new year and I realize I'm right back where I started.

I make a promise to myself that this year is going to be different. And, for the first time in my four years working for Harry, it is.

Just not in the way I think it will be.

+++

The trouble starts before Harry even arrives.

"Emily!" a familiar voice barks from the next room. "Come here!"

I squeeze my eyes shut in frustration at the sound of Peter's voice. He's technically not my boss, but that doesn't stop him from ordering me around as he pleases—even though I've worked here a lot longer than he has.