President, Please Keep Your Love

CEO Vincent Hale was a real piece of work - cold as ice and hardly ever gave anyone the time of day.

But I caught him once, chuckling for hours over a sneaky read of "Kitten Fishing".

He's all about Mickey's fish cookies and can't get enough of those "Tom and Jerry" cartoons.

It reminds me of my own cat that skipped town three days back.

Speaking of that cat? He's a real drama king.

Obsessed with bathing.

Seriously, super obsessed.

Every single day.

Given that cats clean themselves and too much bathing can mess with their fur, I did my homework and planned to wash it just once a month.

But nope, that wasn't gonna fly.

He needed his daily bath or else he'd dash into the bathroom, turn on the tap, and have a blast.

It was weird, since everyone says cats hate water.

He won't touch anything but Mickey's fish cookies for food.

Those treats cost me an arm and a leg, which I kid you not.

And talk about stubbornness, he flat-out refused to get fixed.

I tried to take it to get snipped a few times, but it threw a fit every time and even pulled a Houdini on me last time. Then he never came back.

Today marked round two of being summoned to the boss' lair.

It scared out of my wits.

Jenny Wincop, the intern next to my work spot, snickered at me like she knew something I didn't.

The internship was winding down and only one of us was gonna make the cut.

I'd been hustling like mad, first one in, last one out, night after night.

Whatever task comes my way, no matter how big or small, I'm on it.

Printing, copying, filing, making coffee, you name it—I handle it all.

But I still have not won any popularity contests compared to Jenny.

I couldn't swing the pricey lipstick some coworker peddled, nor did I splash out on fancy birthday gifts.

I just got to the office this morning and the boss was already on my case.

He looked like he'd been through the wringer, picking apart the report I'd slaved over for two straight nights.

As the assistant to his assistant, I barely saw the guy except in meetings.

Rewriting reports? He usually didn't even bother to give them a once-over.

Guess I really got under his skin this time.

So... is this meeting gonna be my swan song?

As I hesitated, Jenny pushed me forward, rolling her eyes, "Get a move on!"

I frowned, and took a deep breath.

If I'm out, I'm out—no use crying over spilled milk.

"This mess of a report yours too? Rambling and juvenile. Rewrite it."

I froze, bad vibes all around, but still bristling a bit at Vincent finding fault.

What does he want in a work report, a Pulitzer?

Just as I was about to meekly retrieve my report to redo it, an irate voice cut in, "This is day three, five hours, thirty minutes, and seven seconds since I left the house, and she hasn't even sniffed around for me."

Huh? I paused, sure I was the only one around.

But the voice grew louder, more peeved, "This woman's got no heart, after months of slumming it with her, surviving on the cheapest Mickey's fish cookies, and now my tastes are all out of whack."

"She even tried to get me fixed, the nerve! Heartless!"

This... felt way too much like my MIA cat's beef.

Vincent's face was stormier by the second, and I was getting more freaked by the minute, itching to grab my stuff and bolt.