A/N: Hey, I wrote! I got a sudden itch to write and this was what came to mind. I'm surprised it actually came out succesfully, but hey, I'm not questioning it. I haven't posted anything in a really long time so I'm putting this up now. Hope you guys enjoy! :) 

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Idiot for Hire

Chapter 1: It Started with a Latte 

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long it takes to go to Starbucks and come back with a simple request.

Thirty minutes. That’s how long it took my assistant to go to Starbucks and come back with the wrong drink.

I asked Mousy—sorry, Winnie—to get me a tall iced skinny flavored latte, and do you know what she came back with? She had the nerve to come back with a tall iced flavored latte at a whopping 140 calories—an 80 calorie difference, all because she’d forgotten one word. She was just lucky I immediately realized something was off when I brought the cold beverage to my lips, or things would have gotten ugly, fast.

Seriously, I even told her to write it down so she wouldn’t forget, but she assured me she didn’t need to. Right. “I won’t forget,” my ass.

I shouldn’t have hired her in the first place. I understood why I did, but still. Appearance wise, she was perfect for the job. She had the body of a ten year old, a mousy face, and mousy brown hair to match. (There was a reason my mother and I liked to call her Mousy.) Simply put, I always looked better standing next to her.

Unfortunately, I hated her, and she had to go.

“You know what?” I asked. I threw my fashion magazine on my pink leather sofa and sat up straight. “If you can’t handle a simple job like this, then guess what?”

Mousy jumped at the sound of my voice, and her own voice shook when she built up the courage to speak. I wasn’t sure how she’d managed to speak for me when I didn’t want to take a call or go to an event. She was pretty much spineless. “W-what?”

“You’re fired.” I looked away from her and returned to my magazine. My interest in the conversation had already dwindled, so I decided I was done. Casually flipping through my copy of Teen Vogue, I added, “Shut the door on your way out.”

“B-but I said I’d go get you another one,” she squeaked. “Please don’t fire me! I need this job. I’ve only been here for a few weeks and-and I’m still learning. Please.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” I trailed off, and Mousy’s eyes grew wide with hopeful anticipation. “No. Your final check will be sent to you tomorrow. Anything you leave here or at the agency will be disposed of. Have a nice day.” I smiled sweetly at her before turning back to my magazine.

She stood frozen in her spot for a good thirty seconds before sighing quietly. “I’ll go pick up my things…”

I didn’t look up, but I heard her departing footsteps and the gentle shutting of my door. I think she expected me to change my mind and rehire her, but that certainly wasn’t going to happen. “Good riddance,” I muttered, turning back to my magazine.

I looked through an article on relationships, mentally commentating as I read. How young is too young when it comes to marriage? Ninety would be too young if it meant marrying Mitch. We need to envision our future together? Um, no. I’d rather eat five slices of pizza. There’s a higher risk of divorce if you marry young? There’s a higher risk of divorce if you marry a guy like Mitch, period.

I was pulled away from my commentary when “Roar” began to blare from my cell phone’s speakers. I absentmindedly hummed along to my ringtone as I went back to reading and began to frown after a few lines. It never got through the chorus. Why was it still ringing?

Oh. Right. I’d just fired the girl who answered my phone for me. Maybe that wasn’t the best move on my part…

Oh, well.

The next time my phone began to ring, I did remember to grab it, surprisingly, and the caller ID made me let out a loud exhale. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Caroline, exactly. It was just… no, I didn’t like her. I briefly considered letting it go to voicemail, but in the end I took the call. “Hey, Carol.”

I didn’t get a greeting. Instead, I got, “Adriana! Stop calling me that! Carol could be my mom’s name, or worse, my grandma’s name.”

I rolled my eyes. “What do you need, Carol?”

She huffed, and I could almost picture the annoyed expression on her face. It was great. “Mikey told me to call you. He needs a third model for this spread.”

I frowned. This sounded like a reluctant offer, something I definitely wasn’t okay with. “I thought you already had three.”

“Jenny backed out. She went on vacation with her boyfriend’s family.”

I could sense her disapproval just by her tone. Caroline strongly believed in the concepts of having several boy-toys and being a shameless home-wrecker. She liked older guys, and they always liked her back—no exceptions. If they were taken, it added to the thrill. If they were married? Be still her beating heart.

“You want me to take Jenny’s leftovers?” I asked incredulously. Seriously, how many times was she going to ask this of me before she realized I was never going to be up for it? “No, thanks.”

Caroline let out a frustrated groan. “We need a short model for this shoot, Adriana. You’re all we’ve got. You can’t let us down.” 

I resisted the urge to hang up on her. It would only give her satisfaction—even in the face of losing a photo shoot. “You’re two inches taller than me. You can take the part of the short model and find another giraffe.”

Caroline, clearly having lost what little patience she had, retorted, “There’s a big difference between 5’6” and 5’8”, honey. I meet the requirements. You squeezed by thanks to your mom, so you can either take jobs you can actually do, or you can stay in your mom’s shadow forever. It’s your choice. You know, I keep trying to help you, but you won’t even help yourself, much less let me do it. So just take the job for once and get over here.”

My jaw clenched at her words. God, I hated her... “I appreciate your concern, Carol, but I have work to do.”

“Work? What work? You don’t do anything.”

I could have gone into how much crap my mother liked to fill my schedule with, but it just wasn’t worth it. Caroline didn’t care. I was better off ignoring her and ruining this shoot for her. “Well, I hope you find someone,” I said. “Wouldn’t it just be a shame if you were duked out of a shoot?”

“Adriana—”

“Good luck, sweetie.” This time, I didn’t give her a chance to reply and ended the call. I held my phone in a tight grip and had to resist the urge to throw it against the wall.

Didn’t she get it?  I didn’t need or want her help, not when it was laced with passive aggressive comments and half-hearted sentiments. I didn’t need anything from her. I never had, and I never would.

Unfortunately, not even the memory of Caroline being pushed into a pool was enough to calm me down, and I headed to the fitness room to work the frustration off—the usual ending to my day.

***

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.”

“Don’t worry. I’m on it!” she exclaimed, running out of the room and slamming the door shut behind her.  

With such a ridiculous start to my day, I was feeling pretty pessimistic. I had no idea how I was going to make it through the day without an assistant, and Trish definitely wasn’t an option. Sure, my mother would be with me for part of the day, but that just made me feel worse. She’d made it clear long ago that it wasn’t her job to tend to my every whim, and without an assistant, I wouldn’t have anyone to distract me from her nagging.

Damn it. I should have at least waited to fire Mousy. Now I would have to make do with what I had, which was, well… me.

Oh, God. Cue the sorrowful hymn, tiny violins included.

Trish rushed back in a few minutes later, setting a breakfast tray down on my lap. “Just relax and eat,” she said. “I’ll handle this one.”

Reluctantly, I nodded and turned to my food, making a conscious effort to take my time eating. I had the bad habit of vacuuming my food when I was in private, and that usually made me eat more than I needed to make it through the morning. My mother sometimes found out, and that never turned out well. Guilt-inducing comments would haunt me for the rest of the morning—like my caloric intake physically and emotionally harmed her—and my energizing lunch would turn into veggies and water. Yum.

After I finished eating, I sat in bed for a few minutes and watched Trish attempt to clean up her mess. Eventually, I had to get up and grab some towels for my shower, and I had to get my own clothes and accessories, too. It understandably took me much longer than usual to get ready, and if my mother hadn’t shown up to yell at me, I probably would’ve been late to my fitting.

If it had been up to me, I would’ve gone by myself, but Lawrence—the fashion coordinator for my next runway show—required all models under eighteen to bring a parent or guardian with them to each fitting. My dad was always busy with work, so that stuck me with my mother for a good part of the day. Yay.

“Lawrence, why would you choose that color for her? You know green isn’t her color. That looks awful!” My mother wrinkled her nose at the dress I was wearing.

You know, I was always told to be enthusiastic about every piece given to me to wear on the runway. I had enough decorum to at least fake a smile when I didn’t like a piece, but apparently this rule didn’t apply to her.

I stopped my strutting to walk over to the mirror, and while I didn’t think the green really favored me, I didn’t think it looked that bad, either. “I don’t know. I kinda like it.”

She glanced at me and said, “You would, wouldn’t you?” She turned her attention back to Lawrence and shook her head. “No, it won’t do. No daughter of mine will walk down the runway in that.”

“I’m your only daughter,” I reminded her, rolling my eyes.

“Which is why you’re not wearing that,” she said.

“We’ll switch this dress for the red one,” Lawrence grunted, clearly not happy with my mother’s protests. “They’re identical. I just need to see if any adjustments need to be made. You’re smaller than the other girls, but you have an ass.”

I braced myself for a comment from my mother, but it never came. That was weird. My butt was one of her favorite subjects, and not in a good way. In fact, my butt was the main reason I was forced to live an ascetic lifestyle. I hadn’t tasted cake in three years. Three years.  Lawrence’s crude manner of referring to it couldn’t have helped, either.

After I’d slipped on the next piece, my mother frowned and looked around the room. “Wait. Where’s that rodent of yours?”

“That what of mine?”

“Mousy,” she clarified. “Where is she?”

I pretended I was too busy strutting around the room to say anything. Maybe if I ignored her she’d stop talking.

No such luck. My mother narrowed her eyes at me the second I got back to my original spot. “Don’t tell me you fired her.”

I stayed quiet, but it wasn’t like I needed to say anything. My silence was more than enough for her.  

“That’s it. You’re not going to keep going through assistants like this just because you feel like it.” She looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to her and quietly added, “It looks bad. I’m hiring your next assistant, and you will not fire her. Do you understand me?”

Oh, my God. I couldn’t let her hire someone for me again. Not after last time. I didn’t need any more vindictive nutritionists following me around. Never again.

“Do you understand me, Adriana?” she repeated.

“No,” I blurted out.

The show’s designer turned to look at me in surprise, and even Lawrence stopped what he was doing to stare at me.

My mother raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I just meant—I’m already looking for another one. I’m interviewing some people on Monday.” I wanted to slap myself for saying that, but throwing together some interviews was ten times better than letting my mother hire someone for me.

She analyzed me for what felt like hours before nodding. “Fine. But let me just warn you right now, Adriana. Whoever you hire won’t be fired after a few weeks. If she is, I get to hire your next assistant.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said.

“Good.” She grabbed my bag off of a chair and said, “I don’t mean to rush you, Lawrence, but are you almost done here? I don’t want to be late for the fashion show, and Adriana still has to go home and change.”

Was she serious? I’d carefully picked out my outfit that morning, and I thought I’d made sure there was nothing she could criticize. I’d even worn my best blazer—her favorite—and I hated that thing. It was hot and itchy. “What’s wrong with I came in?”

“Nothing,” she said, but her words sounded half-hearted. “I just have something else in mind.”

I glowered but said nothing. Lawrence had one more piece for me, and after trying it on, we were free to go. My mother and I thanked him and said our goodbyes. The car ride home was completely silent, but I was fine with it.

The second we arrived back at the house, she made me change into a floral dress, a dark blazer and strappy pumps. It was basically the same outfit I’d had on earlier, except the blazer was darker. A complete waste of time, but whatever. It was her call.

Despite our setbacks, we arrived at the fashion show just in time. Thing is, I wasn’t even in it. My mother just decided it’d be a good way to get into the next one.

The sundry lights above the runway began to flash on, and the mix of colored lights nearly blinded me. The coordinator was going for a summer theme, which made sense. Summer was rapidly approaching. As I looked around, I could tell he was anything but stingy. He’d gone all out with the location and the decorations.

“You know, I think there’s a good chance of you getting in his next show,” my mother murmured to me as we took our seats at the front. “I’ve been talking to him for a few weeks now. Just don’t mess it up.”

I simply nodded, and she kept talking even though I was only half listening. It was the same old thing she always went on about. “Modeling” this, “career” that. Blah, blah, blah.

Just as I began to look for something else to focus on, a commotion at the front door provided a distraction. We were seated pretty far away from the door, but whoever was talking was irritatingly loud. I couldn’t see what was going on, but I could definitely hear what they were saying. “Hey!” a male voice screamed. “You can’t be in here! Get back—”

My mother turned towards the commotion, and I sent silent praises to the sky because that meant whatever conversation she’d been shoving down my throat was over.  “You’d think they’d have better control of who can get in here. This is a private show.”

“Yeah,” I said, craning my head to get a better look. While I didn’t really care about what was happening, I figured anything was better than hearing my mother talk about my career.

The distraction was short-lived; the lights were shut off just as I caught sight of some security men making their way towards something. Only the runway was illuminated, and that proved to be just as good a distraction as any. I hated most of the models on stage, but I did love the clothes they were wearing. I just wouldn’t love the clothes on me. I mean, those models were the image of how I was supposed to look. They were all at least 5’9” and had tall willowy frames I’d kill for. Except there was no way I’d ever look like that, no matter how many diets my mother put me on, no matter how many hours I dedicated to working out. I’d still always be 5’6”, and I’d still always have a bigger butt than the rest of the girls.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when a guy crouched by my seat. I tried to make out some features, but his face was conveniently concealed by shadows. “Hey. You’re Adriana, right?” he asked in an embarrassingly loud voice. “Adriana Martella, the runway model and heiress. That’s a pretty fancy title you’ve got going on there. That’s pretty cool. I mean, all I’ve got is former McDonald’s employee and college dropout, but that’s something, at least. It could be worse.”

My first instinct wasn’t to reply. It was to check on my mother. I cautiously glanced over at her to see if this guy had gotten her attention, but she was oblivious. She was absolutely enthralled with the show. She just came alive when it came to fashion; it was her calling in life.

Once I was sure she wasn’t paying attention, I whirled back around to face whoever had just spoken to me, but all I saw was a shadow in the darkness. The lights didn’t offer much clarity.

“Excuse me?” I whispered, hoping he would catch on and lower his voice.  

He didn’t. The volume of his voice remained embarrassingly high, and people were starting to notice. “Oh, right. Sorry. That’s pretty rude of me, isn’t it? I haven’t even introduced myself, and I’m already giving you my life story. I’m Nathan. Nathan Byers.”

It was still too dark to really make out a face, and the name didn’t ring a bell. Who the hell was this guy? “So?”

“So I happen to be the brother of the girl you just fired. Over a latte.”

Byers… Wait a second. Winnie Byers. Mousy. He was Mousy’s brother.

His presence made sense all of a sudden. He was here for his sister; he was a guy who felt his sister had been “wronged.” Okay, fine. Maybe that was true, but I, personally, felt I’d also been wronged when I was brought the wrong drink from Starbucks.

“It was a tall iced skinny flavored latte,” I shot back in a low voice.

To him, it was just a latte. To me, it was my entire day. If I’d ingested those extra calories, I would have never heard the end of it. My nutritionist sent a strict meal schedule every day, and if I deviated from the caloric intake, I was screwed.

This guy didn’t understand this. He probably never would. After a few moments of silence, he said, “Oh, my God, you’re insane.”

That was the last thing he said before he was tackled to the ground by a large figure. I couldn’t say I felt too bad for the twitching figure on the floor. If I did, I’d be lying. 

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