The Bedroom Blog

The Absolute Worst Part of Being a Personal Assistant

Chloe gets an unexpected promotion.

By Alessandra Torre

"HURRY. I JUST FIRED JANE. I NEED U ASAP"

I reread Nicole's text as we pulled up to the Met, the driver navigating around a cluster of New Year's Eve partiers. Putting away my phone, I glanced out the window, my eyes lingering on the museum's grand columns, wrapped in garland and lights. Against the dark sky, they were a beautiful beacon.  I jumped from the Escalade as delicately as I could manage with Chanel's furry body clutched to my beaded chest, and ran inside.

Nicole found me the minute I stepped inside, her nails biting into my arm as she latched on and yanked hard, my heels scrambling for traction on the polished marble floor. She pressed me against the wall, her face close enough for me to see a bit of artichoke in her teeth. Chanel whimpered.

"Give me the dog," she hissed. "Where are her clothes?"

"The driver's bringing them."

She blew a frustrated breath upward, her false eyelashes fluttering from the act. "I need you, as quietly as possible, to get Jane out of here. I don't want security involved; I don't want any extra attention brought to this." Nicole's voice was eerily calm but laced with ice. "I'll deal with Chanel. You extract Jane."

Extract Jane? I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I was kicking a drunk girl out of a party, not dealing with an enemy combatant. Right?  

I tracked down the second-floor powder room Jane had locked herself inside of, a trio of black suits already gathered around the door. The group turned at my approach, their eyes narrowing in sync, as I got closer.

"Do you know this woman?" one of the men said, his accent thick with Brooklyn.

"Yes." I accompanied the word with a smile, the friendly gesture not budging any of their frowns. "Could I try chatting with her?"

"By all means," he stepped away from the door, "But we've called a locksmith. In ten minutes, she's coming out of there whether she wants to or not."

The trio dissolved, other party emergencies to attend to. I leaned an ear against the heavy door. "Jane?"

A moment of silence, then a shaky voice. "Cleo?"

"Chloe," I corrected. "The dog nanny."

"Oh thank God you're here. That woman…. Ahhh!" Her scream was loud enough to push me away from the door. "You have no idea what she is capable of. I spend a few minutes talking to her manager and she fires me! Plus, she's withdrawing my Parsons recommendation!" There was the slow hard bang of something against the door. "She is an evil, manipulative BITCH." There was so much hatred in the sentence I flinched.

"I understand you're frustrated," I ventured gently, "But they've already called a locksmith and …" my brain searched wildly for a bigger threat than a man with a  pick, "and Nicole's threatening to call the cops. So if you wanna sneak out you should probably do so now… " I lowered my voice conspiratorially and crossed my fingers.

"The cops? For what?!" Her indignant shriek quickly found the hole in my fib. I kept quiet, trying frantically to find a new trick up my (fabulous) Topshop sleeve.

Then I heard the metallic flip of the lock and the door cracked, one smoky eye pressed against the slit, darting quickly in one direction, then the other. I froze in place, standing still in the middle of the empty hall, like a child scared to spook a butterfly.

"You'll probably get my job," she moaned. Then, without warning, she flung open the door. I had been expecting an irate Jane, a woman whose customary clipboard was both an accessory and a potential weapon. Instead I saw a blur of skin, clad in just a bright red bra and matching thong. Boobs and ass bouncing, she sprinted past me and down the hall. I was slow to react, my shock keeping me in place, my eyes barely registering the action of her arm as it reached out and yanked the fire alarm.

I had just taken up chase, my heels skittering down the slick marble hall, when the sprinkler system above our heads burst into action, showering ice cold water everywhere.