Page 2 of His Little Angel

Oh, Enzo’s more capable.

Enzo would know what to do.

Enzo. Enzo. Enzo.

Pathetic.

Because he will never love me. He will never date someone outside his status. He probably doesn’t even see me as a woman—just a functioning extension of his schedule.

And if I don’t leave now, I’m going to become a lonely cat lady who flinches every time she hears the wordmeeting.

Watch my day, and you’ll understand.

7:15 a.m.

I’m in the office, hunting down the cleaning crew to point out the microscopic spots they missed. I do not have the emotional capacity to hire ten new people this week.God help me.

7:30 a.m.

I make his black coffee. One time, I brought him coffee from a shop down the street. He took one sip, poured it down the drain, and said, “I only want the coffee you make.”

Total man-child behavior.

But me—with my dumb crush—had a moment where I imagined him saying that to me while I was barefoot and pregnant with child number two-point-five.

Whatever. Don’t judge me.

8:00 a.m.

He arrives.

I greet him, hand him his schedule, walk him to meetings, send rejections, send approvals, and send flowers when he snaps his fingers.

Mr. Morelli this.

Mr. Morelli that.

Mr. Morelli, Mr. Morelli, Mr. Morelli.

We’re glued at the hip. Three years of being the first person he sees in the morning and the last one when he leaves. Three years of giving him every ounce of energy, loyalty, and dedication I have.

If I stay, I will never move on.

I started working for him when I was twenty—basically a kid. All the moments I should’ve spent growing into myself? I spent them orbiting him.

I trained myself to need his approval.

To please him.

To anticipate him.

And in the process, I wrecked my love life before it even started. My sex life has taken a hit as well. I either go through months-long dry spells because I don’t find anyone but him attractive, or I go rampant—fantasizing that it’s him every single time.

None of this is healthy.

So yes.

I need to quit.