My Assistant’s Girlfriend Called Me a Poor Old Hag

I didn't confront Justin right away.

Not because I felt sorry for him. I wanted to see how far he'd go.

The answer came faster than I expected.

Saturday afternoon. I was heading out to my place in the hills for a couple of days off.

I'd bought the property three years ago. Quiet area. I stayed there now and then.

Before I left, I called Justin out of habit. Wanted him to check that the cleaning service had been by.

He sounded edgy on the phone.

"Ms. Sinclair, there's actually some plumbing work going on at the house today. Property management said it's not livable until next week."

"Plumbing? I had it inspected last week. Everything checked out."

"Must be a new issue. They just told me. Maybe stay in the city this weekend?"

"Fine." I hung up.

Twenty minutes later, I drove out there myself.

From half a block away I could see four or five cars parked at the gate.

One of them was a company sedan.

Justin had the keys.

I pulled over and walked up to the front door.

It was cracked open.

Music and laughter spilled out of the living room.

I pushed it open and walked in.

The white leather couch was streaked with red wine.

The coffee table was buried under takeout boxes, beer cans, and cigarette packs.

The floor was covered in shoe prints and crumbs.

The Persian rug I'd shipped over from Italy had eight holes punched through it from stilettos.

Ten or twelve people were sprawled around the living room. Men and women. Drinking, playing some hand game.

Right in the middle of the main sofa sat Vivienne.

Two girls next to her were eating it up.

"Viv, your boyfriend is so generous. This place has to be worth twenty million, easy."

"Way more than that." Vivienne swirled her wine glass. "This is the smallest one Justin owns. He's got a penthouse downtown and a riverside loft too."

"Oh my god, Viv, you got so lucky."

"Please. I have great taste."

I stood there in the doorway. Didn't say a word.

Vivienne caught me in her peripheral vision. Her glass stopped mid-swirl.

Then she recognized me.

She got up and walked over with a look of pure disgust. "What are you doing here? Again?"

"You first," I said. "How did you get in?"

She put her hands on her hips. "This is my boyfriend's house. I used his keys. Is that a problem?"

"How about you tell me how some random woman walked herself in here?"

Her friends got up too, looking me over.

A girl with bleached hair sneered. "Viv, is this the freeloader you were talking about? She's back?"

"God knows why." Vivienne folded her arms. "Mooched a meal off my boyfriend at the restaurant, got kicked out. Now she's trying to mooch a house."

"Listen, lady. Stay away from my boyfriend. Don't think a few years on him gives you any leverage. He's not going to fall for some old trick."

Footsteps on the stairs.

Justin came jogging down with two bags of takeout. "Viv, your truffle fries—"

He saw me. His knees buckled. The bags hit the floor.

"Ms... Ms. Sinclair?"

Vivienne turned. "Why are you calling her that? Justin, you're the boss, she works for you. Why would you call her ma'am?"

Justin's mouth was open. Nothing came out.

I looked at him. Kept my voice flat.

"Justin. You have thirty seconds. Get everyone out of my house."