Hello Mr Arrogant

Apartment Therapy

Michelle’s apartment door clicked shut behind her at 10:47 P.M., and the mountain of Rodeo Drive bags hit the floor with a _thump_ that made the walls shudder.

“Jesus, Milly. Did you rob a boutique or buy it?”

Her roommate, Lila, was perched on the couch with a camera lens in her lap and a documentary paused on the TV — _Contacts: The Masters of 35mm_. Lila shot editorial for indie magazines and had the kind of eye that could make a parking lot look holy. Nothing rattled her — except, apparently, designer c*****e.

Michelle kicked off her ruined heels. “Company card. Executive fund. I’m now legally obligated to look like I can afford to be yelled at by a movie star.”

Lila set the lens aside and padded over barefoot, eyes widening as she clocked the labels. “Is that The Row? You own _The Row_ now? Milly, you budget your coffee, and now you own _The Row_?” She whistled, lifting a structured wool blazer. “Okay. Talk. Start with why you smell like fake rain and male ego.”

Michelle dropped onto the rug and let her head fall back against the coffee table. “Because I spent twelve hours being a professional babysitter for William Denver. I was promised Junior Manager. I got… assistant. To a man who thinks B-flat ticking is a personal attack.”

“_The_ William Denver? The ‘I method-act my _ice cubes_’ William Denver?” Lila was already cross-legged on the floor, documentary forgotten. “They bait-and-switched you with a corner office and gave you a hydration schedule instead? Spill. Full contact sheet.”

So Michelle did. The 42-degree water. The north-facing labels. The “migraine of the ego” from ink. The green M&Ms that had to be room temp in a chilled bowl. By the time she got to the “aggressively red” act of mutiny, Lila was clutching a throw pillow like it was a light meter.

“You gave _William Denver_ the wrong M&Ms? On purpose? To his _face_?” Lila’s voice cracked. “Milly, I photograph ex-cons and fashion week. That was braver than both.”

“He told me I’d be responsible for the ending if I kept directing his performance,” Michelle muttered, pulling a silk blouse from a bag. The fabric was colder than the Icelandic water. “Then Whitney gave me a black card and said I need armor. Apparently I have to earn the title they already promised me. By surviving him.”

Lila held up the blouse to the lamplight, checking the drape like it was a subject. “She’s not wrong. You went to work today looking like the assistant they tricked you into being. You’re going back tomorrow looking like the manager they owe you.” She tossed the blouse at Michelle. “Try it on. I need to see the frame.”

Michelle changed in the hallway, stepping back into the living room in charcoal silk and razor-sharp trousers. The mirror above the TV caught her reflection — same tired eyes, different composition. Sharper. Harder light.

Lila let out a low breath and grabbed her Leica off the coffee table. She didn’t ask — she just shot. _Click._ “There she is.”

“There who is?”

“The woman who makes _him_ adjust his white balance.”

Michelle almost laughed, but the weight of the day was still sitting in her shoulders. “He’s not going to adjust. He’s going to retaliate. Whitney said his day starts with a ‘vibe check’ at six a.m. If I’m late, he’ll use the M&Ms against me for a month. And if I don’t survive three months of this, that Junior Manager title stays a ghost.”

“So don’t be late.” Lila set her camera down and grabbed Michelle’s phone, setting a 5:00 A.M. alarm, then a 5:05, and a 5:10 for backup. “You’re not going in there as the girl who monitors beverages. You’re going in there as the shot he didn’t see coming. Make them give you the damn title.”

Michelle looked at the bags, at the silk, at Lila holding her phone like a shutter release. For the first time since Penelope slid that tablet across the desk, her five-year plan didn’t feel dead. It felt reframed.

“Thanks, Lila.”

“Don’t thank me, Milly. Just text me when he notices the new exposure. I need a better opening-night story than ‘rich man yells at light.’”

Michelle gathered the bags and headed for her room. 5:00 A.M. came fast, but for once, she wasn’t dreading it.

She was dressed for it.