Mafia Tech Bro

Chapter seven

TANISHA

It took me ten whole freaking minutes to find a parking spot. All the empty spaces were apparently reserved. I had to pull into the most distant, shadowy parking corner. Like a rat in hiding.

Fifteen minutes late. I was fifteen minutes late. Christof was going to serve my head to Pepa, on a platter. I sprinted into Armitage Conservatory. I didn’t have a second to spare admiring the architecture or decoration. Unfortunately, being on a time crunch wasn’t blinding enough for me not to notice how people turned to look at me, at my wrinkled shirt, my tired face, and my ‘help’ energy with disdain.

I stuck out like a sore thumb. A throbbing, limping one. Everyone, even the servers, looked exquisite, guests looked glamorous. I was irrevocably the ugly duff, looking like I crawled out of a taxi sewer drain. Great, fantastic. Love that for me.

I clutched my bag tighter and inhaled. Professional. I needed to be professional. Christof didn’t tolerate mistakes, disasters, or… whatever I was currently giving.

A hostess who could be mistaken for a model, smiled at me with an expression that said she wasn’t sure whether to let me in or call security.

“Hi,” I said, mustering my best smile. “I’m with Mr. Gustavo. I am His personal assistant.”

The smile instantly smoothed into something sweeter, more polished. Amazing what the magic word ‘Gustavo’ could do.

“Of course,” she said. “This way.”

I followed her deeper into the conservatory, past floating candles, curated ponds, and assortment of food towers. Every footstep I took echoed too loudly. I tried avoiding eye contact with reflective surfaces. Seeing myself might just become my undoing.

Pepa and Christof were already at the center of the main hall. They glowed. They radiated opulence, they attracted attention like magnets dipped in diamonds. I could feel heat rising up to my neck as I approached them.

I had barely gotten within five feet of Christof, when he took two long strides and pulled me to the side. He looked straight past my head, eyes cold and focused on whatever he needed. I could’ve been wearing a clown suit and he wouldn’t have blinked.

“You’re late!” He said, nostrils flaring.

“I parked far,” I flapped my hands around in a pathetic manner. “I’m sorry sir—”

“—I need you to check with the event coordinator about my speaking slot,” he cut me off, looking away, scanning the room for someone important. “They’ve rearranged the order.”

“Of course,” I could feel my palms getting damp from anxiety.

I moved past him, scanning the room for where I might find the event coordinator. I kept walking with near-jittery steps, throat tight, eyes stinging. I finally found him, after asking a hostess for his description and whereabouts.

I reached the coordinator, a tall, stressed-out man holding three clipboards and a tablet like they were extensions of his nervous system.

“Hi,” I said politely. “I’m Tanisha, Mr. Gustavo’s assistant. He needs confirmation on his speaking slot.”

“Oh! Right.” The coordinator fumbled with his tablet. “Yes, yes, we moved him up. He’s opening the program.”

My stomach dropped.

Christof hated surprises.

And the last thing I needed on my resume was “assistant fired for forgetting to time travel.”

“Do you need his intro?” the coordinator asked impatiently.

“Yes,” I said, pulling out my phone.

He rattled off the details, and I typed like my life depended on it. Because…it kind of did. As he spoke, music swelled in the background and more guests drifted in, laughing, glowing.

I sent the update to Christof and turned to find him, only to see him across the room, Pepa on his arm, surrounded by founders who listened intently to him, like he was sharing the code for growing money trees at backyards. He didn’t even bother to acknowledge my message.