by Elena Monroe
“For once, can you take something seriously? Don’t fuck this up.” With a quick click, he hung up without some kind of normal closure that conversations usually had.
Not really surprised.
ABIGAIL
Normally, Justice declined any offers of a ride home. She was dedicated to public transportation, instead of killing the earth the way all us drivers were.
Jus was a rare bird. Almost everything was a human rights argument or injustice.
Her parents were huge activists. I supposed that was where they got her unconventional name. She didn’t open up about them much; all I knew was that they had both passed away when she was in high school.
I couldn’t even imagine losing both my parents that young.
Jus wasn’t someone who seemed fine on her own. She was independent as all fuck, but something about her craved someone to care for her.
“Grimm told me to get office supplies with his card. Weird?” I leaned onto her desk, watching her close up shop on today. The office was clearing out quickly, like it always did on a Monday.
Snatching the black card from my bragging fingertips, she practically squealed, “Ooh! We could single handedly fund third world feminine hygiene!”
Yanking it from her mischief-induced smile, before she could memorize anything, I gave her a small laugh. “Absolutely not. It’s his card. It’s just for like… a calendar, pens, Post-its maybe?”
“It’s funny you think he’d even notice. Those guys aren’t just loaded; it’s so much worse, Abi.”
Grabbing her backpack, complete with buttons screaming at each other to pick a cause, I laughed as she pushed her thigh-high stockings down into ruffled socks above her boots.
She was certainly testing the bounds of office attire as a whole. Jus didn’t like any of the existing rules, so she made her own.
I, on the other hand, loved rules.
“I know, I know… Wealth is a disease with no cure,” I said, mocking one of her catch phrases right back at her.
“Laugh all you want, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they all have serious problems. Permanent problems.”
Linking her arm in mine, we headed for the elevator down to my car.
Stopping at the driver’s side before pulling the handle, I looked at her. “Did you hear the rumors?”
With an eye roll, she got in the car, waiting to continue her opinion. That meant it wasn’t short and sweet.
I had theories about everything. Jus had opinions and conspiracies.
“First of all you know we’re working for the Illuminati, right?”
Before I could even snap my seatbelt into place, I looked up at her shocked. We worked for a boring financial company headed by four assholes and their most-likely-asshole fathers.
“What? We work for the Clave. It’s just financial.”
Her eyes squinted at me, trying to assess if I was being serious or not. “You can’t be this pretty and this naïveté. That’s really sweet.” Her typically unfriendly features turned to sympathy quickly before speaking again. “The Clave is the Illuminati, babe. You never thought about their last names? Rothschild, Astor, DuPonte, Rockefeller? Founding family names.”
She had slapped me with the truth so hard I wondered what had me blind this whole time.
“Wait… Why do you work there then?!” I turned her direction as much as my car and center console allowed.
“No other way to get better information, duh. Well, now that we are over that hump… Rumor has it the hunt is some sacrifice shit in the mountains.”
Our serious expressions managed eye contact as long as possible, before we both busted out in a fit of laughter. Slapping my thigh, I couldn’t control the tears drowning my eyes and leaking out the sides.
Sacrifices? Illuminati?
Jus was crazy, but I loved her all the same. That’s what unconditional was: loving what someone else didn’t.
The Office Depot on Wilshire was the closest to our office. Everything was on Wilshire if you were an office with any clout. The Clave had established clout from before I arrived.
You never really think of companies you don’t know before working for them. Even if you do, all you’re hoping is for good pay, a decent boss, and hours. Everything else you can ignore if you try hard enough.
Slowly drifting down the aisles, I picked out random things in white with gold accents (stapler, hole puncher, nice pens that fit my aesthetic). Jus was calculating some kind of argument meant to make Office Depot look terrible; I could see it in her pensive brows.
“Have you heard of Sins and Forgiveness? It’s some bar.”
Her pensive argument blew away with one question as she spun around to look at me safely behind my cart. “The sex club? The club known for drugs? I protested there once for sex trafficking.”
My jaw went slack at her blunt response. Grimm wanted me to get him a table for his guests he needed to impress at a drug infested sex club? Working for Vic was so much easier. If he was morally bankrupt, I didn’t get to see that side.
Sex club.
Sacrificial weekends.
We work for the Illuminati.
Had I been wearing rose-colored glasses this whole time, heart-shaped and red, because I begged for danger, but just didn’t want to be aware I was surrounded by it?
“Grimm asked me to secure a table for his guests.”
With her hands on the end of the cart, she glared at me. “He’s not Vic, Abigail. He protected you from all this, but Grimm doesn’t see those kinds of lines.”
For some reason, I didn’t take her observation for what it was. I peeled back the layers, peered between the words, and found meanings she probably didn’t even mean for me to find. Overthinking wasn’t really a hobby you choose to pick up on your own. It’s bred from anxiety and sensitive souls.
I wasn’t overly sensitive. I was aware that protecting myself was a 24/7 job, and I do every job with pride.
The anxiety just showed up one day and never left. It was manageable. The bad days stood out more, just like bad energy or bad times.
Nothing I couldn’t handle on my own.
“Maybe I need more honesty in my life…” The words trailed off, unsure if even I was being honest in this moment.
Leaning her weight onto the front of the cart, she leaned in and said, “Too much truth will break your favorite sunglasses, Abi.”
Jus had a way of speaking in tongues, but you knew exactly what she meant, because it reverberated in your chest with a vibration that made your soul flinch.
I couldn’t maintain eye contact for too long; the truth was hard to look directly in the eyes. Shifting my eyes downward I waited for her to move out of the way of the cart. After the longest minute of feeling her eyes on me, she finally stepped aside, still with a “take me seriously” look on her face.
I was trying to focus on office supplies, but every ounce of happiness was dampened by the clash with my best friend, reality, and all the bullshit we ignore just to keep some semblance of sanity. Looking at the folders, Jus shouted from the other end of the aisle, “I’m gonna hit up the poke bowl shop down the street. Want something?”
“You know what I like!” I was trying to remind her she still liked me regardless of my sunglasses or risking my favorite pair by working for Grimm.
I appreciated her worry for me. Believe me, it didn’t always show for other people, only because she could get behind, but I didn’t have a choice like she made it seem. I had zero choice in being fired by Vic to only be handed off to someone else.
Waiting until she was out of earshot, I Googled the bar for a number, hoping reserving a table was quick. The bar was dark, seductive, and honestly well designed from the photos my search turned up.
Sins and Forgiveness.
It even sounded precarious as you mulled over the name. It had me biting my lip and tempting me to stand sexier in an aisle of the most unsexy thing: office supplies.
I was being lured in, and all I was d
oing was stuck on their home screen of their website. Finally shaking off the arousal, I pressed the “contact us” button to find the number before pressing it. My phone dialed it automatically when I pushed the phone up to my ear, waiting for someone to pick up on the other end.
“S&F, how may I help you?”
The girl’s voice sounded drowsy in a way that was meant to be cool, too cool to care too much. That was definitely a LA homegrown special. You could see Diane Keaton, my personal adult goals, in the same grocery aisle and not care one ounce, because it was the LA thing to do. Thank god I didn’t grow up here! I couldn't imagine what kind of scars that created.
“Hi, I need to reserve a table for my boss.”
“We have a waitlist of 3 months. Do you still wanna put your name down?”
“Oh, no, no. He needs this table for tonight. He just said to call. Is there like a password or something?” The words Illuminati and elite were ringing in my ears, and all I could reference quickly was Eyes Wide Shut by Stanley Kubrick.
Her laughter kind of stung, even through the phone. “We’re in high demand. There’s still a waiting list.”
“Jason Rothschild… does that help?”
She poked a stick right to my soft parts, making them turn to stone. I was a nice person, with anti-LA qualities and still hopeful in an innocent way, even though I was aware that hope comes to die here, but when steamrolled because of who I am? Oh, you get horns.
Normally people assumed I was a bitch, solely based on how I looked, but this bitch wasn’t even seeing me and treating me like I was a know-nothing idiot.
“Doesn’t ring a bell, sweetheart. Maybe you can try another bar.”
I could see her fake sympathy in my head, paired with a small shrug that just screamed “I can’t help you”.
“He goes by Grimm. Sorry, I thought you’d know his real name,” I snapped into the phone, as I ripped down a pack of highlighters from the hook in front of me. The line went silent—overwhelmingly silent.
“Please hold,” was all I heard after the silence.
Did the non-name hold some weight I was blind to?
Vic dropped his name, but only ever when making deals, business opportunities, and things like that. Maybe sex clubs was the arena Grimm’s name worked in.
The hold music was soft elevator music that seemed outdated for a club peddling in drugs and sex trafficking… A deep voice came on the line with an accent I couldn’t place. It almost sounded like he was losing it by being in the States too long, giving him just a hint of his origin. Hints of Russian maybe? It was distracting me, and it made me wonder how anyone paid attention on his staff.
“I’m sorry for the hold,” he said. “You are reserving for Grimm?”
“Yes. Your hostess had an attitude problem.”
“She’s been reprimanded. How many in the party?”
“Three, but that could change… Things come up.”
I could hear his pen scratch against the paper. “Apologies, please let Grimm Reaper know the vodka is on the house.”
The change in attitude once I said Grimm wasn’t something I could ignore, rose-colored glasses or not.
Grimm Reaper?
How the hell did I not make fun of his nickname meaning that yet?
Kicking myself, I headed for the cash register to check out my stuff. The weight of his card in my wallet mocked me. I couldn’t use his card, even if it was justified. Item by item, she got closer to the end of my office haul, when I pressed my thumb against my own card and pushed it into the machine.
The strong, independent woman in me was judging me hard, even with his permission. I didn’t need my boss buying me Post-its and organizers to absolve himself of whatever bullshit he was going to put me through as his assistant.
He was going to ask for forgiveness, not just throw money at it and hope that made me blindly do whatever he asked. He wasn’t a model Clave employee, but he wasn’t going to just have me fish bullets out of his extremities, get planes, and call sex clubs without some rules being put into place first. None of this was work-related or something he truly needed help with.
He was trying to break me, and it wasn’t going to work.
Grabbing my bags and slinging them on my arm, I shot him a text, feeling jaded by his mind games and me not seeing through them.
That was the thing about rose-color anything: Once you take that filter off, you can’t see any color. Everything becomes so harshly black and white; there is no grey area for things to fall into. Just either black or white.
ME: All your tasks are done and your credit card went untouched. Do you plan on having me do anything work-related or are sex clubs it? I work for the Clave as a secretary, not your personal slave.
GRIMM: Did you get your period or something?
When men feel it’s okay to speculate or make some irrational assumptions when it comes to our bodies being the reason we are suddenly taking no bullshit is the epitome of why you have secretaries to get the job done.
Without us taking no bullshit, you probably would be a wreck—one not easily fixable either. So, the next time your mom, girlfriend, sister, friend who is a girl… suddenly becomes a kind of sane that seems crazy, just remember, it’s whatever the fuck you did to us that sucked out all the rose color from our reality.
ME: No, but if you ask me that again, you’ll be the one bleeding. I didn’t get my period. Your mind games just failed to work any longer.
GRIMM: 1. I don’t play games. 2. You work for me, not the Clave. 3. And that goes, for whatever I feel like having you do. Does that sum up everything you’re freaking out about?
ME: You’re an asshole.
GRIMM: Did someone lie to you and tell you I’m nice?
I couldn’t even argue with him. He was so maddening with all his clarity and bullet points he didn’t know I liked, making me more confused as to what his motives were with me being his assistant.
He didn’t do anything Clave related. He was using me for his own personal use, and it was feeling like slavery. I felt crazy and justified all at once, and I didn’t know how that was possible.
My phone buzzed in my hand as I stood outside the Office Depot doors on the sidewalk, making it obvious to Jus I was done if she was looking for me.
GRIMM: My reservations done? That is, in fact, Clave related. Zeus owns the Clave, and I just happen to be the only one he likes.
My whole body felt hot, blood pressure pumping at alarm highs, and my fingers texted back so quickly I wondered if I was erupting all over him again.
ME: How about we just make some boundaries and rules for both our sakes? Clave business only.
ME: P.S. Reservations are done.
GRIMM: Right after you drop off my card at Sins and Forgiveness tonight. Kind of need that.
My phone read 3:30 p.m. I should have been at work still, but Grimm left and I had nothing to do, so I reasoned with myself to leave early to get supplies. Plenty of time to drop off his card to him anywhere else. This was a direct response to my outburst and a continuation of his mind games.
ME: And you don’t need it for dinner?
GRIMM: I’ve been going to Chow since I was 10. I have a tab.
Control freak.
I supposed that I should be elated that he didn’t have a tab at the sex club. Somehow that wasn’t helping my mood slip back into my baseline positive and hopeful that I normally was. I couldn’t shake feeling used and lied to by the one person who seemed so straightforward.
Jus had a past she refused to talk about, my parent’s stifled marriage, Los Angeles in every facet… and now I could add the one kind of mask I hated most on men: liar.
Grimm wasn’t Vic, and everything about their differences felt like a lie, because I had missed what was right in front of my face.
GRIMM
I’d only ever met Zeus once before. I didn’t know I made a lasting impression, let alone made someone want to hang out with me specifically.
It was brief
, and I was a sixteen-year-old asshole, mad that we were sent to some private school with no other students. They still made us attend the dinners and parties. I barely remember it; only his name really stood out, naturally.
Vic was better at kissing ass.
Far be it from being my decision, any decision, I was as much of a puppet as the rest of the world. Nothing was a choice, even from this view, inside the inner circle. Zeus wanted me to show him around LA because I reminded him of his brother. They said, “his brother” like I knew who the fuck that was. Guess I perfected making it look like I was paying attention in meetings.
I wasn’t.
I texted Khaos quickly, being a smart ass: Let me guess his brother is Hades?
KHAOS: Damn, bro. You really don’t give a shit. Yeah, cruel parents, huh?
GRIMM: You’ve got to be shitting me. So he likes me because I remind him of some badass dude from mythology?
KHAOS: Yep. You’re basically there. Just some badass from Christianity’s version.
GRIMM: I’ll be sure to remember that the next time I’m hating what we do. Thanks.
Los Angeles was a weird place, but naming your kids after mythological figures? More than weird.
I abandoned Jason our second year at the private school with only us attending. He was too weak to survive, too hopeful, too innocent to keep doing the bad shit that I kept doing.
I adopted the name Grimm as a joke, until it stuck.
Now I wasn’t some comical shorthand for Grim Reaper, but apparently I was now a tour guide for mythological nuts. Great.
I had been sulking in my bed since I left work. The blinds were keeping the sun out, and the TV was on some show about a guy and tigers, but on mute. My hand tipped the bottle of Xanax back and forth, like it was a rain maker. I was doing my best to create enough space in my mind to be someone who shows others a good time.
My desire to tap out and text Vic to do it was overwhelming. The anxiety of this gripped my chest and wasn’t letting go. I was used to breathing shallow, stale air while the monster got a chance to breathe too.
