My Don Paid Me 800. His Secretary Stole Millions Chapter 02

My Don Paid Me 800. His Secretary Stole Millions Chapter 02

That night, Knox came home around eleven. Reeked of booze.

I rushed over and took his jacket.

He tugged at his tie, frowning,

“Run me a bath.”

I hung his jacket up and kept my voice low,

“Don, can I advance some of next month’s pay?”

Knox paused,

“Advance your pay?”

He repeated it like he was tasting something sour.

“Yes. I really need the money. Can I just—”

“Rae. You’re too greedy.”

He cut me off,

“You eat my food. You live in my house. You wear my clothes.”

“And now you’re asking me for money?”

“Elaine said you’ve been spending like crazy. I didn’t believe her. Guess she was right.”

I froze. Something stuck in my chest.

“I’m not wasting money. I just—”

Knox’s eyes went cold.

“I’m tired. I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

“Do your job. Don’t make yourself a problem.”

He turned and walked to the bathroom. Left me standing in the empty living room.

I stared at the review form on the table. Covered in red pen.

800 dollars.

After rent and utilities this month, I wouldn’t even have money for a hot meal.

3000 a month. And he called me greedy.

Did rich people really think 3000 was a fortune?

Stingy mafia bastards.

My phone buzzed.

Elaine.

“Ms. Vance. Knox asked me to remind you.”

“Know your place. Stop asking for things that aren’t yours.”

“As punishment, next month’s allowance is canceled.”

Then another call. The hospital.

“Ms. Vance, the director’s condition is getting worse. The surgery can’t wait.”

The doctor’s voice was serious.

“We need the full payment by this weekend. Or we’ll have to discharge her.”

My knuckles went white gripping the phone.

“Please, doctor. Give me a few more days. I’ll get the money.”

I hung up. Couldn’t breathe.

Better to make my own money than be kept like a bird in a cage.

I made up my mind. Blocked Knox and Elaine both.

Midnight. I walked out with one bag. Everything I owned.

The wind was loud in my ears. But I felt lighter than I had in months.

Screw being a mistress.

Screw the KPI reviews.

I was going to make my own money.

I took the subway to a flea market. Found an old beat-up food cart.

I remembered eating hot dogs as a kid. Cheap. Good.

Hot dogs it was.

With the few hundred I had left, I rented a basement in New York.

No sunlight. But it was all I could afford.

Best part? No HOA fees.

First day, I parked my cart outside the CBD office buildings.

First time selling hot dogs. Kept messing up the sausages.

A few people walked by. Looked. Didn’t buy.

I didn’t give up.

That night, I went back to my basement and watched tutorials. Practiced over and over.

Finally, I got it right.

Day two. Day three.

I got better. Faster.

My hot dogs got popular. Became a lunchtime staple.

New York lost one mafia mistress.

And gained one pretty hot dog queen.