Demanding Boss Read online

  Patricia

  Despite the fact that my ex has just turned my world upside down, I silently build my confidence until I’m certain I can get beyond her deception. “I’m a smart, driven, capable woman,” I whisper with my teeth clenched.

  I’ve been broken before. After my longest relationship failed, I learned to guard my emotions. Jessica’s betrayal is going to take some time to get over, but it’s nothing I haven’t experienced already.

  No one will stop me from achieving my dreams, so I know I have to push past the pain and move on. I begin to make a mental list of replacement writers, but no one on my list lives up to Jessica’s caliber. If my firm is going to surpass her new company, I need someone who can truly compete with her writing.

  The intercom buzzes as I get my receptionist on the phone. “Donald, bring Amelia and Jack in here. We’re going to find a new writer that can breathe some life into our novels.”

  “Right away, Ms. Monroe.”

  When my two assistants come scuttling in, I get right to the point. “I’ve decided that we’re going to replace Jessica immediately. We need to discuss a plan of action in order to find a writer good enough to take her on.”

  Amelia and Jack exchange pensive glances. “That may be difficult,” the latter replies. He’s timid, but he challenges me nonetheless.

  My eyes burn with anger as I raise my voice. “I don’t care if you have to sift through portfolios all night, I want this done. We can’t just give up because some replaceable bitch left us out to dry.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I can see Amelia’s shoulders quaking. The survival of this company relies on her being able to find Jessica’s replacement, and the weight is taking its toll on her.

  Jack steps forward, covering for her. “We can do it, but it’s going to take time. If you really want to find a talented replacement, we should push back the series launch date one year.”

  “Agreed, that’s a solid plan of action.” The light slowly returns to Amelia’s eyes, and she turns to flash a grateful smile in Jack’s direction. “While we’re finding a new writer we can fill out the rest of the line.”

  “No!” Rage erupts through my every pore; I can’t have my project sitting stagnant while Jessica pulls out ahead. “Unacceptable. The release date must remain the same.”

  The two frightened assistants exchange worried glances. “I told you that wouldn’t work,” Amelia mutters under her breath, but I hear every syllable, and it only contributes to my temper.

  I feel like I’m about to lose it. With furrowed brows and clenched teeth, I stand from my desk to glare in their direction. “Get it done.”

  “Ms. Monroe, I understand your concern, but there’s absolutely no way we can push out a book that fast. We’d be sacrificing the quality, and I’m sure that’s something you don’t want.” Jack keeps his cool, and I give him the benefit of the doubt by trying to keep mine.

  “Get our editors working overtime then. This must be done, no exceptions.”

  Amelia sighs, taking a moment to brainstorm before pitching me another idea. “We can keep the release date the same, but there’s not enough time to interview and hire a new writer. Can you think of anyone within the organization, or even any manuscripts you’ve read, that may have potential?”

  We all fall silent, the two assistants waiting with baited breath as I think hard. Eventually, a smirk crosses my face and they perk up. I think I may have a solution.

  Almost one year ago to the day, I feasted my eyes on one of the most brilliant manuscripts I had ever seen. It happened on a slow day, after I had decided to peruse the pile of unsolicited submissions for my own amusement. Unexpectedly, the last document had me hooked; what began as an act of boredom ended with me being completely absorbed for the entire evening.

  The book possessed both heart and soul within its pages. Its genuine glimpse into the human condition left me both curious and impressed. The characters were lovable, the diction was elevated, and it truly spoke to me on a level that few books have before.

  It's only shortcoming was the almost laughable sex scenes. What should have been a professional erotic romance read more like a virgin’s attempt to write steamy fan fiction. Despite this, I couldn’t get the manuscript out of my mind.

  “There’s this one manuscript from the slush pile, I think it may be our answer. Jack, get me a ghostwriter to fix the atrocious sex scenes. Amelia, find that file as soon as possible so we can get in touch with the author.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” My assistants simultaneously nod their heads and promise to get to work immediately.

  Once they move to the table in my office and start fleshing out the plan, I settle back into my seat, feeling my confidence slowly returning. My goal is now back within reach. This book is going to be a big hit, and Jessica is going to pay for her defiance.

  I only wish I had that brilliant manuscript back on my desk. The sooner Amelia finds this prodigy of a writer, the sooner I can thank them for saving my company. On second thought, maybe I’ll keep that important tidbit to myself, but I still want to thank him or her for submitting such a gem.

  Just as I begin to feel like my old fearless self again, my bumbling idiot of a new hire comes stumbling into the office, ruining my high. “What do you want?” I snap at her.

  “I’m sorry!” She squeaks, jumping at the volume of my voice. Her trembling hands drop the steaming cup of coffee she’s holding, and espresso spills all over her outfit.

  Both Amelia and Jack stand instantly to assist her, but I glower at them. “You will not leave that table until you have the outline of a plan completed.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Their eyes go wide, but they sit as instructed. Time is of the essence, and not a single distraction can throw us off course.

  I stare incredulously at the new girl as she continues her foolish behavior, trying to clean the mess up with her soaking clothes. “Wendy,” I call, holding out a fresh napkin.

  She doesn’t reply, instead working harder to mop the spill.

  “Wendy.” My brows knit together, my voice showing symptoms of exhaustion when she still doesn’t look up. “Wendy!”

  Finally, the girl looks in my direction, her enormous grey eyes going wide. I once heard Donald referring to her as a frightened deer, but I didn’t think his description would be this accurate. “Yes, Ms. Monroe?”

  I shake my head, holding the napkin out to her. “Clean yourself up. Get changed if you must, but get out of my office. I don’t have time right now.”

  Taking the napkin with a smile, her smooth hand lingers against mine before she pulls away to dab her clothes. “I just thought I could help you with something. Is there anything I can do?”

  I examine her ruined outfit and shake my head. “No, I don’t need any more blunders right now, but I’ll call you next time I need coffee spilled all over my office.”

  Her pale face turns red. “I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

  It’s only her first day, and she’s already given me the impression that, although she’s beautiful, there’s absolutely nothing going on in her brain. “Every new hire has a short period of time to prove themselves here, and you’re not off to a good start. Hurry up and change, then maybe I’ll think of a project you can redeem yourself with.”

  “This job means a lot to me. I won’t let you down.” She looks resolute, and the determination in her eyes is convincing.

  “We’ll see.”

  When the girl exits my office, I turn my disdain towards my assistants. They’re too busy whispering fervently at the table to notice my disappointed scowl. “Something you two want to share with the class?”

  Jack notices that I’m upset again and clears his throat. “No, we were just double-checking the completed plan. I think you’ll be pleased with it.”

  “Yeah, we didn’t think you were too harsh on the new girl or anything. That’s not why we were whispering at all.” Amelia pushes a strand of auburn hair from her perspiring forehead, and I can
see right through her lie.

  I don’t have time to reprimand them. “Just put the outline on my desk and get out of my office.”

  My assistants tentatively approach me and Jack places the completed plan on the desk. “Let us know if you have any questions.”

  Right before they leave, I put my hand out to stop them. “I need you both to promise me something. Do not breathe a word about any of this to anyone.”

  “We won’t,” Amelia promises.

  “I’m serious. Nothing about this plan or the book is to be discussed outside of this room unless the other person needs to know the details.”

  “Understood. It will be discussed only on a need-to-know basis.” Jack swears. I hope he understands that Jessica’s treachery has burned me badly, and I need to take all necessary steps to prevent that from happening again.

  “Good, now start trying to find that author.” As soon as they leave I rub my eyes and groan. The fate of my firm relies solely on this author, and I would trade one million clumsy new hires just to get that writer in my office.

  4

  Wanda

  On my way to the bathroom to clean up, I wonder how Patricia got the idea that my name is Wendy. Initially I thought that she was speaking to one of the others, but it should have been obvious that I was wrong. “I should’ve just answered to that name.”

  Patricia Monroe is the most talented publishing mogul I’ve ever had the opportunity to meet. She’s practically a legend, and I had to go and embarrass myself. “She must think I’m a complete idiot,” I moan as I fruitlessly rub a paper towel against my stained clothes.

  My cleanup efforts aren’t working. I usually keep a fresh change of clothes in my bag, but I find that the dress I’ve haphazardly packed is more suited for the club than an office. As soon as I try it on, I notice that my breasts are popping out of the top and I instantly slip it back into the bag.

  “Coffee outfit it is.” I wonder what Patricia will think when she sees me walking around with my clothes still ruined. She’s much more commanding in person that I ever expected, and I decide to avoid her for the rest of the day.

  I slip out into the hallway quietly, looking both ways to make sure I’m in the clear. Halfway to my desk, I run into Amelia. Before I can turn and run, she calls to me.

  “Don’t have a change of clothes?” She frowns, her bright eyes lingering on my stain. “No worries, you can borrow my sweater for the day.”

  “Thank you.” I take the black cardigan as she shrugs it off, and wrap it hastily around myself. “You saw what happened in there...do you think I still have a shot at impressing Patricia?”

  Amelia’s eyes soften. “Ms. Monroe is tough, but she’s not impenetrable. You can get through to her; just do what you’re told and keep the coffee in your cup.”

  “Yeah, I’ll try to remember that one.” I wrap the sweater even tighter around my middle as my eyes drift to my shoes.

  Amelia puts a hand on my shoulder. “Chin up! You’ll be fine. Jack and I will help you out.”

  She offers to walk me to my desk and I agree. “I would appreciate that. Let’s just hope I get through the rest of the week.”

  Luckily, I’m able to survive until Friday unscathed, thanks to Jack and Amelia. True to her promise, Amelia stepped in to give me tips and tricks so I didn’t embarrass myself. I also remembered to put a top on my coffee.

  After a decidedly successful work day on Monday, I rush to catch a bus to see my grandfather. I can’t wait to tell him about my first week.

  “Sounds like you’re really coming into your own!” he says, full of pride, after I tell my tale. “I can’t wait to tell everybody I know that my talented granddaughter Wanda is a famous writer.”

  “Oh pop, don’t do that.” My mouth falls into a frown.

  He laughs, his grey eyes twinkling. “Still humble I see. That’s my girl.”

  I don’t have the heart to tell him the truth. “Yep, that’s me, famous and humble.” I almost kick myself for hoping he will forget that this conversation ever happened.

  My grandfather’s Alzheimer's disease is no joke, and I remind myself that the main reason I got this editing job is to pay his medical bills. “You make me so proud,” he says with a smile.

  “I do it all for you. Maybe I’ll dedicate my next book to you!” If I tell him I’m working as an assistant editor, not a writer, he will be heartbroken.

  He sits back in his chair, turning his eyes to the ceiling. “I remember that you always loved being creative as a child. You would write stories and draw pictures almost every day.”

  “I remember,” I encourage, letting him lead the conversation. It’s good for him to exercise his memory.

  “There was this one time, you wrote a story about a talking dog running a barber shop. It was so funny, we all laughed for days. Don’t you remember that, Zofia?”

  My mother’s name. Just when I think my grandfather is coming back around, he slips up. I don’t correct him though, and instead let him keep reminiscing.

  After a little while, he wraps up the stories and rubs his belly. “How would you fancy a bite to eat?”

  “I brought some of your favorite pickles from that deli down the street.” I pull the jar from my purse, delighting in the way my grandfather smiles once he sees them.

  “I’m happy you remembered! You always loved dill pickles growing up.”

  We share a laugh, and I help him open the jar. “I’m happy you remembered, pop. You have no idea.”

  Our quiet crunching fills the room before he speaks again. “So how are you enjoying the big city? You didn’t have trouble finding the deli, did you?”

  “I didn’t have trouble. The man behind the counter was very nice, he said to tell you ‘hello’.”

  He thinks for a moment, smirking impishly. “George,” he recalls. “He was a good friend of mine growing up.”

  My heart warms, and I can tell his treatments are going well. It only motivates me to try harder at work so I can continue paying those bills. “New York is a great place. Everybody is so nice.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” He seems so happy because of my little white lie. If he ever were to tell me that I had made him sad or disappointed, I wouldn’t be able to fight back the tears.

  I try my best to keep a smile on my face, though New York hasn’t been as welcoming as I let on. My thoughts trail back to Patricia. Will she ever truly accept me as part of her team?

  My grandfather and I talk and laugh for a good portion of the night, until we’re interrupted by my phone.

  “You can answer it if you want, dear.” The jar of pickles has been empty for a while, and my grandfather looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

  I look down at my phone to see a text from Jack. “It’s one of the guys from work, he wants me to come out for drinks with a small group.”

  My grandfather looks pleased. “Go join them. Get out there and enjoy yourself. You’re still so young.”

  “I don’t have to. I’d much rather spend time with you.”

  He laughs, yawning as he turns over in his comfy chair. “I’m about ready for bed. Promise me you’ll go and have a good time, Wanda.”

  The fact that he remembered my name this time assures me, and I kiss him on the cheek before standing up to leave. “I promise. I’ll try not to be a hermit and socialize for once.”

  “That’s my Wanda. Thanks for the visit, my dear. See you soon.”

  “See you soon, pop.” On the way out, my nerves get the best of me. As I try to get out of the social event, I text Jack and tell him that I have nothing to wear and should probably just go home.

  I’m startled when I receive seven messages in quick succession. “What, have all of your clothes been stained with coffee?” I read the first message out loud and roll my eyes.

  “So funny!” I yell at my phone. The rest of the messages consist of Jack pleading with me to come because he doesn’t want to be left alone with the others. He tells me that
Amelia is bringing two other girls, Deborah and Candice from accounting.

  I sigh, giving in. It shouldn’t be too bad. At least, if nothing else, this may be a sign that I’m finally going to be part of the team.

  My mind runs wild, suddenly imagining that Patricia will be there. Would she finally see me as a deserving employee instead of the new girl if she were there? I laugh off the thought before catching a cab to the bar; I guess I’ll have to find out.

  5

  Patricia

  It’s Monday again, and I’ve been working through the weekend. I haven’t had any luck in finding the writer of the manuscript, and we’ve pulled out all of the stops. Jack has been scouring the internet to see if she’s been published elsewhere, even in a non-paying magazine or online on a blog, but no luck.

  Amelia dug up the file on her, but all that was in the file was an email address that bounced my emails, a phone number that was disconnected, and an address that we sent a same-day recorded delivery letter to and got no response from. I can’t believe how hard this is. I’m used to having authors chasing me, not the other way around.

  Maybe I should take a taxi to the address and see if I can turn on the charm in person. That’s appropriate, right? That doesn’t come across as too stalkery or too much like I’m as desperate as I really truly am, right?

  No. I have it. I’ll hire a PI. Lots of businesses do that. It’s perfectly normal business procedure. I can deny any involvement later on so the writer won’t find out how desperate I am.

  It’s perfect. I load up Google and start trying to figure out the best searches to get me a respectable detective. Searching for ‘respectable detective’ seems like it will just get me detectives who are worried they seem sleazy. Maybe there’s a Yelp reviews website for detectives. That sounds reasonable.

  I’m deep into reading an article about a guy who apparently took all this person’s money and sent them photographs of himself pretending to be their wife for a week when Amelia knocks on the door and pops her head in.