Demanding Boss Page 3

  “Hey boss, just getting ready to go,” she says.

  “Great. Have a good evening.”

  She pauses, and this makes me look up. Apparently that’s the wrong thing to do because she makes an alarmed face. “I don’t want to be offensive, Patricia hon, but you have a crazy look in your eye.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “Not like this. This is the look you had that one week you didn’t sleep because of the medication you were on for your sprained ankle, and you ended up trying to pitch a zombie series to a Christian bookshop because ‘isn’t Jesus basically a zombie anyway’.”

  I wince. That was definitely not the high point of my career. Charlotte had to do a lot of fast talking to make sure that particular faux pas went away. “Point taken.”

  “Get some rest,” Amelia says, her good-natured smile back in place. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I nod and she leaves. Perhaps it is time for me to take a break and let off some steam. I can’t afford not to be on top form when it comes to convincing my new star writer to join the fold.

  After shutting down my laptop and locking my office, I check my reflection in a compact and wince a little at what I see there. My hair is wild, there are bags under my eyes, and a glint in my gaze that does indeed look a bit crazy. It’s time to stop for a bit so I drive home and spruce myself up.

  I have a lot of amazing dresses in my wardrobe, and today I pull on a slinky dark blue number, pairing it with skyscraper heels and simple gold jewelry. It doesn’t take long to freshen up my makeup, adding a smokey eye that takes professional chic to nightclub worthy, so I grab a sandwich to line my stomach. Then I spend a little time going through my friend Dawn’s honeymoon photos on Facebook.

  She’s going to Paris, Rome and Lichtenstein with her new wife, and they look like they’re having a great time. It leaves me with a hollow feeling in my chest, though. Gabby and Dawn are such close friends of mine that, along with Charlotte, it’s like we’re four sisters.

  Gabby is off in China at some sort of brainy business thing, and Dawn has been so busy with her new business initiative and the upcoming wedding that it’s been lonely lately. Dawn and I were always joined at the hip before, and Gabby was willing to listen if I got in over my head with a new girl in a way that Charlotte couldn't. At least, not without rolling her eyes at least five times.

  Now, it’s just me on my own with my troubles, and I hate it.

  Ugh. Fuck this. Tonight is not about me sitting at home moping about my loneliness. It’s about looking hot and getting some attention from some lovely ladies.

  I pull on my fanciest coat and go down to get into one of my hottest cars, one that Charlotte gave me when I turned 25. I’ve kept it in amazing condition and it’s a beauty to drive.

  Once I arrive at the Queen’s Horseman, I toss the keys to the valet and sweep into my favorite club. The music is loud enough to start drowning out my worries. People are out on the dance floor, glittering under the sparkling lights and gyrating to the heavy beat. I feel stress ebbing out of me already.

  That’s before I see a familiar face. Is that Amelia? I look again and, yes it is. It’s Amelia and Jack dancing with Ben and Donald nearby.

  Shit. The last thing I want is to bring my work troubles to the bar, and they look like they’re having fun. They’ve been working hard lately and I’ve been a bit of a monster, so I veer off towards the bar to avoid bumping into them.

  As I get nearer to the bar, I see another familiar face, this time the new girl Wendy Smith. She’s been doing a little better at work since her disastrous first day, but she still seems like such a fish out of water.

  She’s leaning forwards over the bar, an empty glass in one hand and the other waving in the air, as though she’s trying to make an important point in a debate. The more she tries to make her point the closer she gets to falling off the bar stool she’s so precariously perched on, and I realize that she’s completely and utterly drunk.

  I get closer and I can hear what she’s saying. The ridiculous girl is trying to argue with the bartender into giving her another drink. I can see a couple of men nearby watching her with interest that is far from innocent. I’ve seen men look at inebriated women like that before, and what comes after is never something that is in the woman’s best interests.

  My hackles go up and I feel a cold anger settle in the pit of my stomach. Charlotte calls my need to defend women in bars my ‘dramatic hero shtick’ but I can’t help myself. And it’s even more personal considering that Wendy is one of my staff.

  With long strides, I stalk up to the bar and wrap one arm around her shoulders, ducking my head so I can speak to her quietly. “I’m going to take you home, okay Wendy?”

  “That’s right, my name is Wendy,” she says happily. “You look just like my boss. She’s amazing, she’s just so pretty and smart and amazing and…”

  “Amazing, I heard you,” I say, unable to repress a smile. Has Wendy always been this adorable? She’s turned her big eyes on me, meltingly sweet and innocent, and I feel a rush of protective feelings flood through me.

  She’s so obviously out of her depth here, but still having fun without being touched by the cynicism of the big city. It’s something that fills me with a desire to take care of her in a way that is completely inappropriate for a boss to think about their employee.

  Fuck. Definitely not. No more mixing business with pleasure.

  Also there’s no way she’s sober enough to consent and I’m not interested in taking advantage of anyone.

  I’ve got to get her home. I pay the tab and leave a tip for the bartender, considering he was smart enough to cut her off from more alcohol. From the corner of my eye I see a man with slicked down hair getting closer.

  “What are you, this little lady’s mother?” he asks with a sneer. “Why not let her stay and play a while, we’ll make sure that she has fun.”

  I send him a glare so heated that he takes a whole step backwards. “Turn around and walk away, asshole, or I’ll take your phone and tell your mother what you spend your evenings doing.”

  He swallows hard and edges away. Great. I sweep Wendy out of the club and wait for the valet to bring out my car. Wendy makes a cooing noise when she sees it that is honestly pretty satisfying.

  “What’s your address?” I ask after I’ve gotten us both into the car. She gives it to me and we drive in silence for a little while. Wendy is watching the scenery speed by outside with a look of wonder on her face that makes my heart skip a couple of beats in my chest.

  We pull up outside a rundown tenement and I help Wendy up the stairs to her apartment. She can’t find her keys, so I go through her purse and let us both inside. “Here we are,” I begin, before realizing that she’s still out on the landing.

  “I want to dance,” she says, spinning in a circle with her arms spread out wide. “Dance with me.”

  I laugh, I can’t help it. She’s so pretty and so adorable. “Maybe next time.”

  “You’re my boss,” she says, stopping the spinning to look at me with surprising solemnity.

  “I am.” I usher her into the flat and close the door so she can’t go back to her ‘dancing’. “And you’re my assistant.”

  “You’re lovely,” she says, a soft beautiful smile on her face. “I just wanted to say that. You’re the most wonderful and prettiest woman I’ve ever seen and you make my heart go funny in my chest when I see your face.”

  I am speechless. I’ve had people make all kinds of toasts in my honor but somehow this simple, honest compliment is the nicest thing I’ve ever heart. Wendy has made her way to her couch and has sat down heavily so I let myself out.

  How did I miss how cute Wendy is? Fuck, this was not how I planned this night to end. But somehow I’m not disappointed that I didn’t end up in bed with another nameless woman at the end of it it.

  6

  Wanda

  My head is thumping.

  I groan loudly and try to roll awa
y from the light streaming in through the window and onto my face. As I move my stomach lurches and I freeze again.

  What that fuck is wrong with me?

  I wonder if I’m coming down with the flu, as I try to move again and a wave of nausea crashes over me. The light is blinding me, and I feel like my head has been run over with a fire truck.

  I sit up ever so slowly, shielding my face from the sun. I don’t understand why it’s so bright so early. I wake up at 7am every day and it’s never like this.

  As I swing my legs out of bed and hold on for dear life, I see a burst of bright lights behind my eyes. Am I having a migraine? What is wrong with me?

  When I’m finally able to stumble to the bathroom and look in the mirror, the shock almost makes me throw up. I’m still wearing the same clothes I wore to the club last night, and my makeup is smeared wildly across my face.

  I groan again as I realize I’m not getting sick at all. I am, however, in the midst of the worst hangover of my life.

  I drag myself to the kitchen and open a bottle of water. I try to locate some aspirin but there’s none in the cupboards, and the banging of the doors is making my head hurt more. I slouch down onto the couch and try to remember what happened last night.

  I remember Jack texting me and inviting me out, wailing about how I couldn’t leave him alone with Amelia, Ben and Donald. I remember getting to the club and Donald hugging me hard. He was already a little drunk when I got there, clinging to Ben’s arm and shouting about something.

  I know Donald gave me a Long Island iced tea and tried to encourage me to down it before Jack appeared and dragged me to safety. I know I got a couple more drinks after that, but it’s all just one big blur. I’d forgotten how much of a lightweight I am.

  My biggest concern is that I don’t remember how I got home. Maybe Jack put me in a cab? But if I don’t remember anything that happened, how on earth did I get myself up here?

  I quickly search for my purse and am relieved to find it, along with my cards, keys and cell phone. Whew. At least I didn’t get mugged or leave anything behind.

  I check my phone and have to check it again. 11am? I’m supposed to start work at 9am.

  My stomach lurches and this time I barely make it to the bathroom before I do throw up. How can this be happening? How can I be so late for work in my second week?

  I duck into the shower and start scrubbing old makeup off my face, my heart racing. This is terrible. I wouldn’t be surprised if I got fired for this.

  I take a cab to the office and try to calm myself down. I’m usually self-conscious around my colleagues with their immaculate outfits, but this morning I didn’t even waste time putting on fresh makeup.

  As I dash out of the elevator, I’m breathing so hard I think I might pass out. The office is manic. Everyone is dashing around and there’s chaos and uproar everywhere I look.

  I head to my desk, passing Donald, who waves a listless hand but doesn’t even look up when I say “hey.” He usually works on his fashion sketches when he’s at work, which Patricia chastises him for sometimes, but today there’s no sketchbook in sight, and his face is glum and serious. His usual irrepressible self is flat and unmotivated.

  As I open the door to enter our office, Amelia dashes past me. She’s carrying a stack of papers and doesn’t have her trademark cheery smile.

  I feel sick again. I don’t know whether something has happened or whether they all just hardcore judge me for my behavior last night. If only I could remember what that behavior actually was.

  “Hi, Jack. I’m so, so sorry I’m late. I really am, it’ll never happen again.”

  Jack doesn’t even look up. “Don’t worry about it. No one’s noticed. We have more important stuff happening today.”

  His voice is tense and sharp, and I’m scared. I don’t know what I’ll do if my new friends all hate me already.

  “Has something happened? What’s going on? Is everyone alright?”

  He finally looks at me and shakes his head. “Shit’s going down, Wanda,” he replies humorlessly. “You’d better keep your head down and get on with something.”

  I sit down behind my computer and start it up. Amelia runs back in and I open my mouth to speak, but she grabs another sheaf of papers from her desk and runs right back out again.

  “Um, Jack?” I’m hesitant to speak given the atmosphere, but I need to find out how I got home, and Jack is the most likely candidate. Plus, he’s the only one here.

  He grunts without looking up.

  “I just…I just wondered if you know how I got home last night. It’s just all a bit blurry see, and I thought maybe you got me a cab so I wanted to thank you, but-”

  He cuts me off. “Ha. No, that wasn’t me.”

  I must look taken aback or alarmed, because when he looks up at me he hastens to explain.

  “I would’ve called you a cab and take you home. Honestly you got wasted a lot earlier than we thought you would.”

  My cheeks burn in shame, but I stay silent as he continues.

  “Obviously we wouldn’t have left you there, or let you go off with anyone, in your state. But we didn’t have a chance to do anything in the end. Patricia turned up and carried you off home. She does that sometimes. It’s her whole ‘dashing hero act’ thing she’s got going on.”

  I thought I’d feel better once the mystery was cleared up, but as Jack finishes speaking and returns to his work I feel horrific. Patricia, my boss, had to scrape me off the floor of a nightclub and all but carry me home.

  I escape and head to the bathroom, not wanting Jack to see my mortification. As I stare at myself in the mirror, I try harder to remember what I might have said to Patricia as she took me home. And, unfortunately, it starts to come back, my words echoing out of the fog.

  “I want to dance!”...I remember her pulling me up the stairs to my apartment, and me trying to twirl around on the landing. Okay, mortifying, but not too bad, right?

  “You’re lovely.”...God, I didn’t say that, did I? Way to make a fool of yourself in front of your boss, Wanda.

  “You’re so wonderful. You’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever met.”...I shriek and jump backwards from the sink. I didn’t…did I?

  I close my eyes and bang my head on the side of the cubicle. Not only did I make myself look like a complete ass, but I also came onto her. Great.

  I splash my face with water and look at my reflection again. I’ll be so lucky if I keep my job now. I might as well start applying again. But I can’t do anything except face the music, I guess.

  I splash my face once more and dry myself off with some paper towels. Water has splashed onto my blouse but that’s the least of my concerns right now.

  I make the walk of shame back to my office, and hover in front of Patricia’s door. Out of the corner of my eye I see Jack looking up curiously.

  I take a breath, squeeze my eyes tightly shut, and knock.

  7

  Patricia

  I can’t believe that Jessica would go this far. I knew that she was crazy when I dated her, but this is a step beyond what I could have even dreamed that she would do. She dumped my phone in the toilet when I ignored her calls, she smashed all of my glasses when I said she’d had a bit too much to drink, and one time she threatened to shave my head while I was sleeping.

  But after all that I didn’t expect her to go to the tabloids about me. She’s done a real number on me too! Because she’s a popular writer and I’m a ‘business woman’ it reads like I’m a cold hearted bitch who used and abused her and then cast her aside when she wanted more out of the relationship.

  She’s aired every single sordid detail of our affair, but only so far as it makes her look good. About the only thing she’s been honest about is that we had a very kinky sex life, but she’s twisted that to make it sound like I was all but abusing her.

  Fuck!

  I suppose this is part of a PR campaign to raise her profile and also throw me and Weston under the proverb
ial bus, but it’s hard to grasp how completely I’ve been betrayed. It stings a lot more than I would have expected it to, considering Jessica and I were never anything more than a physical relationship. I suppose I thought that we at least meant something to each other.

  I’ve just hung up on Charlotte, who is far from pleased that my philandering is coming back to bite us in the ass. She’s said ‘we don’t mix business and pleasure’ five times and ‘stop fucking your writers’ seven times, as though this is something that’s happened before. I get why she’s pissed, but it’s not like I’m happy about this.

  There’s been a tight anxious feeling in my chest since I got in this morning. The warm buzz from last night and the pleasure of doing something nice for another person lasted about as long as it took for me to get to my laptop, then crashed out of the bottom of my stomach.

  I dial through to Jack’s phone. “Get me booked in with the legal team,” I snap. “Tell them to look into whether we have any grounds for a libel charge. I want them all over this.”

  I don’t wait for him to reply before hanging up and dropping my head into my hands. This is just what I need, on top of everything else. I don’t think it can get any worse.

  There’s a knock at my door and Wendy comes in. She’s disheveled and barely wearing any makeup. She looks a mess, honestly. It had almost escaped my notice that my ridiculous new hire hadn’t come in yet, but the drama swept that out of my mind.

  Three hours late is just too much, especially as she didn’t even call in. I knew she’d feel bad this morning but I don’t have time for any of this. I can feel the usual frustration that I seem to experience every time I see her pretty but vacant face.

  “Miss Monroe,” she begins, her voice trembly. “I just want to say I’m really sorry…”

  “I don’t have time for this,” I say firmly. And once I’ve started I can’t stop myself from continuing. All my pent up frustration and rage is pouring out of me and I’ve got no ability to hold it back.