Demanding Boss Read online

  And still, I feel really bad about this.

  But that’s why I’m the boss. I have to make these sorts of decisions.

  I have to be the one to turn people down. I can’t accept shoddy work just to be nice. I have a reputation to uphold and a duty to the other writers who publish with us.

  Still, I believe in her. I really believe in her.

  She wipes her tears and looks more determined than ever.

  “I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer,” she says, steadying her voice. “I want to do this on my own. I need to do this on my own. Give me another chance to prove I can write the chapters myself.”

  She looks me in the eye. We stare at each other.

  Her gaze is hard and determined. She’s chipping away at my resolve.

  “Fine,” I say, surprising myself. “I’ll give you another chance.”

  I might as well have told her Christmas was coming early. Her whole face lights up.

  “I won’t let you down! I promise!” She insists.

  I shake my head. “It’s no skin off my nose if you can’t do it. You have another shot, but I think it’s likely you’ll have to use a ghostwriter.”

  “I can do it,” she says, nodding. “You won’t have to hire anyone else.”

  Despite myself, I believe her. Or maybe I just want to believe her.

  “Write a sex scene and have it on my desk tomorrow morning,” I say.

  She nods. “I already have an idea. You’ll get it right at the start of the day!”

  “Okay. I really hope this goes the way you want it to, Wanda.”

  I hope I don’t have to disappoint her again.

  10

  Wanda

  The glow of the screen and the clicking of the keys is hypnotic. I want to distract myself. Check my phone, make a cup of tea, eat a biscuit. I wrestle against these urges, because I know it’s just the traitorous part of my brain trying to sabotage me.

  I have to write. I need to do this, and I’m not going to learn a fucking thing unless I pound out these words.

  I haven’t written for months. I remember the flow I had going with my first novel. It was exhilarating every time I completed a chapter. The story just flowed through me, and it was like every word I needed came at exactly the right time.

  That golden feeling of genius quickly evaporated when I started getting those rejection letters. They affected me deeply. None of them hurt, not really. No one was rude. But just email after email stating “no” for various reasons...it drove my confidence right into the ground.

  I find myself stopping a lot and revising. It makes me feel like I’m actually moving backwards instead of forwards. I get lost and trip over myself a bit. Then I decide I need to power forward and manage to fly through a couple of pages before crippling doubt takes hold. I quickly scan the pages, changing lots of random sentences.

  A quick look tells me I’ve now created conflicts between the paragraphs. Not to mention the times I repeated myself.

  “Shit!” I start editing, having no damn clue what I’m even doing. I’m not sure what misplaced urge got me into this hot seat, but I know whose hot ass is responsible.

  Patricia.

  I may have been deluded to think that my novel was ready for publication, but the kind of idiocy it takes to try and impress a publisher like Patricia when I’m unprepared reeks of brain damage. The kind of delusion that makes me stand up, so she’ll notice me…and realize once I’ve got her attention that I haven’t the slightest idea what to do with it.

  She’s going to read all of this in the morning. I have to get out a few thousand words. I can’t keep myself in a state of perpetual paralysis, not now. I’ve asked for this and I’ve just got to follow through.

  But I write from my dreams, from what I long for. I don’t just make up words and string them together. I know some writers might do that, but not me.

  I like to feel it. In my heart and in my soul. Every single word, every scene, is personal to me. Loved. I don’t see how to write any other way. I expose my passion; I show my heart beating on the outside. That’s why rejections of my first novel hurt so much.

  Patricia is going to read this. She’s not just going to be judging me as an editor and publisher. She’s going to be reading these pages as a woman.

  Will she look through the lines to see my passion? Will she understand all my hidden meanings? For some reason, I think that she will. Maybe I’m being fanciful, trying to write her a note in code. Just hoping she gets it. It’s a selfish thought and it doesn’t make my writing any easier.

  Still, I can’t resist. I want to send her a personal message. If I’m going to totally bare my heart to my audience, why not Patricia? She’s the one I need to reach professionally, and she’s the one I want to touch personally. She’s the only one that counts.

  This thought unblocks me somewhat, and I find that I fly through a few pages. The sense of confidence I get as the words flow under my fingertips is addictive. I’m not sure it’s all good, but at least I have a flow. I’m chasing down my imagery and the story builds effortlessly in front of me, like someone tracing a blueprint. I come along in its wake, bearing the structural components that turn it into a story.

  I blush several times, thinking about Patricia reading this tomorrow. She is so unbelievably gorgeous. I know I’ve got it bad. It’s not just her looks, even though that certainly doesn’t hurt. It’s something about her commanding presence.

  I love how she appears to be a pillar of strength and control. I wonder what she would look like without it, but far more than that, I fantasize about myself in my usual, overactive state and Patricia giving me some punishment.

  I glance over my pages, not even sure what I should be looking for. I’m satisfied with them, there is nothing more for me to do. I have no idea if it’s any good, but I guess that’s for Patricia to decide.

  It’s so late, I think I’ve intruded into the artist’s hour. Might be a sign, something to bring me good luck.

  I go to bed hoping to dream of Patricia. Instead I spend the majority of the night fantasizing, which just leaves me hot, sweaty, and exhausted.

  I can’t stop thinking about her.

  Even though I’m crazy tired, the thought of Patricia energizes me. I can’t possibly be sluggish when I’m freaking out about Patricia reading my stuff. The morning wipes my exhaustion aside and I bustle into the office as brightly as if I’ve enjoyed a full twelve hours of sleep.

  My brain seems to be completely offline though. I keep trying to reboot it. It just won’t start.

  I’m in a little early. I see Patricia is too and I hurry in to get this over and done with. She looks up as I come in and gives that slow smile of hers.

  “How did it go?”

  “Good, I think.” I try to smile as I pull out my phone and email the document to her.

  I sit down in one of her office chairs and watch her flicking. Her eyes are fixed on the screen and her expression doesn’t change much. I see her get to the end and scroll back a bit.

  I’m in agony. I can’t wait to hear what she’s going to say. At this point a killing blow would be just as good as an acceptance. Anything to make the waiting end!

  She looks up at me. She doesn’t look cross, but she doesn’t look happy, either.

  “It’s better,” she says finally.

  “Better, but not good?”

  “You have potential, Wanda. I can see that. You know what you’re doing with your story line. It’s very enthusiastic and I can tell you have strong images in your scenes. It’s your structure and the description of the scene where you need help.”

  “So, what do you suggest? I’ll do anything.”

  Literally, anything. Just say the word! She has no idea how much influence she has over me!

  “You need a tutor, I think. Not an editor so much, because that’s very technical and you aren’t there yet. It would just confuse you. No, you need a writing buddy, someone who can work with you, paragraph by
paragraph, and help you organize your thoughts into words.”

  “Yeah, that sounds great!” I’m thinking about all the times I get lost between sentences, groping for the right word. Someone to guide me at those times sounds like a lifesaver.

  Patricia gives me a really warm, beautiful smile. For a few seconds I feel something between us, but then she looks away, clearing her throat.

  “I think that having someone with your vibrancy and enthusiasm could really brighten up a lot of the work here. You won’t need much help at all, Wanda.”

  “So, how do I find a tutor like that? I didn’t know people actually had that job.”

  She gives her head a little shake. “Not a job, exactly. You just have to find an editor or writer that thinks you’re worth it. Someone has to agree to take that time on you.”

  Instantly I get worried. I’ve already been rejected so many times. I don’t really want to put myself out there just to take a few more hits.

  “So… Where do I find this person then?”

  Her smile stretches across her own so brightly I can’t help but answer it. I don’t know why, but I feel this face is incapable of giving me bad news.

  “Well. I’m going to tutor you myself, obviously.”

  My heart soars at the same time my mind sounds an alarm. Yes, I’ll be stuck in close quarters with this beautiful woman.

  And I’ll have to hide my attraction to her every single moment.

  “Sounds great.” I grin at her, stuck in a state of worse turmoil than I was a few minutes ago.

  11

  Patricia

  “Um...well...”

  Oh my god. I can’t take it. Wanda’s face is turning a soft shade of pink as she stands there and anxiously twirls a curl around her finger. I wonder if she even realizes that she’s doing it?

  She’s too adorable. They way she is nibbling on her lower lip is very alluring. I know she’s not trying to be and that simply makes it all the better.

  I just want to take a bite out of her.

  Maybe this arrangement isn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. Though it sure is great excuse to spend more time one-on-one with Wanda.

  “What exactly is the tutoring going to be like?” she asks, hand dropping to her front to smooth out invisible wrinkles. My eyes lock on the movement before going back to her face. Her cute, blushing face.

  I lean back in my chair and pick up a pen. I don’t need it, but it gives my hand something to do and my mind something to focus on that’s not what Wanda’s pink lips taste like.

  “For starters, nothing is really going to change. You’ll come to work in the mornings like usual, and keep writing at night.”

  Wanda tilts her head ever so slightly. My stomach rolls with want as she takes a step closer to the front of my desk. “So what is going to change, then?”

  “You’ll hand in whatever you’ve written the night before and I’ll revise it. Make suggestions and notes, that sort of thing, before giving it back to you at the end of the day.”

  I might be making more work for myself. I’m definitely making more work for Wanda, but it’s what needs to be done. She is a decent writer with an excellent idea. All she needs is the extra care and guidance to get it off of the ground.

  I smile softly. “Don’t worry. I’ll be here to answer any questions you have about any editing choices I’ve made.” That seems to put her at ease. Her shoulders relax and she drops the curl she had started to toy with.

  “Do you think it’ll work?” Wanda asks as she braces her hands on the top of my desk and leans forward. I roll my chair forward. With my arms folded on top of the desk it pushes my breasts out. She notices.

  “I’m positive it will work. It will take a lot of work, but it’ll be worth it in the long run. Are you up to the challenge?” I grin and tilt my head upwards.

  Wanda pulls in her bottom lip again and I can feel heat pooling between my legs. It’s times like these I’m glad I’m not a man. I’d never be able to hide an erection and HR would have my head. Ha.

  “I am.” She says it so confidently. It makes me proud. I know she will succeed. Working together with the new schedule, there’s nothing that we won’t be able to accomplish.

  Wanda shakes a little with excitement, “I’m ready to do anything to make my dream a reality.”

  Gone is the nervous woman that was standing in front of me only a handful of minutes ago. Wanda is sharp and brilliant. I have no doubts that she will be able to keep up to my expectations. Or her own.

  Bracing my hands on the desk, I push my chair back and stand. Our noses are almost touching. When did we get so close?

  I can see every feature of Wanda’s face. Her bright grey eyes are shining with anticipation. Her lips are full and ever so slightly parted. Fuck, she’s hot.

  Our eyes lock. The tension weighs heavy between us. I have to wonder if kissing her is the best idea. Though I’ve been on a winning streak when it comes to ideas.

  She doesn’t seem nervous or turned off of the idea. Her grey eyes are dark and half lidded and her lips part even more.

  Fuck it.

  I’m going for it.

  I can’t tell which one of us moved first. But now our lips are nearly touching. I can feel her warm and minty breath against my chin. My skin is on fire with the surprisingly strong want—no, need—to feel her under me. To taste her mouth and every inch thereafter.

  I can’t stop now. Not when we’re so close I can almost taste the sweetness of her lip gloss. By the heaviness of the air around us, I don’t think Wanda can stop either.

  I feel the first brush of her lips against mine. It sends an electric shock down my spine. The anticipation is killing me. I lean forward to press more firmly against her -

  The door bursts open. Wanda jumps away like she was burned. She keeps her head down and her hands clasped in front of her. Her face is bright red.

  “Ms. Monroe.” Mr. Derrington’s voice shatters the moment. He spares a glance towards Wanda before striding across my office and stopping directly in front of my desk.

  I fold my arms over my chest and raise an eyebrow.

  “Mr. Derrington. Do remember to knock next time.”

  “This is important. You.” He looks over at Wanda. I feel my blood heat at his tone. “Be a good girl and go fetch me a coffee.”

  Wanda looks over at me and I shake my head.

  I quickly place a few pieces of paper in a folder and hold it towards her.

  “Wanda, please bring these to Amelia before returning to your own duties.”

  “Yes, Ms. Monroe.”

  She smiles softly as she takes the folder and leaves the office, closing the door softly behind her.

  I turn my attention back to the sneering man in front of me. My patience with Mr. Derrington is very low at the best of times and now is certainly not the best. I just hope I will be able to talk to Wanda later and make sure she is alright.

  “Mr. Derrington, it would do well for you to remember that I am the boss here. You do not speak to my staff that way.”

  “As the boss then, it would do well for you to know that this company is turning into a joke. The laughing stock of the publishing world.” He mirrors my stance, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down his nose at me.

  “You’re ruining this company. Running it right off the rails. It will only be a few months before it’s completely under.”

  Both my eyebrows raise. I have to wonder if he ever truly thinks before he speaks, or if he speaks simply to listen to the sound of his own voice. Sure, we hit a small rough patch, but the company is doing just fine.

  “Especially with the lack of decent fiction leaving the doors,” he finishes, his mouth twisting into a sour line.

  “If you’re referring to the lesbian erotica line, it has done nothing but boost our sales. Why pander to one demographic when there is a whole world of people who wish to be represented in multiple facets of life.” I keep my voice calm though I keep an edge to my tone.
It’s the same song and dance at least twice a week.

  He’s poised to continue arguing. However, I don’t have the time for him this morning.

  “I decide what projects to pursue, Mr. Derrington. Not you.”

  He scowls. “You’re making a huge mistake.”

  Maybe I am. But not the mistake he seems to be thinking of.

  “I will handle it. I am, after all, the boss. This is my company. My decisions. You will learn very quickly to respect me and my choices or you can find yourself a new place of employment.”

  His mouth opens and closes a few times. He looks like an angry child the way his face contorts. Or like someone who just bit into a lemon for the first time as he puckers his lips.

  “We will discuss this more later. I have an appointment starting soon,” is his excuse as he turns to leave.

  He is just reaching to place his hand on the doorknob when a thought strikes me. A slow and predatory smile spreads on my lips,

  “One more thing, Mr. Derrington.” He stops and looks over his shoulder. I tap the end of my pen on my desk. “If you ever speak to any member of my staff the way you did to Wanda again, I will fire you.”

  With an incoherent grumble that I assume is a forced acknowledgement, he steps out of my office, thankfully closing the door behind him.

  I drop back into my chair and push it back a few feet from the desk so I can recline and stretch my legs out. I pick up a small stack of papers and start to fan myself.

  What an exciting morning. Though perhaps Derrington’s interruption wasn’t a bad thing overall. I don’t know what would have happened if I had kissed Wanda.

  I need a glass of water.

  12

  Wanda

  I don’t even see the halls as I hurry towards the kitchen. I feel high as a kite, but also like I had the wind knocked out of me. Shaky, spacey, all over the place.