The Boss(hole) by Penelope Bloom
Juliette
Istarted my first day by the reception desk with Martha. She looked just as harassed and tired as she had yesterday, except now I kept catching her looking at me like I was a wounded puppy.
“What?” I finally asked around lunch time.
We were both sitting behind the large, “L” shaped desk. She had a tupperware of some strong smelling fish and pesto sauce and I had pasta with a jar of store bought sauce. One of my early poverty finance lessons had been how comparatively cheap it was to buy pasta. A few dollars would get several meals worth, and if money was extra tight, I could skip the sauce and just eat it plain.
“You seem like a sweet girl,” Martha said. “And you’re picking everything up pretty quick. I just can’t help wondering if this is really the job you want to take.”
I speared a few penne noodles with my fork, then shook my head. “It’s not really about what I want. I need the money, and my former boss promised to blacklist me to everyone she knows. If I didn’t take this one, it sounded like Adrian was planning to do the same thing. Unless I want to work fast food, I think I’m stuck here. For now, at least.”
“You shouldn’t call him Adrian. It’s Mr. White.”
I gave her a funny look, which made her laugh when she appeared to realize how that had sounded.
“Mr. White has very strict standards. I’m not sure how much you got to see of him, but he’s… intense.”
“Yeah. I gathered that much.”
“He expects perfection out of everybody at all times. I don’t think he makes mistakes, and he seems to think it’s reasonable to expect everybody who works for him to be just as perfect. It’s why he’s always so angry. Nobody can ever live up to his demands.”
I chewed, thinking about how similar that sounded to someone else I knew. A Coleton keeps their cool, always. No matter what. A Coleton never…
I cleared my throat. “No pressure. Just have to be perfect and the boss will be happy!”
It was supposed to be a joke, but Martha’s smile looked sad. “I was at peace with leaving. Now that I know I’m leaving you here to go through what I went through, I feel conflicted.”
“I’ll be okay. I promise.”
She nodded, but her body language hadn’t changed. She still looked like she was expecting him to rip my arms off and beat me over the head with them. I was a dead woman walking, as far as she was concerned, and I couldn’t help wondering if the rest of the staff was just as terrified.
Walker arrived with a box of his things and a frightened look on his face a few minutes after we’d finished our lunch. He was a tall, lanky man with a thinning hairline.
“Wow,” I said. “He actually followed through.”
“Walker,” Martha said. “You really shouldn’t be here. If Mr. White--”
“He called me,” Walker said, almost as if in a daze. “He told me to come back. Said I could have a raise for the inconvenience…”
“What?” Martha whispered.
Walker gave her a look like he was just as baffled, then slowly made his way past us and toward his old desk. I couldn’t tell if he was excited to get his job back or if part of him wished he’d been allowed to stay fired.
I wanted to give Adrian—no, Mr. White—some slight credit for making good on his promise. I’d halfway expected him to tell me he’d been full of shit about hiring Walker back and that I could deal with it or leave.
But it was difficult to do much except feel disgusted by the man who inspired such terror in his employees. Maybe it was just a relic of my old life as a Coleton, but I thought this asshole deserved to be brought down several pegs. He was just a big fish in a small pond, even if he was inhumanly attractive.
“That’s so strange,” Martha said. “Mr. White lays off staff constantly. I’ve never heard of him re-hiring someone. Does this have something to do with you?”
The intercom on the desk beeped. “Miss Adams. My office. Now.”
Martha gulped. “Just listen, nod your head, and tell him what he wants to hear. Okay?”
“I’ll be okay,” I said, smiling to reassure her.
When I moved through the publishing office, everyone had their heads down and only a few people glanced up at me. Walker was putting the things back on his desk with a dumbfounded expression.
I opened Mr. White’s door. “You asked to see-”
He was standing at the window overlooking the city. “Knock before you enter my office,” he said, not turning his back. He half turned when I didn’t move. “Step back out, knock, and wait until I ask for you to enter.”
I balled my fists, walked out, and knocked what I hoped was a sarcastic little rhythm. “May I enter?”
“Come in,” he called. He was still standing in the same place, broad shoulders silhouetted by the bright sunlight. He was quite the sight, and I found myself in a constant battle to remember he was like one of those poison frogs. No matter how brightly colored, pretty, and tempting to lick he might be—he was pure poison. Or was it venom? I always forgot which was which.
On that note, I also wondered why it seemed such a popular thing to warn people about. Were there really swarms of toad lickers out there who needed to be told not to lick the bright ones?
I took a seat in the chair across from his desk, raising my eyebrows as I waited. I knew Martha had told me not to speak, but I couldn’t help myself. Mr. White seemed to tickle every obstinate, feisty nerve in my brain. “Did you call me in here so you’d have an audience while you impressively scan the horizon?” I asked.
He waited long enough to tell me he was ignoring my comment. “I value your backbone, Miss Adams. But that mouth of yours needs to be tamed.”
I reared my head back, frowning. “Let me guess, you’re the one who is going to tame my mouth? That sounds awfully unprofessional, Mr. White.” God. I hated how even a relatively innocent sentence started to transform and feel more wicked when he was involved.
“I don’t bullshit,” he said simply. “I told you when I hired you yesterday, I plan to continue climbing up the corporate ladder, and I plan to do it quickly. I need good people if I’m going to succeed. I don’t have time to sugar coat or handhold. Anyone too weak to deal with me isn’t a good fit.”
I scoffed. Grudgingly, I could at least appreciate him being transparent. Even if I didn’t completely buy his explanation. He was trying to tell me he was only an ass because he was vetting people—trying to figure out who he could bring along for the ride. “Why do you care so much about ‘climbing the corporate ladder?’ Money? Is that all?”
He finally turned away from the window and moved to his desk. He picked up a paperweight and hefted it in his hand, studying it as if it might hold the answer to my question. “Only my closest friends have a right to that answer.”
“You have friends?” I blurted. Whoops.
He looked up sharply, but I thought I saw the shadow of amusement in his expression. “Believe it or not, I do.”
“Not,” I muttered.
“Your primary responsibility here, Miss Adams, is to serve as my filter. You’ll screen my emails, calls, and personal requests. I have a binder detailing exactly how to know which ones need my immediate attention, which ones can wait, and which ones can be ignored. I expect you to study that binder like it’s the Bible.”
“Is this a bad time to mention I haven’t ever studied the Bible? Is there a particular method, or-”
“I admire backbone, but I have no time for sass, Miss Adams.” Mr. White’s eyes were cold fires.
But you have time to stare out your window and play with paperweights on your desk? “Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” he said. “You’ll be my shadow. When I’m here, you’re here. You don’t leave until I do, and you will be here when I’m here. If I need an errand run, you’ll be the one I trust to run it. You’ll learn how to make sure everything is completed to my standards.”
“Alright,” I said. This time, I didn’t ask if there was anything else, because I was worried the man would pull more tasks out of his well-sculpted ass just to spite me. “Should I go start studying the binder?” I asked sweetly.
“Yes. I need to get ready for this afternoon.”
“What’s this afternoon?”
He shot me a warning look.
“You said I’m your shadow. Shouldn’t I know what you have planned?”
Mr. White hesitated, then folded his arms. “I’m performing a surprise audit tonight. I give my employees deadlines, but I like to know who is waiting until the last minute and who is staying up to speed with their work.”
“What happens to the procrastinators?”
“They get replaced.”
I nodded. “Okay. Well, I’m going to go get to know this Bible of yours. Good talk.” I got up and left his office as quickly as I could.
When I was back on the office floor, I saw the people all working quietly at their desks. The place was thick with oppression. I could tell they were all terrified of Mr. White, and I saw why. He treated them all as disposable. It was a constant test, and nobody knew the rules.
I found Martha back at the reception area. She was chewing her nails and flinched when I walked out of the double doors. “Hey,” I said. “Is there a way to email all the employees here but not Mr. White?”
Martha stared. “If there was, that would be a dangerous idea. One of the rules in his binder is that you CC him on every email.”
“Can you start an email for me to the employees but not Mr. White?”
Martha gnawed on her nail harder now. “I don’t know, Jules. If Mr. White finds out you-”
“He won’t. But if he does it’ll be all my idea. I’ll tell him I figured out how to do it on my own.”
“Do I even want to ask what you’re wanting to email them all?”
“It’ll be better if you don’t know. You know, in case he tortures you or something.” Once again, I’d meant it as a joke, but Martha just gulped and went pale. She clacked away at a few keys, then rolled her chair out of the way.
“All yours,” she whispered.
“Thanks,” I said. I hammered out a quick email letting everybody know Mr. White was going to be performing a surprise audit on them tonight and that if they were behind, they should fix that ASAP. I hit send, then dusted my hands.