The Boss(hole) by Penelope Bloom
Jules
Mr. White liked buzzing my desk and gruffly demanding to see me in his office. I was convinced of that. I could almost picture him in there with a smug grin on his face as he waited for me to make the walk.
I got up, making a point of taking my sweet time just to be ornery. I also still had a lingering heaviness in my head from the drinking at last night’s party and today’s early start. Mr. White hadn’t been kidding about needing me first thing. He’d sent Harvey again to pick me up and swing by to gather his black coffee and pick up the shirt I’d sprayed yesterday.
Mr. White was relentless when it came to assigning me tasks. Every day was a revolving door of urgent items that needed my attention and a strict focus on detail. I could tell he never quite thought I’d be able to keep up or meet his standards, so I was learning to find great satisfaction in exceeding his expectations.
For once in my life, I had a chance to prove I was capable. Someone was asking me to apply myself and really dig deep, and I felt like I was thriving, even if I was tired as hell.
I noticed a few polite smiles and nods from the people on the publishing floor as I headed to Mr. White’s office. It wasn’t exactly friendly, but it was a slight improvement, I guessed. Maybe they just needed time to make sure I wasn’t some sort of secret enforcer working for Mr. White.
I found him in his office with a white shirt and navy-blue vest. He was standing by the window and giving me a sinful view of his long legs in a pair of navy pants to match his vest. His hair, like usual, was a neat mess of dark, barely controlled waves that swooped away from his tanned face.
“You didn’t knock,” he said.
I folded my arms. “Let me guess. Go back out and try again?”
He waved his hand dismissively. “No. Have a seat.”
I did as he asked but found my curiosity piqued. What had I done to earn such overwhelming graciousness? Maybe he really did value the quality of work I was doing and was going to start downgrading his behavior from apocalyptic bosshole to just plain grumpy. That would be nice.
“You wanted to see me?” I asked.
“Yes. I called you in to tell you to pack your things. We’re leaving in two days for a conference in New Orleans. It won’t be a vacation for you. Come ready to work.”
“I was planning to meet my friend for lunch tomorrow.”
He stared like I’d just said the silliest thing he’d ever heard. “Then you’ll cancel. We’re leaving tonight.”
“What’s in New Orleans?”
“A conference. You’ll finally get to meet my team there. And Miss Adams, I also wanted to tell you that I admire what you’ve done here. You’ve made yourself impossible to fire. You keep up with my demands. You keep getting glowing feedback from clients. You…”
I arched an eyebrow, waiting.
“You have been a worthwhile investment.”
I deflated a little but couldn’t help grinning. In his own stick up the ass kind of way, I was pretty sure Mr. White was trying to be kind for once. I wasn’t going to nitpick if his wording felt stiff. “Thank you,” I said.
He nodded. “You’ll be working hard while we’re in New Orleans, so please make sure you’re ready to really grind once we leave.”
My thoughts flashed back to standing close enough to him at the party that I could see the little flecks of gold in his eyes—that I could’ve counted his eyelashes or closed my eyes and swam in the delectable scent coming off him. Get ready to grind.
“Is something funny, Miss Adams?”
I wiped the grin from my face, shaking my head. “No, I was just thinking if the work so far hasn’t been a grind, I’m looking forward to seeing what your definition of ‘working hard’ is.”
Mr. White’s eyes twinkled. “If anyone is up to the challenge, I believe it may just be you.”
I stared into his eyes, not blinking. He expected so much from his employees. It was written in every smooth, perfectly crafted line of his face. My father was that way, too. Except my father had expected the world from everyone besides me. To him, I’d always been the one who couldn’t do anything right and shouldn’t be expected to. I was the wallflower. The ornamental, pretty little thing he’d marry off as a social maneuver when the time came.
To my father, I wasn’t supposed to be truly intelligent or truly capable. I was supposed to be “well trained.” I was “well bred.” I was an acquisition, just like the priceless paintings he’d acquired. I was one more thing to show off to his friends.
For all his faults, Mr. White was different in one critical way. He hadn’t discounted me. He may have been ready to dispose of me the moment I failed to live up to his expectations, but he made me feel like he’d seen some potential—some possibility that I might actually succeed.
Leave it to my father to carve a hole in me wide enough to make me feel drawn to such a screwed-up situation. I shouldn’t have been so desperate for a chance to prove to someone I could be useful, but here I was. All I could think as I looked at the handsome bastard behind the desk was how ready I was to prove I could handle this. I could live up to his high expectations. I could exceed them.