Just a Bit Bossy by Alessandra Hazard

 

Chapter 1

 

The day Nate Parrish met his demon of a boss had started inconspicuously enough.

He was just one of the many protesters gathered at the gates of the Caldwell Group’s headquarters. The tall building provided some protection from the cold October wind, but that was pretty much the only good thing about the situation. They were being ignored, the security guards simply monitoring them from afar.

“It’s useless,” someone in the thinning crowd grumbled. “They’re not going to come out and actually listen to us. We’re wasting our time.”

Others were nodding, looking dejected.

Nate frowned and lifted his sign higher. He refused to give up that easily. He wouldn’t let this soulless corporation destroy his favorite gaming franchise.

“Come on, guys.” Nate stepped forward. “Come on, we just need to be louder,” he said, looking at the other guys. There were only sixteen left, which was a little disheartening, but Nate didn’t let it show on his face. His dad always said that to make people believe in something you needed to look like you believed in it yourself, and Nate knew it was true. “We can’t let those assholes get away with it! Rangers deserve better! For Rangers!”

To his relief, the others seemed to become emboldened enough by his words and started yelling “YEAH, FOR RANGERS” at the top of their lungs.

Grinning, Nate did the same, and soon their shouts started attracting attention. Security guards approached them, demanding that they stop disrupting people’s work.

“We won’t leave until we are heard!” Nate said. “Tell those greedy assholes on the board to come down and meet us!”

The other guys made approving loud noises, clapping him on the back.

Encouraged, Nate shouted louder, “They won’t ignore us! They can’t silence us—”

“What’s going on here?” said a cold voice.

The hush was instant.

Nate turned—and met piercing black eyes.

He’d never seen black eyes before. He’d seen dark brown on the verge of black but never pitch, true black—outside of TV characters possessed by demons. This man had them: deep black eyes.

It took him a moment to wrench his gaze away and see the man those eyes belonged to.

Tall. Immaculate gray suit hugging the broad shoulders. Dark hair, finely shaped, heavy brows that made his hawk-like gaze rather unsettling. A five o’clock shadow, despite the early hour. There was something distinctly Mediterranean about his looks—Italian or Spanish, maybe Greek. The dimple on his chin was the only thing softening his appearance, but it only served to accentuate the hard, square line of his jaw.

From the way the man held himself, it was obvious he was someone important. He practically reeked of power and money, but Nate didn’t recognize him. To be honest, he wasn’t well versed in the executives of the Caldwell Group. The Caldwell Group was one of the biggest private companies in the country and its internal structure wasn’t known to the public. Nate could only recognize the CEO’s face, but that man definitely wasn’t him. Besides, Ian Caldwell was in a coma now. Everyone knew that.

“We want to speak to someone from the board of directors of the Caldwell Group,” Nate said when everyone else had failed to respond.

The black eyes seemed to bore a hole in him. “And who are ‘we’?” the man said, his expression vaguely condescending. “Why should a board member waste their time listening to some hooligans?”

Nate flushed. He looked at the other guys for support, but to his disbelief and annoyance, they were disappearing into the gathered crowd one by one. Fucking cowards.

“We’re representing the gaming community,” Nate said, even though he was pretty much the only one representing them at this point. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the man. “We won’t let you turn an iconic gaming franchise into a microtransaction-filled cash grab!”

The man’s expression was completely unmoved. “What is he talking about?” he said, still looking at Nate.

Someone behind the man cleared his throat. “It seems he’s talking about the new Rangers game, Mr. Ferrara. It’s one of the old intellectual properties that we bought—”

“Ah,” the man—Ferrara—said, his lips twisting derisively. “I thought he meant something else when he talked about an ‘iconic gaming franchise.’ An irrelevant IP no one even remembered until we reinvented it hardly qualifies as such.”

Nate’s hands clenched from pure rage. He stepped closer to the asshole and glared up at him, hating that he was two inches shorter, even though he was pretty tall himself. “The Rangers IP is a single-player RPG franchise with twenty years of rich history,” he spat out. “And your greedy company turned it into a soulless cash grab of a multiplayer game with dumbed-down mechanics for teenagers! The story of Rangers 5 was so laughably poor and incompetent, it could have been written by a fifteen-year-old—a stoned one.”

Ferrara stared at him with a strange expression: as if he were a bug, but a mildly interesting one. “Thanks for the feedback,” he said flatly. “I’ll pass it to our lead writer. Is that all?”

Nate flushed. “No, it isn’t all,” he bit out, stepping closer. He glowered at the man, his pulse beating so fast he could actually feel it. His anger was making it hard to put his thoughts into words, and he breathed in deeply—and ended up inhaling the asshole’s aftershave or cologne. It smelled good. Classy and masculine. Probably cost a gazillion dollars.

“What your company did to the IP is a travesty,” he ground out at last. “If you can’t do the IP justice, sell it to a competent developer that will.”

The man laughed, his white teeth flashing against his golden skin. “You hear that, Daniel?” he said, clearly talking to the man behind him, even though his eyes remained on Nate. “The boy says we should sell the IP to a competent developer.”

The man—Daniel—laughed uncertainly, as if he wasn’t sure what kind of reaction was expected from him but wanted to please that dick. It was absolutely sickening.

“If you’re surrounded by suck-ups”—Nate sneered at Daniel for a moment before glowering at Ferrara—“it’s no wonder you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground.”

Daniel made a hissing sound, probably scandalized that Nate dared to speak in such a way to his asshole of a boss, who clearly was some kind of very important person in the company.

The security guards stepped closer, frowning. “Mr. Ferrara, we’ll escort the—”

Ferrara lifted his hand and they came to a halt. “Daniel,” he said, still looking at Nate. “Have the boy brought to my office.”

Nate blinked, confused.

Daniel seemed equally confused. “Mr. Ferrara?” he said hesitantly. “What for?

“Do I have to explain myself to you?”

Daniel paled. “Of course not, Mr. Ferrara. It will be done, sir.” He signaled to the guards and they moved toward Nate just as Ferrara turned and strode toward the building.

Nate frowned at his back, feeling bewildered and pleased in equal measure. Was it possible the dickhead was actually going to hear him out?

 

***

 

He was brought to Ferrara’s office.

Or, to be exact, to the reception room outside his office. And then Nate was told to wait. Which would have been fine if it hadn’t been three hours already.

Nate glared at the golden plaque on the door that seemed to mock him.

Raffaele Ferrara

Executive Vice President.

So apparently that dick was the Caldwell Group’s vice president. That explained a lot. A lot. Of course a soulless corporation would have a soulless exec managing it. With every passing hour, his hope that Ferrara actually intended to listen to him had been gradually fading—until it was gone.

“All right, I’m leaving,” Nate finally said. He had better things to do with his time than sit in this ridiculously fancy room and wait for hours for an audience with the resident tyrant.

“You can’t!” the secretary said. “Mr. Ferrara told you to wait. You will wait.”

Nate scoffed and stood up. “I’m going.”

The woman—Brenda, if he remembered correctly—sprang to her feet, panic flashing across her face. “You must stay. Please. I’ll be the one getting the brunt of his anger if his orders aren’t carried out.”

Nate sighed and dropped back into his chair. Sometimes being a nice person sucked; it really did. But he didn’t want the poor woman to suffer because of him. “Why won’t you quit instead of working for that asshole?”

Brenda grimaced and turned back to her computer. “Please don’t talk about Mr. Ferrara in that way,” she whispered.

Nate rolled his eyes. “Come on, he isn’t here. Why are you all so scared of him? He’s just a guy.”

Brenda shot him a look that reminded Nate of the way his sister looked at adorable but utterly clueless children.

The phone on her desk rang. From the way her entire body stiffened up, Nate could guess who it was.

She picked it up. “Yes, Mr. Ferrara,” she said timidly. “No, sir… Yes, of course, I’ll do it right away… The report is done, yes… Of course, sir… They said they’d get it ready by four o’clock… Of course, sir… Yes, sir.”

Nate scoffed. He hadn’t thought people still addressed their bosses as “sir” in the twenty-first century. It was so weird. He’d had a summer internship at a pretty big company last summer—though not as big as the Caldwell Group, of course—and everyone called the exec by his first name. Not to mention Ferrara was pretty young for his position—he couldn’t be much older than thirty, maybe thirty-five at most.

“Yes, Mr. Ferrara… Of course. Yes, he’s still waiting for you. Right away, sir.” Brenda hung up and exhaled. Then she looked at Nate. “Go. He’s waiting for you.”

Nate was kind of tempted to make him wait for a change, but he really was sick of waiting and wondering, so he marched into the man’s office.

The door clicked shut behind him, cutting off all the sounds from outside the room.

Nate cleared his throat.

Raffaele Ferrara lifted his gaze from his computer. He was leaned back in his chair, his posture seemingly relaxed. He had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms corded with thick muscle.

Thick. Powerful. Everything about this man screamed strength and power, from his wide shoulders to the biceps straining his white shirt. His hard face with glinting dark eyes just added to the whole unnerving picture.

Nate forced himself not to fidget.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Finally, Nate couldn’t take it anymore. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well?” he said, breaking the silence first. “What did you want from me? Hurry up.”

Ferrara’s eyebrows twitched. He was probably surprised Nate wasn’t tripping over his own feet to please him, as everyone else did.

Then, Ferrara looked at the sheet of paper in front of him and said, “Nate Parrish, twenty-two years old. Lives with his sister. Bachelor of Science in Computer Science and Game Development, recently graduated from Northeastern University. GPA 3.96. A—”

“What the fuck?” Nate said, more confused than angry. “Did you stalk me?”

Ferrara gave him a flat look. “I don’t ‘stalk’ anyone. I have people who gather information for me.”

“You mean you have people who do the stalking for you.”

“Sit.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Sit.” Ferrara’s voice was like a whip.

Nate wasn’t proud of himself, but he did as he was told. He didn’t know what it was about this man that made it very difficult to disobey him.

“Now what?” Nate grumbled.

Ferrara’s heavy gaze made him want to squirm. “You do realize that your behavior today was very unwise, considering your chosen profession?” Although it was a question, there was so little inflection in Ferrara’s voice that it seemed like a statement.

Nate tensed up when he realized what Ferrara was implying. “Are you threatening me?”

“I have better things to do with my time than threaten little boys who don’t understand how business works.”

Nate clenched his fists on his thighs. “Then what is this? Why did you make me wait for three goddamn hours to tell me that?”

Ferrara’s expression was dismissive. “You were their ringleader. I removed you to make you stop disrupting people’s work. But I didn’t intend to make you wait this long. I simply forgot about you—until security sent me a file on you.”

Nate spluttered with indignation. He’d forgotten about him? But before he could say anything, the dickhead continued.

“Considering your chosen field of work, antagonizing a major game publisher before you even have a job in the industry is beyond stupid. I’m surprised by your lack of foresight.”

Nate’s stomach clenched. He’d known that participating in the protest was a little risky if he wanted to work in the gaming industry, but no one knew him yet—he was supposed to be just one of the many protesters. It should have been perfectly safe.

“Or was it supposed to be a job application?” Ferrara said, his voice dry and sardonic. “Then I’ll have to turn it down. We aren’t interested in hooligans.”

Nate flushed. He hadn’t actually intended to apply for a job at RD Software, the AAA video game developer and publisher that was a subsidiary of the Caldwell Group—he had wanted to start smaller, at indie studios that allowed more freedom—but now that this dick was implying that his company was too good for Nate, fuck that. He burned to prove him wrong. He didn’t even care that he all but had a job already. The small independent studio he’d had an interview with yesterday had promised to call him soon—they had seemed really impressed with the platformer he’d developed for the job interview.

But at this moment, looking at Ferrara’s dismissive expression, he didn’t give a damn about anything besides proving him wrong and then rubbing it into his arrogant face. The asshole thought his company was too good for Nate?

“You know what?” he said, lifting his chin. “Let’s make it a job application. This hooligan can make a better game than the incompetents who made Rangers 5.”

Ferrara laughed. Somehow, even his laugh was dismissive and condescending.

Nate balled his hands into fists. “Something funny?”

“Your ambition would be… admirable if you knew how to behave with your superiors.” Ferrara’s lips curled. “It’s not even the fact that you have little experience in designing games. Your naïve views about game development are what makes you unsuitable for my company. You don’t have what it takes to work at a big company like this.”

Nate got to his feet, his lips trembling with rage. “Then let’s make a bet, shall we? You assign me any job in your company, and if I do my job competently for—for half a year, you admit that you were wrong, remove the microtransactions from Rangers 5, and give me a glowing recommendation letter when the six months are up.”

The black eyes stared at him, unreadable. “Why should I make a business decision based on some juvenile bet?”

Nate smiled. “What’s the matter? Are you scared to lose the bet, Mr. Ferrara?”

“I don’t make bets I know I will win,” Ferrara said. “There’s nothing interesting about it.”

Nate smiled wider. “I think you just know you’ll lose it—that I’ll prove you wrong.”

Although Ferrara’s face remained inscrutable, Nate could tell he’d managed to get under his skin. He was good at reading people. This was a man who wasn’t used to people talking back to him. A man who likely burned to put him in his place.

Ferrara leaned back and regarded him for a long moment, a glint appearing in his eyes. “This bet of yours is very one-sided. What’s in it for me?”

“If I fail, I’ll—I’ll publicly declare that I was wrong and Rangers 5 is a credit to the franchise.”

“You think too highly of yourself if you think your opinion matters to me. It doesn’t. The game sold eight million copies at launch. That’s all the feedback I need.”

Nate’s fingernails dug into his palms. God, he had never wanted to punch anyone more. But he couldn’t. Nate racked his brain, trying to think of something that would seem like an adequate prize for a powerful, rich man who likely had everything he wanted. There was only one thing he could offer.

“A strong launch doesn’t mean much if the game doesn’t have strong legs,” Nate said. “You know the game has been review-bombed recently and now has a very bad rating on Steam and Metacritic, right?”

Although Ferrara didn’t acknowledge it, from the way his expression tightened a little, Nate knew he was aware of the issue.

“I’m the moderator of the biggest Rangers community, rangersdeck,” Nate said. “If I lose the bet, I promise that I’ll talk the community into removing their bad reviews.” The mere idea made him want to puke, but it was the only thing of genuine value that he could offer to this man. Clearly good sales—money—was all the asshole cared about, and it was undeniable that bad reviews did affect the game’s sales. Besides, Nate had no intention of losing the bet, so ultimately, it didn’t matter.

Ferrara was silent for a while, just studying Nate in a way that made him uneasy.

“Fine,” he said at last. “As it happens, my personal assistant was fired yesterday. The position is still available.”

Nate opened his mouth and then closed it without saying anything.

Ferrara smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “You did say any job. Second thoughts?”

Nate put on his most nonchalant look. “No. Why would there be?”

Being a PA couldn’t be that hard. Right?