I Hate, I Bake, and I Don’t Date! by Alina Jacobs

4

Beck

Tess arrived with my tea as I was ending another call. I had to admit, I was looking forward to having her back. At the very least, she would be able to put together a presentation that wasn’t seizure inducing.

Tess set the steaming paper cup on my desk.

“Your laptop is waiting at your desk,” I informed her, still typing an email response. “I just sent you several files that I need formatted, printed, and bound for a meeting in the morning.”

“What do you mean?” she said in a fake ditzy voice.

I looked up from my screen, my hands paused over the keyboard.

Tess batted her eyelashes at me.

“Just put the spreadsheet information into a nice booklet form like you’ve done a million times before,” I said, confused.

Tess let out an obnoxious giggle. “Oh, I don’t know how to do that, Mr. Svensson. I’m new here! This is my first day!”

My blood pressure started to rise. “You’ve worked here for three months,” I snarled. I opened one of the spreadsheets on my screen. “Just format and print and stop wasting my time.”

“I don’t know where the printer is. Can you show me?” she asked.

What the fuck.

“And we didn’t use InDesign at my last job,” she said, twirling her hands around then pressing them to her cheeks and pretending to be confused. “I know you’re doing big, important work here, Mr. Svensson, and I don’t want to mess anything up. Can you please tell me what I’m supposed to do for my brand-new position?”

I closed my eyes.

“Is there job training?” she added in an obnoxious baby voice.

“You already know how to do the work!” I yelled at her, jumping up and slamming my hands down on the desk. “Just do it!”

Her mouth made a little O.

“Do you even want this job?” I asked, coming around the desk to loom over her.

She looked up at me, lips slightly parted. Her hands came up to her blouse and unbuttoned the top two buttons.

My brain short-circuited from the stress and the sight of the perfect mounds of her tits.

“I didn’t come here because I wanted a job, Mr. Svensson. I’m here because I want to land a billionaire husband and live happily ever after in a fairy-tale castle, tee-hee!”

She undid another button then turned, hopped onto the corner of my desk, and arranged her body in an exaggerated pinup-girl position.

My brain made alarm noises as she pushed up her tits so they were almost spilling out of her half-undone blouse.

“There, isn’t that better? Now,” she said, still using that fake falsetto voice, “can you pwetty pwease show me how to use a laptop? I want to please you and be the best assistant ever.”

“What the—” I took two steps back, turned to the door, and grabbed the handle, still shocked at what was happening.

Did she want me to have sex with her?

I turned back around to confront Tess. But my assistant had lost the fake persona and crossed her arms. She still hadn’t buttoned her shirt back up, part of me was happy to notice.

The rest of me was furious.

Tess had a smirk on her face like she had the upper hand. Which she did not. It was my company. Tess worked for me.

I took two steps toward her. “You think you’re going to come here and make a mockery of me and waste my time?” I roared.

Tess’s jaw was set, defiant.

“Well, guess what,” I hissed at her. “You’re fired.”

“Good,” she spat, “because I hated every minute of working with you. I hope you have a terrible life.” She grabbed her purse and stormed out.

I sat back down at my desk.

Tess hated working with me? I had thought we’d had a somewhat good rapport.

What do I care?

Cressida, the human resources director, hurried into my office. “I thought you wanted me to add Tess back into the system?” she asked.

“No. She’s been fired.”

Cressida looked up at me from under her lashes. “That’s too bad. I know you’re a busy man and need an assistant. I am happy to fill in while you work on finding a new one.” She licked her lips.

“No, thank you,” I told her firmly. Cressida had always given off predatory vibes. I wasn’t sure if it was just my paranoia that had been instilled in me by my older brothers or because of my own issues with my mother.

“Please just find another temp. Make sure she’s well qualified. She needs to show proof that she knows all the software, can work a spreadsheet, and has some sense of design.”

“Of course!” Cressida chirped. “The temp agency sent me a whole list of people. Maybe we can grab dinner and go over them?”

“Can’t,” I said, grateful for once that I actually had to go see my brothers. “I have another commitment.”