Dirty Boss Daddy by S.E. Law

3

Leslie

Date nights with Ronald are never anything special because to be honest, I’ve never met anyone who’s a bigger cheapskate. My high school boyfriend was poor because he only had a part-time job fixing bicycles after school, but even he took me to nicer restaurants than Ronald does.

Yet I try not to complain. I try to remind myself that some people prefer to save their money rather than spend it on things like extravagant meals, and I guess Ronald is that kind of person. Of course, he buys expensive outfits for himself, but food is another issue. He doesn’t like to splurge when it comes to dates, and El Loco Taco isn’t so bad. Even if it’s cheap, at least they have a mariachi band that plays on Saturday nights.

But tonight’s Tuesday, so it’s just me, Ronald, and one other middle-aged couple in the restaurant. Don’t get me wrong, I love tacos just like most curvy girls because I adore the glops of cheese, sour cream, and guacamole. But when Ronald mentioned El Loco Taco earlier tonight, my heart sank. They just had a food poisoning scare last week that was bad enough to make the local news, and my stomach churns nervously.

“Uh, Ronald. I know I said I was good with tacos for dinner, but I would rather not risk getting sick eating spoiled meat. I think they had tainted carne asada or something like that? And they were recently inspected by the FDA for serving meat past its expiration date?”

Ronald merely sniffs.

“If they’ve already been inspected by the FDA, then it means you’re safe, Leslie, because that incident is in the past, and we’re good to go. Use your brain, Les. Think of this as a golden opportunity because everyone’s scared to come at exactly the time when the restaurant’s being the most careful. Trust me, it’s fine.”

I’m still hesitant though and pause while he opens the front door.

“Are you sure?”

He shoots me an impatient look. “Come on, babe. Don’t tell me you believe that crap. Just because people put it on social media doesn’t mean it’s true. Besides, they have the best carnitas tacos here.”

Carnitasare exactly what I’m afraid of, but I plaster a smile on my face and nod. Then, we step inside and Ronald chooses a table in the back. The surface is suspiciously shiny, and I take the opportunity to wipe it down with a wet-nap as Ronald sniffs with derision. Then our waitress comes over. She’s perky and pretty with a high, fluffy ponytail.

“Hi, I’m Carmen,” she chirps. “Do you folks know what you want?” she asks.

Carmen’s got an enormous bust bursting from her peasant-style white blouse, and Ronald doesn’t even try to hide how he’s ogling her chest. I can almost see the drool forming in his mouth, and I shake my head. Sometimes I think Josie is right and I should just dump this loser, but if I did that, I might be alone for good, so I manage to bite my tongue.

Ronald simpers at the pretty waitress.

“I think I’d like to have you for dinner,” he says before batting his lashes flirtatiously. Then, he snaps his fingers in a rude fashion. “Actually, I already know what I want. I’ll have three beef tacos, three carnitas tacos, and an order of the beef nachos with extra everything on top. Actually, change that: I want the salsa and guac on the side. Don’t put it straight on the nachos, or I’ll have to send it back to the kitchen,” he warns.

I gawk a bit at my boyfriend because have no idea how he stays so skinny eating the way he does. If I ate all that I’d blow up like a whale instantly.

“Sure hon,” the waitress says amiably. “And for you?” she asks, turning to me.

I sigh, staring at the menu scrawled across one wall in chalk.

“Just a veggie taco salad, please. No meat, thanks.” If I have to eat here, I’m at least going to avoid the rancid meat. Ronald might have a titanium stomach, but I’m not risking food poisoning. If I’m still hungry at the end of the night, at least I’ll know that I avoided potential disaster.

The waitress nods and bustles off as Ronald stares unabashedly at her rear end.

“I love Latin girls,” he sighs. “They’re spicy like hot tamales,” he adds, licking his lips.

I refrain from reminding him that one, I’m his girlfriend, so his comments are rude to me; and two, his fetishization is disgusting, and rude to the waitress. Yet again, I manage to bite my tongue, even if my patience is wearing thin. Somehow, my tolerance seems to be disappearing quickly, and everything Ronald does is more of slap in the face lately, rather than a mere annoyance.

In a few minutes, the food appears and while the tacos look delicious, I’m also not surprised the lettuce in my salad is already wilted and obviously not fresh. I’ll definitely be needing a sandwich when I get home because this just isn’t going to cut it. Ronald, on the other hand, is stuffing his face like he hasn’t eaten in days.

“You sure are hungry, hmm?” I ask.

Ronald looks up mid-bite.

“What does that even mean?” he demands, his tone sharp and annoyed. “Of course I’m hungry. I barely had time to get even a few bites in at lunch. I swear they take advantage of me at Ligne.”

I raise my eyebrow looking at him. “How are they taking advantage of you?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, Leslie. Are you blind? They practically work me to death like I’m a packhorse or some kind of donkey. To make it worse, no one ever wants to give me credit for all the hard work I do, and if I try to speak up, everyone gets pissy like I’m supposed to be okay with getting shafted! Well, that shit’s about to end.”

I gawk at him, barely able to contain my surprise. It’s a good thing I’m not eating my wilted salad because those sad lettuce leaves would drop out of my mouth with shock. Is Ronald for real? Does he think that he does all the work at Ligne, and that other people are stealing his ideas?

The sad thing is I’m pretty sure my boyfriend really believes his shit, even if the truth is the exact opposite. The reason people get angry is because he’s always trying to take credit for their work, and not the other way around. Josie was right. This guy is a full of it, and not only that, but he’s completely off the reservation too. But I merely smile tightly and nod.

“Is that so? I’m sure they’d understand if you clarified your position,” I venture politely. “After all, we are a team.”

He sniffs and throws me a sly smile.

“No, not exactly. Those people would never get it because they’re small fry with puny brains.” Then he flashes me a big smile. “Actually, I had a heart to heart with Malcolm today and trust me, he gets it. I’m expecting good things to happen going forward, in fact.”

My eyebrows almost fly off my forehead from shock. “Malcolm?” I stammer. “As in Malcolm Neuwirth, the CEO of Ligne?”

Ronald smiles smugly.

“Of course, that Malcolm. We are friends, after all, and I think we might be working on some big projects together soon. I can’t share the details because this stuff is on a need-to-know basis, but let’s just say we discussed a lot of big plans for the company and some of its most important clients. Malcolm likes my work, so it’s only natural he wants me running major deals going forward.”

My mouth snaps shut because nothing Ronald’s saying makes any sense. Malcolm Neuwirth is known for being a creative genius in our field, not to mention an incredible manager, and the founder of Ligne itself. But he’s the CEO and doesn’t interact with junior associates like us. So why would he ever talk to Ronald?

Not only that, but Malcolm Neuwirth’s one of the hottest bachelors in NYC, if not the hottest property in town. I’ve seen pictures of him in magazines, and he’s got a square jaw, blue eyes that flash and dark hair that seems to absorb the light. He’s exactly the kind of man women go ga-ga over, and it seems incredible that he’d associate with someone like my boyfriend.

“Are you sure you didn’t read more into your meeting?” I stammer. “When did you even meet, actually? How did you get an appointment?”

“Oh that,” Ronald says airily. “Malcolm was so impressed with my work that he asked me to swing by his office,” he says glibly. “He and I click professionally and personally. In fact, we got to talking about more than just Ligne,” he adds with a sly look.

“Oh really?” I ask, still in disbelief. “What did you talk about then? Sports? The news? But I know you don’t keep up with any current events,” I say, perplexed.

Ronald merely lets out a high-pitched trill of laughter.

“Oh no, it turns out we have an even closer bond than that. Malcolm loves the sexy ladies he has working for him at Ligne, just like I do. We have the same taste, shall we say, and you should have seen his face when I showed him those naughty pics I snapped of you the other night. That man practically had a hard-on in his seat, but too bad for him, because you’re already with me,” he adds in a smug tone.

At that, I jump up from the hard plastic booth.

“What? You showed him my naked pictures?” I screech, uncaring of who overhears. My blood is boiling and I feel like the top of my head is about to pop off. “What the hell were you thinking, Ronald? Those were private, and you knew I wasn’t comfortable taking them in the first place! Why in the world would you think I’d be okay with you showing them to other people, and especially the CEO of our company! What the fuck?”

But Ronald isn’t even bothered by my tirade.

“Calm your tits,” he says with disgust. “It’s no big deal. Honestly, everyone takes naked selfies these days, ever since the Kim Kardashian debacle. Honestly, it would be weirder if I didn’t have naked pics of you on my phone, like I was kind of loser boyfriend or something. Besides, don’t you get it? Men share stuff like that. Everyone does it, and it’s how we bond. You should know that, Leslie. Geez, I thought you were smarter than this.”

I shove my pathetic salad across the table and the plastic bowl falls in his lap, scattering leaves all over Ronald’s narrow chest.

“No, men don’t go around sharing naked selfies of their girlfriends with just anyone on the street,” I grind out. “They don’t even show their best friends, you asshole.”

Ronald rolls his eyes.

“So what do you want me to do? Delete them from my phone? Tell Malcolm Neuwirth that they were actually your head photoshopped onto someone else’s body?”

“Yes, delete them from your phone!” I practically screech. “I have no idea what to do about Malcolm Neuwirth, but you know what? You’re a fucking pig, Ronald, and I hate you! We are so done!”

I don’t wait for a response. Instead, I grab my bag and run out of El Loco Taco, hailing the first cab I see to take me home. Tears blur my eyes and I have no idea if the cab is going East or West, but I don’t care. Humiliation burns in my chest and I shake my head angrily. How could I have been betrayed like that? How could Ronald have done that to me? Even worse, how do I go to work tomorrow knowing that our gorgeous, dashing CEO has seen me in the nude? My life feels like it’s over, and I have no idea what comes next.