“Answering on the fifth ring is unacceptable.” He sounded annoyed. Good.
I pasted a fake smile on my face, hoping it came through in my voice. Wouldn’t want to sound not happy enough. “Sorry, sir. Is that all?”
“No. I need you to come in here. It’s about the report.” He hung up. So rude. Seriously, what had I ever done to him? It was kind of hostile. How had Margie put up with him? Unless it was just me. I’d seen him be reasonable with other people. Was I the only one he hated?
I placed my coffee cup back on my desk and went to his door. I knocked and waited, because as much as I liked to push his buttons, my energy was flagging, and it wasn’t even twelve thirty. I’d need more calories to deal with his reaction to my peak annoyingness. I wanted to give this “job” my all.
“Come in.”
I went in, the subtle scents of whatever delicious cologne he wore lassoing me and pulling me toward his desk. I stopped a foot away and tried to get my hormones under control. They clearly had no idea what was good for them. And I wished he wouldn’t look at me like that… with his two stupid eyes that were ocean blue and right now, perilous—calm on the surface with an invisible, dangerous undertow. “You wanted to see me, sir?” Did his eyes just light up at me calling him sir? He must get off on being in charge. Typical rich guy.
He leaned forward and turned his computer screen around so I could see it. “Do you see this?”
He was going to have to be more specific. “Do you mean the screen or the words on it?”
He gave me an “are you stupid?” look. “The document on the screen. Do you see it?”
I didn’t know why he was looking at me likeIwas stupid. “Yes, of course.”
“Do you know what’s wrong with it?”
Could I really survive more than one day of this?Yes, Faith, you can, and you will. You need the money. Don’t be a loser, again. Don’t let anyone push you out of your job. “I don’t mean to be rude”—okay, I did—“but if I knew what was wrong with it, it wouldn’t be wrong because I would’ve changed it before sending it to you.” Commonsense 101. He needed to take the course.
“The margins aren’t standard. Refer to the style handbook. Fix it and send it back.” He turned the screen around again. “That is all.” My mouth dropped open. He stared at his screen and started typing.
Wow. Just wow.My heartrate increased as I swallowed the cursing that wanted to burst forth.
And now I was standing here looking like a flummoxed idiot. I turned and left. I grabbed his door handle and pulled it hard as if to slam it because God, I wanted to, but at the last second, I slowed it down and let it close with a normal click.
So far I’d discovered nothing about anything and been treated like crap to boot.
I was in a hell of my own making, and there was no good way out.
And guess whose fault it was?
Yeah, don’t answer that.
Shortly after the margin incident, Bosshole left for a meeting. But the meeting wasn’t in his calendar. I searched Margie’s computer for it, but there was nothing. That was the kind of thing I was supposed to report on, but before I sent anything to Stephanie, I wanted to see if I could find out more. Also, for someone who was meant to be flirty and a danger to unsuspecting starlets, he was pretty anti-flirty. Unless, again, it was just me, and I had that effect on him. I’d done some social media research last night, and other than the rumors, there was nothing about anyone he was dating, no pictures of him in the last ten months or so with any women at any events, and I couldn’t find anything on gossip sites where women were chatting about their horrible experiences with him. I’d seen them about other famous men who were taken down by the #metoo movement. Thus far, I couldn’t prove anything one way or the other.
I didn’t want to take part in bringing him down if he’d done nothing wrong, assuming I hadn’t misinterpreted what Stephanie had hinted at—that they wanted an eye on Curtis for protection and/or because they didn’t trust him. I would keep an open mind until I knew for sure which it was. As angry as he made me, I was angrier at myself for finding him attractive and being irritated and insulted that he was apparently repulsed by me. Me hating how someone treated me wasn’t excuse enough to implode their life. I’d stick at this and see if I could help Stephanie get to the bottom of why clients were leaving.
So I would keep digging and somehow keep my ethics and my job.
If I didn’t strangle him first.
He left for his meeting at two, and I got in the elevator with him. The carriage was crowded, so he said nothing, just stared at me with narrowed eyes the whole way down. As soon as we were both out on the pavement, he stopped and turned to me. “Are you following me?”
“No. I haven’t taken lunch yet, and I’m hungry.”
He looked me up and down. “Then where is your bag?”
I’d brought my phone to take photos of him, like a true professional private eye. I held it up. “I have my card on my phone. It’s the modern way. Haven’t you heard?” Forgetting myself, I accidentally smiled, a genuine smile, and immediately hated myself. “Don’t worry, I won’t take long. I’ll be back at my desk in a sec.”
His face relaxed, and something passed through his gaze. Before I could figure out what it was, he said, “I’ll be back around four.” He got into a waiting black town car. I subtly snapped a picture of it as it pulled out into traffic. If only I could follow him. Telling Stephanie that he left in a black car wasn’t useful. I’d need to tell her where he went. Maybe I could trick it out of him later?
Because I really was hungry, I hurried to the convenience store, grabbed an apple and some fried rice to heat up, and went back to the office.
It was time to spy.
