His protest feels flimsy because I’ve overheard him say shit about me, but I don’t bring that up. He doesn’t have to like me, just do his job.
He turns to Aspen, then glances at me again. His gaze says,Are you sure you want me to do this?It’s as though he presumes that he ranks higher than her in the firm’s hierarchy. He wants a way out without humiliating himself, since apologizing to her would be intolerable in his condescending, elitist worldview.
I glance down. Aspen’s almost done gathering the papers. She doesn’t even look at me. I don’t know why that upsets me even more. She knows I’m not fond of her. As a matter of fact, I made it clear I want her gone. So why isn’t she acting grateful that I’m verbally beating Larry up on her behalf?
And why do I care that she isn’t looking up at me like I’m her hero? She won’t quit if she thinks that. I need to get my head screwed on tighter, because I’m being stupid here.
Larry must sense my mounting fury, and he’s smart enough to understand that it isn’t all directed at him. He bites his lip, stalling.
Fuck this.
This entire scene is due to his being an obnoxious idiot who can’t say he’s sorry. For that, I’m going to make him pay.
“Guess the team is in worse shape than I thought. All of you will be joining me and Aspen for the team-building exercise.”
Larry starts. “What’s that?” Maybe he’s finally realized he’s misjudged everything—that he isn’t very important to me or GrantEm. People with his qualifications are dime a dozen in the industry. Most of them are smarter, too.
“Be at my place at four thirty tomorrow morning. We’ll be running for an hour, so dress accordingly. Afterward, I expect you to show up here—on time—fresh and ready to go.”
Amy stands up, incredulous. “How long are we going to be doing that?”
Shit,I curse inwardly. I didn’t mean to include her, but I can’t exclude her now. It would make me look like I was unfairly favoring her, and she’d kill me if I did anything that could negatively impact her professional reputation. My irritation jumps up another notch.Fucking Larry.
“Until I’m satisfied that we’re all on the same page.” My tone is harsher than I intend. I don’t explain what the “same page” means. These are smart people. They can figure it out.
Everyone glares at Larry, who can’t meet anybody’s eyes.
Amy breathes deep and clenches and unclenches her hands. She’s probably fantasizing about strangling Larry. “Thanks, Larry.” The words drip with sarcasm.
He turns paler than milk, his legs shaking. Serves him right. Emmett will never forgive him for depriving him of his wife so early in the morning. Unlike Amy, Emmett has no problem complaining—subtly, of course, so Amy doesn’t find out—when I give her “too much work.” Ironic, since he made her work past midnight every day when she was reporting to him.
Aspen stands with the papers clutched to her chest. She’s studying me, and I can’t figure out what’s going on in her head.
Why should I care what she thinks? I’m the boss. “Aspen, email everyone my address. No excuses if anybody misses the exercise.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Aspen
Grant goes back into the office and slams his door. Everyone flinches at the sound, then buries their heads back into work. Except Larry. He just stands in the same spot, staring wide-eyed at the door.
Maybe he’s never been reprimanded publicly. Ah well, not my problem.
I place the papers I picked up on my desk and neaten the stack. Then I start drafting the email Grant asked me for. Given his mood, if I go into the office to give him the documents right now, he’ll snarl about the email status.
I can’t figure out what to make of his outburst against Larry. If I were a naïve college kid from fourteen year ago, I might’ve thought Grant was defending me, but he should’ve been holding a tub of popcorn and egging Larry on. Maybe even recording the incident so he could relive it.
Did Larry get on Grant’s bad side? Or maybe he’s just being crabby. He’s been in a bad mood since he walked into the office this morning. Not sure why. He’s usually happily satisfied after tormenting me with a ridiculous morning run.
I draft the email with Grant’s address and read it over to make sure there aren’t any mistakes or grammatical errors. He’d jump on them immediately—and maybe ask me to come in an hour earlier to run fortwohours. I shudder.
Larry turns to me. “What are you doing?” he says, his voice low.
“My job,” I answer without looking at him. I have nothing to say to a guy who treated me with such disrespect.
“You can’t,” he says shakily.
I turn my head in his direction. “I can’t do my job?” Desperation is pouring out of him. He’s actually sweating. “Says who?”
