“I’m serious. She’s out to get me. I feel like she’s keeping tabs on every little thing I do to go report back to daddy.”
“Why don’t you just fire her then?” he suggested with a raised brow.
“I can’t.” I shook my head.
“Why not? If she’s as bad as you say she is…”
“She’s the boss’sdaughter.”
Though that didn’t stop me from fucking her.
“It would be a slap in the face to him if I gave her the axe,” I continued. “Plus, she’s good at her job. Annoying as that is. Though, I would never admit that to her.”
“She’s really gotten under your skin, huh?” Wyatt said, his blue eyes looking at me with amusement.
“It’s not like that,” I snapped a little too quickly, giving me away.
“Whatever you say.” Wyatt put his hands up in defense.
I looked across the gym at another game of basketball that had started up, lost in thought.
“It would be smart to keep her on for at least a year,” I mused, more to myself than to my friend. “It would give me enough time to get established as CEO, gain Mr. Harold’s trust completely, and then I could fire her without feeling bad about it. People get fired all the time.”
“You think you can last a year?” asked Wyatt, and I wasn’t sure if he meant me as CEO or not getting involved with her.
“Easily,” I said, mustering up confidence. “Hell,shemay not even last that long. I can make her life hell, just like she’s doing to me. Maybe she’ll quit. A man can dream, right?” I shrugged before looking back to Wyatt.
“Mhmm,” he said before reaching for the basketball at his side. He tossed it in the air and caught it.
“Let’s get back to it,” he said, nodding toward the court. “Seems like you need to get more of that aggression—or is it sexual tension?—out.”
Annoyed, I grabbed the ball from him and ran to the court, tossing up a three-pointer as a silentfuck you.
Chapter 15
Gabriella
My phone pinged with a notification. I stopped typing up an email and glanced down at the lit up screen. It was a text from Chandler. I rolled my eyes and ignored it, continuing on with my email. Five seconds later, my phone pinged again. I knew it was him without having to look.
“Impatient prick,” I muttered as I picked up my phone and swiped up on the screen
Chandler:I need tomorrow’s meeting rescheduled in my calendar.
Chandler:Now.
Me:That’s Bernice’s job. When will you get it through your thick head?
Chandler:She’s no good with computers.
Me:She’s managed this long.
Chandler:She’s 100 years old.
Chandler:Do it.
I slid my phone across my desk and sighed frustratedly. The man was helpless. I opened a tab on my computer for our shared calendar and rescheduled his meeting, just so he would leave me the hell alone. I heard a grunt of approval come from his office across the way. It was his way of saying thank-you I supposed.
That was how the past few weeks had been. Texts, emails, and grunts from his office. We had stuck with his suggestion of communicating through screens, rather than face to face, as best we could. Obviously, sometimes there was no way around it. I knew the employees of the office could see our relationship was strained, but I hoped they chalked it up to Chandler being an asshole. That part was definitely true.
