“I just got off the phone with Fran Morgan, my Head of Operations. She’s not pleased about a conversation the two of you had this morning. She didn’t tell me the details, but I don’t need you being openly rude to my staff. I let it slide yesterday because your sass is actually helpful sometimes. Devan can take that kind of language, but Fran doesn’t appreciate it. I need you to go and apologize to her.”
“She was being a total bitch,” I say, clinging to the reason behind my sharp comment this morning, but he holds up a hand.
“I don’t want to hear it. If you work here, you speak civilly to everyone,” his eyes darken slightly, “I won't tolerate rudeness from anyone.”
“Fromanyone?” I ask. “Or just from us minions? Because Fran wasn’t exactly polite to me either. Hierarchy in corporate jobs is such bullshit. It’s designed to trample on the little guy.”
He raises his eyebrows. “It doesn’t matter what level you are. If anyone is rude to you, tell me, and I will deal with it. Just as I am dealing with this. Go and apologize, or don’t bother coming back.”
I leave his office, my temper simmering just beneath the surface, and a heat between my legs that has no business beingthere. I curse my big mouth as I go back to my computer and find out where Fran’s office is.
She’s on a lower floor, in the same section as Finance. I was already going down there to collect the documents from Devan anyway, so I decide to kill two birds with one stone.
When I arrive, people are running everywhere, and dozens of phones are all ringing at once. Devan Chase doesn’t even look at me when he hands me the file Jones has requested. It’s a crisp dark blue, and he waves it at me like I’m a dog with a bone.
So much for mutual respect.
As I walk across the floor, I can already see Fran in her office. It’s similar to Jones’s but a third of the size. It’s also covered with paperwork, folders, and boxes, as if she’s just moved in.
I clutch the finance documents closer to my chest and knock. Fran looks up, her eyes narrowing at me as she beckons me inside.
“Gray sent you down, huh? That wasn’t necessary. I was merely making a point.”
“He told me to come and apologize,” I murmur.
“Well, a forced apology doesn’t really work for me.”
I look her over. There’s something not quite right with her appearance. Her hair is a mess, even though when I saw her in the elevator, it was perfectly fine. Her blouse isn’t tucked in properly, and there are three pairs of glasses on her desk. She looks stressed as hell.
The only impressive thing about her are her nails, which I find myself admiring. They’re the high gloss kind I’ve always wanted to try.
The silence stretches, and she doesn’t look at me again, continuing to make notes on the report in front of her. I’m not known for swallowing my pride, and I bury the urge to just turn around and leave as I take another step into the room.
“Look,” I say, pushing the door almost closed behind me. “I didn’t like the way you spoke to me this morning, and I got pissed and said something inappropriate. I have a habit of doing that. You had a point about the way I got this job. Itwasunconventional and disruptive, but I don’t like being looked down on by anyone. I didn’t appreciate it.”
I can admit when I’m wrong, but I’m not rolling over for this woman.
Her pen, which had been scrawling over the page in front of her, pauses.
“Looking down on you?” she asks, glancing up at me.
“Yeah. You looked me up and down like I was a hobo or something.”The word ‘hooker’ is on the tip of my tongue, but it hits a little too close to home to say out loud.
“Ah,” she mutters. “I was actually admiring your shoes,” she smirks. “And your tights, but I felt weird saying that. They have this kind of glitter about them. I’m just clueless about fashion. I wondered where you got them from, that’s all.”
I stare at her, the documents under my arm cutting into my fingers.
“Oh. They’re from a vintage store near my house. I got a bunch of them.”
She’s watching me now, but the cold expression on her face has softened, and her eyes are twinkling.
“I guess I could do with a lesson in not judging people on appearance, too,” I say with a shrug.
She scoffs, tugging at her flyaway hair. “Nobody’s perfect, right? But thanks for coming down in person. That takes guts.”
“That’s what I got a lot of. Sass and guts,” I say, cocking my head to the side and smiling.
I turn before her good mood sours again and head back upstairs, grateful that I might get to keep my job another day.
