Page 10 of Hating the Boss

A million dollars was more money than most people saw in a lifetime. It would be ridiculous to turn it down. I was drowning in interest fees from my student debt, which felt impossible to tackle with the debt from my sister’s hospital bills. Past due notices kept infiltrating my mailbox like stubborn termites, the amounts only growing with each envelope I opened. The numbers blurry through the mask of my tears. I would never let her see that, though. I would never want to make her feel like a burden because she wasn’t.

My sister didn’t ask to get cancer, a rare form that took away her ability to walk. The doctors called it a name I still had trouble pronouncing, though it sounded in my head each and every day. Though she was in recovery, it was still the early stages, and the threat of the cancer coming back loomed over us like the charcoal gray clouds outside.

I tried to remain positive, not only for her, but for me too. The thought of losing my sister made me numb. It seemed like an impossible life to live without her in it, which was why I plastered a smile on my face and remained encouraging. It wasn’t always easy, especially on her darker days when she felt frustrated by the hand life dealt her. It hadn’t been a fair one.

But I could turn things around with this job. With this money. I could get ahead of our bills. I could get us a more accessible apartment. I could change our lives.

“So, will you take the position?” asked Brad, tilting his head slightly, his dark hair falling in the same direction.

I swallowed hard. Mr. Parsons squirmed in his seat next to me as if he was holding something in. Brad had hijacked his interview after all. I guess he had that authority. Plus, he was going to be my boss at the end of the day. Not Fred.

“I don’t see how I could say no,” I said softly, annoyed by how meek I sounded. I was just so overwhelmed by this whole thing.

“When can you start?” asked Brad.

“Monday?” I asked, rather than told. It was only three days away, but having the weekend to catch my bearings would be good.

“Perfect.” He pressed his palms against the glass tabletop and pushed himself to stand, letting me and Mr. Parsons know that the interview was over. The authority he carried in his voice and demeanor was irritatingly sexy.

I stood quickly and walked toward the door, desperate to get out of that conference room that suddenly felt the size of a shoe box. Brad’s presence took up the space and I needed to catch my breath, one that wasn’t filled with the slight citrus smell of his cologne.

“Er, Ms. Atkinson,” said Fred, stopping me.

“Yes, Mr. Parsons?”

“We will need to get you onboarded and in the system. Contracts need to be signed.”

“Of course,” I said, feeling like an idiot as Brad slipped past me, his body brushing against mine like a feather of a kiss. My whole body tuned into him, radiating nerves and heat.

I didn’t give in to the temptation of turning to watch him leave, but instead, focused on following Fred to his office where we went over paperwork, including benefits and that insane salary. The meeting felt like it dragged on, and maybe it had because Fred was entirely unprepared for a new hire to start this soon.

Once the meeting was over, I held it together as I walked out of the building, trying to pretend like I hadn’t just accepted a job that would change my life. On the way out, I found myself looking for any sign of Brad. I wondered if I should even call him that. He was my boss. A CEO. A freaking billionaire, I presumed. Mr. Ashcroft would probably be more appropriate.

But then again, he wasn’t exactly appropriate when his gaze dipped toward my chest.

It wasn’t until I stepped onto the bus to take me back to Brooklyn that my face erupted into a wide grin. Sitting in my seat, the colors of the bus seemed brighter. I swore the clouds were clearing. I tapped my foot to the music dully playing through the speakers.

It was strange how much could change in just a few short hours. I felt on top of the world.

As I stepped into my apartment, that feeling dulled slightly when I caught sight of my sister sitting by the stove and pouring a box of noodles into a boiling pot of water.

“Jessica! What are you doing?” I asked, tossing my purse on a nearby table and rushing toward her.

“Oh, my gosh, Sarah. Take a chill pill,” she said, shaking her head and placing the blue box of mac n’ cheese on the countertop.

“Let me do that for you,” I said, shooing her away from the stove.

She crossed her arms and sighed. I ignored the slight roll of her eyes. I felt a tickle of guilt for storming in here like that, but I’d panicked. I wasn’t used to my sister moving around and doing things. She was gaining her strength back, but I didn’t know how far she should push her independence.

What if she grew weak and fainted, leaving the stove unoccupied and creating a potential fire hazard? What if she hit her head on the way down? What if I couldn’t get to her in time?

These were questions I posed over and over, every single day. It was exhausting being so worried all the time. I could tell she was exhausted by it too.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, turning the stove down just slightly so the pot of pasta wouldn’t boil over. “I could have done this for you, though.”

“You weren’t home. I got hungry.” She shrugged.

“Next time, maybe use the toaster,” I suggested. “I can go grab some bagels from the store.”