Page 3 of Hating the Boss

Slipping off my blazer, I held it above my head as a makeshift umbrella before I broke into a run. Well, more of a jog, really, if you could even call it that. Damn these heels.

I yanked open the tall glass door of the building and slipped inside just as the sky broke open and water rushed down in heaps. I breathed a sigh of relief as I watched the sidewalk darken with heavy rain, thankful for the near miss I had just escaped. Draping my blazer over my shoulders, I check my phone for the time, and saw that I was also early. Another thing to be thankful for.

I smiled to myself as I turned toward the lobby, catching my breath at the expanse of it. Gray marbled floors sprawled around me until meeting the tall white walls that towered around me. Above me hung a circular tiered chandelier dripping with crystal beads reflecting the white light luminating from the center.

Large, gold metal letters spelled out Stellar Industries along the one charcoal gray wall that sat behind an enormous marble waterfall countertop. Seated underneath were three almost identical women, looking polished in matching black suits as they busied themselves with phone calls and the click-clack of their keyboards. Two security guards with headpieces stood to their right, their eyes now narrowing in on me.

I gave them a nervous wave, feeling stupid while doing it before finding sanctuary in the nearest restroom. Inside, I quickly dried off under one of the hand dryers and finger-brushed my long hair that was somehow still holding the wave of the hot rollers I had attempted that morning.

With a firm nod to myself in the large, backlit mirror, I strode out of the bathroom and toward the nearby set of gold elevators. On the ride up to the twenty-seventh floor, I ran through the tips I had read in the article, realizing I wasn’t doing the first one of simply breathing. As the doors opened, I took a deep breath and a step forward, only to collide with something solid.

Not something.

Someone.

Tall.

Dark.

Holding coffee.

Coffee that is now all over my dress. All over the gray linen suit that was impeccably fitted to whoever was wearing it.

Chapter 2 Brad

The coffee was not hot, but not quite warm, as it seeped through the lapels of my jacket and into the white button-down underneath. While thankful it wasn’t scalding, bathing in a cup of coffee was not on my agenda for this morning. Without looking up at the person who was now on my shit list, I swiped away at the coffee, its drops flying to the tiled elevator floor like the rain outside. Assessing the damage, I saw that my attempts at cleaning myself off were futile.

“Clumsy girl,” I half yelled, half sighed, as I watched her slightly stumble out of the elevator. Eager to get to my office, I jabbed at the button for the top floor. Surprisingly, it was the only one not doused in my morning’s needed dose of caffeine. I would have to send out for another cappuccino, and for the cleaning crew to come take care of this mess.

The trill of the bell of the elevator sounded, and only then did I raise my eyes to get a good look at the culprit who had ruined my morning. They caught on a pair of light brown eyes staring back at me, panicked and remorseful, but also unnervingly captivating. It was like they were swirled with caramel, flecks of copper sprinkled throughout the irises. My eyes widened slightly, frantic to get a better look at the rest of her. Then she was gone. The gold sliding doors of the elevator concealing the mystery woman from view as I began my ascent.

Standing in a damp suit in an espresso-soaked 8 x 8 box, I found my curiosity piqued by whoever I just left behind. Her curtain of dark brown hair that fell around her heart-shaped face. A pair of thick, dark brows framing her round brown eyes. Her mouth parted slightly, as if an apology was about to bounce off her rosy pink lips. But then she was gone, and I was left to imagine what her voice sounded like as my brain tried to memorize that briefest glimpse. This irritating chance encounter with a complete stranger, a clumsy one at that, had me reeling as the elevator continued its ascent.

I internally kicked myself for not only yelling at her like an asshole, but for not stopping the elevator as soon as our eyes met. Little did she know, I forgave her as soon as those pools of caramel met my icy gaze, melting into me. A quick jab of a button, a jut of the hand through the closing doors, and I could still be with her now.

The elevator soon came to a slow stop and the doors opened. I half expected her to be standing there, as if I had never left her at all, but I was met with the top floor of Stellar Industries, its floor-to-ceiling windows slick with rain surrounding me. The dark marble floor sprawled out like ink, the veined black tiles catching a golden glow from the overhead canned lighting. Before I stepped off the elevator, I debated riding back down to the twenty-seventh floor, but surely she would be gone by now.

No one spilled coffee on Brad Ashcroft without running away.

Far away.

Especially in this building.

My building.

Stellar Industries. The envy of the tech world. My creation.

Without it, none of these social media sites could operate. There would be no double-tapping of a photo of a girls’ night out. No live-streaming people playing the latest video games. No viral dance videos being replicated over and over again to a Top 100 song. No way to repost or reply to a 280-character quip.

Without it, the country would crumble.

Governments worldwide would shut down.

The world would kneel at my feet, and that was exactly how I liked it. That was the power I desired.

Which was why right now, I needed to get my head on straight. My momentary distraction had left me feeling disarmed, but I caught my bearings as I strode out onto the floor, reminding myself of exactly who I was. I was a billionaire. A CEO. The head of the biggest tech giant in the country. The reason most of the employees on this floor were now scrambling at their desks at my very presence, moving their fingers quickly across the keys of their laptops, picking up phones in assertive tones, all while shooting careful glances in my direction.

I had grown used to being the center of attention. Long before I strolled the floor of one of the tallest buildings in Manhattan, I was running on the plush, green field of my high school in Indiana as captain of the football team. With my helmet secured tightly around my sweaty head of hair, unruly under the maroon and white plastic, and my hand gripped around the football in my hand, I shouted out plays to my teammates all looking to me expectantly.