Page 31 of Hating the Boss

I put in small, gold earrings and looked myself over in the mirror. The dress was even more beautiful in the sunlight that poured through my window. I smoothed my hands down the front before reaching up and adjusting the plunging neckline so the girls looked good. I was putting a lot of faith into the double-stick tape.

When I arrived at the office, my nerves that had been building all morning were at an all-time high. As I rode up the elevator to the top floor, my stomach did a little flip. Before the doors opened, I looked at my reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator. I ran my fingers through my straightened hair and quickly touched up the rosy lipstick I had put on.

I had bought it at Bloomingdales the day we had gone shopping. The woman at the makeup counter had convinced me it was the perfect shade, and that it went perfectly with the matching blush that also ended up in my bag, along with a brand-new tube of mascara. Armed with all three and this killer dress, I felt confident. I hadn’t felt like that in a while.

I wondered if it was because of Matt, and how he had given me everything I wanted before stealing it away so cruelly. Before he chose someone else. I had often questioned what it was I was lacking. Why he hadn’t loved me enough to choose me. It messed me up more than I care to admit.

When the elevator doors dinged, I left my pity party and pushed Matt out of my mind. I stepped out onto the office floor, my cheeks warming at the glances shot my way by other employees. I walked toward Brad’s office. Our shared office.

I rapped on the door softly.

“Come in,” Brad called through the door.

I let out a deep breath and opened the door before slipping inside. Brad’s eyes were on me almost immediately, the annoyed look on his face melting into something else as he looked at me. Whatever he was about to say was caught in his throat as his eyes landed on the dress, darkening as they ran down the low neckline.

“Good morning.” I smiled.

He cleared his throat and his eyes shot up to mine. “Your list is on your desk,” he said shortly.

I tried not to be taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor and walked toward my desk. Littered across it were rows of Post-it notes, all scribbled with to-dos. I picked a pale yellow one up and read it.

Pick up dry cleaning.

How many suits does this man go through?

I picked up a blue one.

Take car to get detailed.

Next, a pink one.

Pick up clothes from Saks Fifth Avenue.

Each one seemed more personal than professional. But I supposed that was what I was.

A personal assistant.

I just hadn’t realized it would mean doing practically everything for this man, most of which had me out of the office for the day. What a waste of a dress. Still, I held onto the way his eyes lingered on the curves of the material, on the bare skin exposed.

“You should really come up with a better system…” I said with a soft laugh, running my fingers over the sticky pieces of paper he had arranged on my desk. There were so many, I almost couldn’t see the acorn-stained surface of the wood.

“This works just fine,” he said, not looking up from his computer.

“Right.” I nodded, noticing the platinum credit card with my name on it. The business card he had mentioned. I picked it up and placed it in my wallet, now empty of the cash he had given me yesterday, since I had deposited it at the ATM. “I guess I’ll get started then.”

He let out what could only be described as a grunt.

Where was the man from yesterday? The one who was with me in the sky. The one who had swung me around excitedly. The one who had held me. I started to wonder if I had made the whole thing up. I started to feel foolish. I shuffled my feet in my nude patent leather heels, feeling that familiar feeling of not being enough.

“Stupid girl,” I whispered to myself.

“What was that?” asked Brad, looking at me sharply. His gray eyes were the color of steel, and just as cold.

“Nothing.” I shook my head.

I snapped a photo of my desk with my phone, thinking it would be easier to reference that instead of bringing all these papers with me. This really would be easier with a shared digital calendar, but I wasn’t about to question Brad again.

“Here are my keys…” he said, holding up a metal ring of various keys.