Page 4 of Hating the Boss

I was made varsity quarterback at the start of my junior year, which was unheard of for a 4A school, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t worked for it. Sure, there was a natural ability that my coaches growing up had agreed on, but I had put in the sweat, muscle, and hidden tears to make it to the top. Being at the top came with its perks.

Popularity.

Girls.

Scholarships.

I accepted a full ride to Purdue University to play football. My mother was ecstatic, but it was my father’s reaction I was most eager for. It was probably foolish of me to expect my father to be proud. As a Yale alum himself, he expected his only son to follow in his footsteps. He had been making large donations to his alma mater and placing calls with the head honchos ever since I started high school. I had never asked him to do that. I never wanted him to do that. I wanted to earn my place.

Maybe that was why I chose Purdue. A rival to Yale, and to everything my father had wanted for me. It was entertaining to watch my father in the stands at my games, especially when we played against his beloved Bulldogs. He didn’t go so far as wearing Yale gear, but he never wore Purdue black and gold either. It looked like it physically pained him to cheer for his son, the quarterback, when we scored against our rivals.

While I hadn’t followed in his footsteps for university, I had studied business just as he had. My father had built his own empire, and I got to watch it grow as a baby to a teenager, fascinated by the ins and outs. The power. The money. I wanted that for myself, and my father promised me a piece of it. But just like football, I wanted to earn a seat at the table. I didn’t want it handed to me just because we shared blood.

It was really only a back-up plan if football didn’t work out.

And clearly, it hadn’t.

My dreams of making the NFL were torn up just like my ACL at my career-ending game my senior year. What should have been me leading my team to victory at the Rose Bowl, ended with me watching my team win on the monitor from inside the blue medical tent. Watching my fellow players hoist the back-up quarterback on their shoulders as the crowd’s cheers filled the stadium. Watching as my dreams seemed to float away, as my knee was wrapped tightly in a gauze bandage. Watching as my mother’s quiet sobs were muffled by her hand as she looked at me forlornly, and my father’s voice frantic as he talked to the medic.

“You can fix this, right?”

“He can come back from this, right?”

“It’s not over.”

But I knew it was.

The NFL wasn’t going to draft an injured player, and they weren’t going to wait around for my recovery, which, judging from the pain radiating through me, was going to be a long one.

I did it though. It took two surgeries and nearly a year of physical therapy to feel like my old self again. In that time, I kept my head down in school, realizing my back-up plan was now the only plan. I graduated at the top of my class, and went on to work under my father, only accepting a position because I knew I deserved to be there. Despite my father’s protests, I took a low-level position, wanting to start where everyone else did, working my way up to taking over the company one day.

I thought that day would be here by now, but my father was determined to stay until he was put in a grave. At least, that was what it seemed like.

Speaking of, my father rounded the corner just then, spotting me. His eyes looked me up and down in quiet disapproval. I couldn’t blame him. I was a mess.

“Brad.” He nodded as he approached. “Trouble this morning?” He raised a brow as he looked at the large coffee stain strewn across my upper half.

“Just an accident,” I said, trying to swallow down my irritation.

“Might I suggest a bib…”

“I have a change of clothes in my office,” I assured him, feeling like an unkempt child and not an almost forty-year-old man.

“Good.” He nodded before turning away and striding toward his office. I didn’t know he was going to be here today. Usually, he worked from home, but I never knew when he would pop in unannounced.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes as I watched him go, before turning and making my way down the hall toward my own office. I hated when my father caught me on an off-day, which was a rare occurrence, but it still got under my skin. To be anything less than excellent, especially in front of him, irked me. Maybe it was because I felt like it would only keep him here longer, while I was so close to being out of his shadow.

Or maybe it was because I was afraid to lose again. I had already lost everything once, my injury changing everything. Dreams. Plans. Hell, my ability to move.

That was why I threw everything into this business, gaining a Master’s in business and a second in tech, studying various languages, traveling the world to see how business was run in foreign countries.

I wanted to be the best, and Stellar Industries was the best.

It was why I had billions in the bank. Why people grew quiet when I entered a room. Why I owned the top three floors of the most sought out building in Tribeca. Why I wore designer suits that cost more than a car.

Like this one, that was now stained a dull brown.

As soon as I entered my office, closing the door behind me, I peeled off the damp linen jacket and undid the buttons on the white button down that was stuck to my chest. I changed into a black button-down and a matching black jacket that had been dropped off by the dry cleaners the day before. I was about to call for my assistant to run my coffee-stained suit to the dry cleaners when I remembered I didn’t have an assistant any more. At least, not since yesterday. She came down with a case of “I’m a moron and got pregnant and now I have to quit my job.”