Page 5 of Hating the Boss

I let out an annoyed sigh as I folded up the coffee-stained jacket and shirt, placing them on a nearby bookshelf to deal with later. Right now, at least I was dry, which made it easier to focus on the myriad of emails and phone calls I had to get through. Tasks an assistant should do. I still needed coffee too, which made me sigh even louder, knowing I didn’t have someone to send out to the nearby café. Thank God the interview process already started and I should have a replacement by next week.

Running my hands down my cheeks tiredly, I turned in my chair, facing the gloom of the city in this unexpected summer storm. Through the fog, I looked down at the small specks of people hurriedly crossing the street to avoid the rain. I couldn’t help but wonder if one of them could be someone with a coffee-stained dress.

Chapter 3 Sarah

Staring at where the tall, dark, and handsome stranger had just stood seconds before, I was met with my shocked expression staring back at me on the gold elevator doors. My face skewed slightly through the worn metal, making my gaping mouth look longer than it was. I quickly clamped my jaw shut and tried to shake away what had just happened.

Which was that I had just made an idiot of myself in front of a ridiculously hot dude in a ridiculously well-fitted suit that I had probably just ruined. He had disappeared so quickly, I wondered if he had ever been there at all, but the gruff sound of his voice still rang in my ears.

Clumsy girl.

That I was, but he didn’t have to be such an ass about it.

If only that had lessened his appeal. It took all but ten seconds of looking at him for me to turn into a mute, gaping-mouthed fish who somehow forgot how to formulate a word, let alone a cohesive sentence. It was probably best he left in such haste. It gave me fewer opportunities to look like a fool.

Realizing I was still drenched in coffee and staring at the closed doors of an elevator, I ducked into the nearest bathroom. I had seen more of the bathrooms of Stellar Industries than the rest of the actual building. I held my hand under the paper towel dispenser and ripped the tan paper that rolled out, a whirring sound filling the bathroom. Another wave of my hand, and I waited for another one. This went on for what felt like a ridiculously long time, until I had a wad of paper towels in my hand.

I quickly went to the sink and ran them under the water before rubbing at the large brown stain that covered my upper half. The beautiful cream fabric now looked the color of a dull paper grocery bag. The paper towels weren’t helping. If anything, they were making it worse. Letting out a frustrated sigh, I tossed the wad in the trash, and gripped the edge countertop until my knuckles matched the white quartz.

“This is a great start, Sarah,” I muttered to myself.

In all the articles that Brittany had sent last night, there were none telling me what to do if I looked like a hot mess. I took a deep breath and pulled the blazer from my shoulders, inspecting it. It had somehow survived the spill, not a drop of coffee in sight. I shrugged it on and buttoned it across my chest. To my relief, it hid most of the stain.

I had intended on taking the jacket off during the interview to show off “the girls” for an extra advantage with whom I assumed would be a typical corporate schmuck. That plan was out the window now, and I would have to rely completely on the skills I might have embellished on my résumé.

Only a little.

I grabbed my phone and snapped a quick picture, sending it to Brittany.

Me: All that effort might have just gone up in smoke.

Brittany: What happened?

Me: Coffee. One. Me. Zero.

I left out that the coffee had belonged to a man with a jawline that would bring her to her knees.

Brittany: It’s nothing a little confidence and a trip to the dry cleaners won’t fix.

I smiled at my phone. Brittany’s optimism was to be admired. Really, it should be studied. I was grateful for it in this moment.

Me: I’ll let you know how it goes!

Turning my phone off, I exited the bathroom, and using my shoulder bag to hide the rest of the stain that my blazer could not conceal, I walked toward the front desk where a middle-aged woman sat in a blush-colored suit and glasses. Glancing up from her computer, she looked at me with a warm smile. She was a stark contrast to the monochromatic, clean lines surrounding her.

“May I help you?” she asked, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“Hi, yes. I’m here for the assistant position.”

“Ahh, yes. Of course.” She clicked her teeth and picked up a clipboard from her desk. From my quick glance, I saw a paper with a long list of names. This was clearly a sought-after job. Damn that cappuccino for taking away my advantage of a modest, yet flirty neckline.

“Name?” asked the front desk attendant, whose name according to the gold plaque on her desk was Donna. Underneath that in bold letters was Human Resources.

“Sarah Atkinson,” I said confidently, as if my name was of any importance, when really I was a nobody.

Be positive, I reminded myself, as I watched her run her finger down the list of names, before stopping on mine somewhere in the middle. It looked like they had already conducted quite a few interviews that morning, and it was only 10 a.m. I tried not to focus on the fact that there was a very good chance this job would go to someone else, and it would be back to the drawing board.

“Right. Follow me,” said Donna, standing from her seat and leading me down a short hallway to a small seating area surrounded by offices with frosted glass walls making it hard to make out anything on the other side other than the darkness of moving figures. Sitting in a line of black leather chairs were three women and one man. The man looked at me disinterestedly, while the women looked as if they were sizing up their competition.