Page 7 of Hating the Boss

She was here. There I was thinking I would never see her again, looking down at the bustling city as if I could spot her among the small specks of people almost eighty stories below, when she had never even left the building. She had never left the floor I’d left her on just hours before. I couldn’t believe my luck when I had turned the corner and saw her sitting in the waiting room about to be interviewed.

It had just been by chance that I came down to human resources to see how the interviews were going. Not wanting to waste my time, I had assigned human resources to vet the applicants, only sending me the best of the best for a final interview to see if they were the right fit for me. Not many were. My life had a lot of moving parts, and that meant doing just about everything, from picking up my favorite Italian sub from the nearby deli to flying across the country to sit in on a meeting. Every day was different, and I needed someone who could keep up.

I’d been called a demanding asshole more times than I could count. Mostly behind my back, but sometimes to my face. Demanding, sure. Asshole was a little harsh.

Looking at the woman I had been infatuated with all morning, I wondered if she would have what it took for the job. Judging by the way she was still standing in the doorway, putting some sort of puzzle together in her head, I didn’t have high hopes.

But damn, she was easy on the eyes.

I sat back in my chair, the leather groaning beneath me, taking her in like a steaming cup of coffee on a drizzly winter day. I could take my time now, without the risk of an elevator whisking me away. She was slender and petite. Her light brown hair was parted to the side and fell in loose waves just past her shoulders. With a slightly turned-up nose and full rosy lips, she hardly needed any makeup, letting her striking features do the talking. I wondered if she knew it. Knew how many men’s heads she must turn. Knew how she had consumed my thoughts for most of the morning.

Ms. Atkinson.

I had a name. It wasn’t her first name, but I was about to find that out. I was about to find a lot out.

Finally, she took a seat across from me, easing herself into the leather office chair next to Fred Parsons, the head of recruiting at human resources. She kept her attention on him, her body turned toward him expectantly. I noted the cream blazer that she now wore buttoned across her chest, discreetly hiding the stain from this morning’s collision. Only a dry cleaner would be able to get something like that out. I should give her my guy’s name.

“I’m Fred Parsons,” said Fred, playing with the curled edge of that ridiculous mustache of his. I had imagined taking a razor to it too many times to count. “Head recruiter here at Stellar Industries. Thank you for making the time to come in for today’s interview, Ms. Atkinson.”

She nodded eagerly. “Of course, Mr. Parsons. Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Ms. Atkinson,” I said, inserting myself into the conversation from across the table. She hesitated before turning toward me, her eyes lifting to meet mine. “Do you have a first name?”

“Sarah,” she said, swallowing hard. She seemed nervous, but then she asked in a slightly sharper tone, “And you are?”

I scoffed slightly, leaning forward in my seat and placing my chin in my hand. An easy smile crossed my lips. She had no idea who I was.

I liked that.

It was a refreshing change from what I was used to. Where everyone seemed to know who I was. Who I was in business with. Who I was in bed with. Any move I made was watched carefully by the press. By my father. It was exhausting.

Fred’s mouth was open slightly in surprise, as he looked wide-eyed from Sarah to me, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“Ms. Atkinson…this is Brad Ashcroft. The CEO of Stellar Industries,” he said.

Sarah’s face fell slightly before she pressed her lips tightly together and lifted her chin, trying to pull herself together. I looked at her in pure amusement. Most people who interviewed for this job did at least a little research, like who the head of the company was. She was an anomaly.

“Right, of course,” she said. The puzzle she was working out in her head seemed to be solved, but I wasn’t sure she liked the bigger picture now that it was put together.

“Now, Ms. Atkinson,” started Fred, reaching for the letterhead in front of him. The same one I had in front of me. It was Sarah’s résumé typed out and copied. It had everything I needed to know in terms of her education and career, but those weren’t the things I was interested in. I probably should have been, if she were going to be my assistant. I did note that she had worked at Brandfield Enterprises prior, an impressive bullet point that caught my eye.

Maybe she did have what it took.

Chester Brandfield was a self-made billionaire. Not my direct competition, but a fellow East Coast shark I admired. Almost lost it all though, according to the press and the gossip of the business world, and all for an office affair gone wrong by way of blackmail. I had seen the photos of him and his assistant splashed all over the papers. It was practically soft-core porn on the front of every newspaper in every stand. Surprisingly, Chester came out on top as a billionaire bachelor who found love with said assistant, and was now Manhattan’s favorite family man.

Looking at Sarah right now, I could see how one could get caught up in something like that, except for the whole marriage and kid thing. I could do without the white picket fence and baby carrier. Just give me the sex.

“I can take it from here, Fred,” I interrupted.

“B-but…”

I gave him a stern look. He cleared his throat nervously and gave me a nod, sitting back in his seat, keeping a careful eye on the both of us.

Drumming my fingers on the glass tabletop, I slid over Sarah’s résumé and looked it over, keenly aware her eyes were on me.

“Says here you worked at Brandfield Enterprises for several years,” I said.

“Yes. That’s right. I was an accountant there.”