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“Is not your boss. I am.” I shoulder past him to get back to business. “Any surprises you may have in the future, you run them by me. Do you understand?”
He salutes me. “Yes, ma’am.”
I could strangle him for that.
“Are we done here?” There is no inflection in his voice. It’s like he’s unflappable.
What gave it away, the view of my back? “Yes, we most certainly are.”
“Great, I’ll leave you to it, Queeny.” I whirl around, ready for full-on combat. “But you might want to wipe off the lipstick all over your teeth first. Wouldn’t want those men in there thinking you were all ‘distracted’ out here” — he can’t help but fuel the fire when he smirks and adds — “with me.” Walking away, he throws me a wink.
Bastard got the last word.
And now, of course, I’m thinking of ways he could distract me.
Standing there, chest heaving, I don’t know if I want to kill him or hump him. He never reacts the way I want him to. It’s like he doesn’t take anything seriously.
Correction, he’s another man who doesn’t take me seriously. And I can’t rattle him like he does me. This whole fucking thing is beyond frustrating.
The irksome feeling follows me as I head back to my office. I fall into my chair like I’ve been carrying fifty-pound kettlebells around all day, secretly wishing Remi was still here with my girl. I just want a moment to smell and cuddle her. She grounds me. Warms my heart. Makes me remember I’m not a machine. My little gift.
A gift you didn’t acknowledge. Couldn’t even muster a small kiss before you kicked them out. The thought cuts me deep.
I’m so wrought with anxiety over what that douchebag Robert was saying. If we lose him it will hurt, but we’ll be okay if the others stay. I don’t need for the other investors to see my maternal side and look at me differently. I’ve witnessed it in other companies. As soon as a woman has a child, she is no longer considered an asset. She’s labeled as a liability because, in their eyes, she’ll no longer put the company first. It’s not overtly apparent, but I’m not dumb enough to think it isn’t discussed in the good ol’ boys club behind closed doors and puffed cigars. Pingman’s comment only proves my point.
I scrub my face, trying to rid it of the degradation that asshole slung at me. The mouth-watering, lemony aroma of hummus and grape leaves greets me at my desk. I didn’t have time to put in a request for lunch. If I want to be a better person, I have to improve my attitude. Be nicer.
I press the intercom. “Thank you for lunch, Elliot. That was really nice of you. I’m famished.” The line crackles with silence. “Elliot?”
“Um, it wasn’t from me, Ms. Keller.”
“From Jay?” They’re the only other person I can think of that knows my favorite Mediterranean place.
“No, ma’am. Remington called earlier, said he was meeting you for lunch, and asked if I knew your preference.”
Well, isn’t that a swift kick in the gut. I hold my head in shame.
“I’m s-sorry I interrupted the conference. I-I thought you knew he was coming.”
Elliot sounds scared shitless, and I wonder how horrible of a boss I am that he gets so worked up when talking to me. Sure, I get hasty and short when stressed, but he has to know it’s not about him. Right?
I feel terrible that he can’t say a single sentence to me without nerves getting in the way of his words. “It’s okay. You do a good job. I’m grateful to have you as my assistant.” I didn’t mean to verbally vomit on him, but I have a war going on in my head.
Am I that cynical that I can’t handle a thoughtful gesture? Do I have to be suspicious of every nice thing the nanny does?
Sighing, I close my eyes. I regret treating Remington in such an awful manner. He’s good for Isabel, and I wasn’t fair to him. To either of them.
It’s hurting my heart. I might not show it, but it still beats, reminding me that I need to do better. I need to be aware of how I’m treating those who work for me.
Most of all, I need to apologize to Remi.
My phone rings interrupting my weighty introspection, and when I see who it is, I want to throw the device off the top of this building. With an irritated grumble, I swipe left instead.
“Charlotte.” My tone is cool because my mother and I are not that close.
It’s just how we’ve always been. She worked two jobs when I was a kid, and I practically raised myself. We didn’t have money for a fancy nanny, so I was either at school or at home … alone.
“How’s my sweet girl?” No matter what, she always sounds cheerful. Like she lives in her own little la-la land with her doting husband, whom she has plenty of time for.
