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I’m rarely this anxious when meeting my boss, but normally I’m not pulled out singly. Usually I have the entire cleaning team at my back. I also have at least a few days to a week to get prepared. Right now I only have a few hours. He is an intimidating man, anyone who says anything different is lying through their teeth. He isn’t nice, he rarely smiles, and I get the distinct impression that he finds humanity bothersome, despite the fact that all of it seems enamored with the coolness of his personality.
Though I’ve seen Mr. Saunders shoot a smile that could melt the panties off of anyone when he needs to, he rarely does. Perhaps that’s why when he does smile it’s so effective.
I shake my head. I don’t need to be thinking about Adrian Saunders’s panty melting smile because I’m walking into his personal elevator and I still absolutely loathe the man’s lack of human decency. I have to talk to him in ten minutes exactly. I don’t have time to be mooning over his looks.
As I take my place in the middle of his eerily silent elevator, I tap my fingertips on the twitching muscle in my thigh. It’s enough to drive me mad, but I do it specifically to distract my thoughts away from a spiral of self-condemning doom. I don’t need to set myself up for failure when everything is already stacked against me.
I enter the hallway that is full of mostly empty chairs and only two doors. Both are closed, and the sound of muffled voices drifts out from what must be the office beyond. I assume the second door leads straight to the penthouse, but Russell is the only staff member who’s ever been inside.
I zero in on the one occupied chair, my chest deflating a little in relief as I take a seat next to the woman sitting there. She’s a friend of mine, a tall, leggy blonde with curves I would kill for. She’s the type of woman men always talk about, but she says she is often undervalued for her mind because of it. Her name is Shelley Bloom, and she is incredibly quick-witted and funny.
“Hi Amelia,” she whispers, as if Adrian can hear us outside his home.
“Hi Shell,” I respond, shifting uncomfortably in the hard chair underneath me. “Do you know why we were called here?”
“Nah, Russell didn’t tell me a thing,” she sighs, and I blow a raspberry to show my disappointment.
She laughs quietly and casts her gaze nervously to the closed door. I watch it too as I feel the invisible seconds tick away.
“I wonder why they are being so hush hush,” I comment, speaking my thoughts.
“I don’t know, but it’s making me nervous. He makes me nervous,” Shelley says unnecessarily, but I can tell—just like me—she’s voicing her thoughts because they are too loud to keep in her head.
“I think the only person he doesn’t scare is Russell. And sometimes I wonder if he still isn’t terrified of Mr. Saunders on some days,” I whisper.
She nods, and her perfectly rounded fingernails tap away at the chair. I can never understand how she keeps them so wonderful and healthy, not after all the cleaning we do and chemicals we use. I keep mine short, I have to, or they’d constantly break. Plus I have the nasty habit of chewing them when in anxiety inducing situations. Right now, I have the biggest desire to try and nibble on them, but I can’t. I cut them back far too short this time.
The office door slides open silently and another employee walks out: an older man from the concierge team. His face is pale. I don’t know him well, but I feel sympathy for his darting eyes and perspiring forehead. However, I feel more fear for what waits beyond. Are we being fired? It’s possible, but I can’t imagine Adrian doing that himself. He has far too busy a schedule.
“Amelia Cormier,” the man of the hour calls from inside his office. I don’t know why it surprises me that he pronounces my last name correctly—Corm-eyay not Corm-eer—but it does.
I look at Shelley with wide nervous eyes. “Weren’t you here first?”
She shakes her head. “Yeah, but I’m at least thirty minutes early. Didn’t want to chance being late.”
I swallow and stand, only to hear him call my name with more force. I stumble through the door and am immediately greeted by the man, his large hand engulfing my shoulder to slow me down and steady my ungainly gait. I look up into steely blue eyes flecked with coppery brown. I blink only to see them shift. The man they belong to, Adrian Saunders, raises a brow though his expression is flat and annoyed.
I immediately fight back the urge to tell him to check his attitude. Instead I bob my head, peaking at his recent haircut since the fade in his undercut of short brown hair is back and starkly noticeable. When I stand back to my full height, I’m uncomfortably aware of how much taller he is, like I always am. He’s almost a head and a half higher than me, not to mention much more built considering my naturally slender form. It’s not fair because it works all the more in his favor when it comes to his fearmongering.
“Sorry, Mr. Saunders,” I say softly.
He narrows his eyes as if irritated by my words and motions his head towards the desk. “Sit.”
I obey like the good little maid I am, biting back another urge to snap at his attitude. It will win me no favors if I want to keep my job. Upon taking my seat, I’m shocked at the décor. I might confuse the room for a shrine to dogs if it wasn’t for the computer sitting on the glass desk at the far end. At least six framed pictures of the same three dogs decorate the desktop and walls.
Mr. Saunders, ever intimidating in his demeanor, takes a seat across the desk from me. I swallow, and I swear the click of my dry throat is loud enough he can hear it. If he does, he doesn’t mention it. Instead he opens a folder on the desk and I see my name and picture before he picks it up.
“Russell highly recommends you,” he comments, though he sounds like he is mostly talking to himself as he rubs a thumb across the shadow already growing on his jaw.
“Thank you, sir,” I say.
I’m uncertain where to go from there, and the silence stretches between us. I have to fight against fidgeting.
“He says you are a fast learner and your customer service is above any maid he has trained. Apparently you were the one who recommended sending me the coffee and pastry yesterday.” Adrian looks up with a tense stare and I freeze.
What am I supposed to say to that? Do I say no it was Russell? Do I take his gratitude in stride? Why is he even asking these things?
“Yes, sir,” I finally respond, deciding honesty is the best bet but finding no need to boast.
