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Sarah
Dear Diary,
Ethan Rosser of Rosser International is a jerk. Yes, he is my boss and signs my paycheck, but he sucks. And yes, I would say that to his face.
Maybe.
Okay, not really.
Unless I won the lottery and a good couple of million.
Which is unlikely to happen anytime soon because I don’t play the lottery.
Anyway, that’s not important.
Today, I had the opportunity to go on an all-expenses paid trip to the Bahamas with fifty other members of the company staff for some new recruitment videos and brochures. HR came into our part of the building with the Kingpin himself. He looked around briefly and said, "Nope, no one from copywriting."
I was standing right at the front. And sure, I didn’t look like a million dollars. But he could have at least made eye contact. But he didn’t even notice me. It was like I was a piece of wallpaper on the wall. Invisible.
I can’t stand that man.
That is all for now.
Plain Jane aka Sarah
Ethan Rosser is the sort of six-foot-two man with dark golden-blond hair and dazzling blue eyes that I love to hate. Add on the millions, if not billions, of dollars in his bank account and that know-it-all smirk, and you, too, will not be able to stand him. I’m willing to bet money on it. Unless, of course, handsome, sexy men with oodles of money turn you on.
Don’t feel bad if they do. If he wasn’t my arrogant boss, I may be a tiny bit interested myself.
"Look at you, feeling all handsome and proud of yourself." I stick my tongue out at the black-and-white image down below. An image I’m sure many other women are staring at in that moment, as well.
My fingers feel heavy as I hold the morning newspaper in my hands and continue to stare at his photo, gazing up at me. It’s the only time the man has made eye contact with me. And it’s not even real eye contact.
I shouldn’t care.
I don’t care.
Yes, he’s my boss.
Technically.
I don’t actually work directly under him, as he owns the entire company.
Nepo baby.
I try not to feel guilty about my diss as my eyes peruse the article. While it is true that Rosser International is a family company started by Ethan’s grandfather, Frederick Rosser, it was somewhat run into the ground by Frederick’s son—Ethan’s dad—Richard. It wasn’t until golden boy Ethan took over that it soared to new heights. So, maybe, technically, he’s not a nepo baby, but I don’t care. It’s still family money.
That I don’t have. And likely never will.
Dad would laugh if I asked him to front me some of my inheritance money to take a sabbatical from work and spend time dedicated to my songwriting. Maybe I’d even summon up enough courage to play some gigs at local bars. There’s a chance I could be discovered and signed to a label, or at the very least, hired for my songwriting skills.
However, there is no inheritance money, so that is a pipe dream. Honestly, I don’t even mind that I come from a working-class family because my parents are the absolute best. They shower me with love, and while money would have been great, as well, there’s not much to go around in our family. While we didn’t have fancy clothes or toys, there was always food on the table and laughter in the room. Lots and lots of laughter.
I’m the youngest of seven. And the only girl. I’ve been the butt of many jokes, but I’m immune to them now. I give as good as I get. You learn to toughen up real quick when you’re the youngest.
It also helps that I’ve been doted on my entire life. Not that that means anything, because being doted on also means I have six older brothers that love to constantly tease me and basically cockblock me at every turn. Wait, can women be cockblocked? If not, you know what I mean.
