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CHAPTER ONE
WYN
I hate my boss.
Not a surprising sentiment as most people I know can’t stand theirs, but my loathing for mine transcends to another level.
To make matters worse, everyone else I work with loves him—they think he’s God’s gift to this earth—and it makes me want to puke.
It’s Monday morning, and all the department heads are seated in the main conference room for our ‘weekly roundup’.
Mr. Ettin beams at everyone as they fawn over him like a bunch of sycophants while I just stare in silence, a frown pulling down the corners of my mouth.
When his gaze settles on me, I suppress a shudder, and I swear his grin grows even wider. “Wyn, do you have anything you’d like to add?”
His eternal jovial nature rubs me the wrong way—how can anyone be this happy on a freaking Monday morning?
It’s inhuman—but then again, so is he.
Mr. Ettin happens to be a boggart. What’s personally baffling to me is that boggarts are literally the things made of nightmares.
Historically, their only purpose is to make humans’ lives hell, and while he makes my life hell here at the office, everyone else sings his praises.
He’s so damn cheerful all the time, giving me thumbs up and random words of encouragement that I want to scream.
It’s like he’s made it his mission to make our workplace a cult of happiness, and I’m the only cog not turning in time with his plan.
So now he’s turned all his attention on me.
It doesn’t help that he wears suits from the ‘80s. He looks ridiculous, no matter how attractive he is, and even I can admit the man is gorgeous.
If I’m being honest, I think it’s this last part that chafes me the most—that I despise this man with every fiber of my being, and yet every time I walk by him, my body lights up.
I’m convinced there must be some disconnect between it and my brain, and my body apparently just hasn’t gotten the memo.
Guess I’ll have to keep sending it.
I suppress a growl when I notice that everyone in the meeting is staring at me. Crap. This is what I get for not paying attention.
“Um, can you please repeat that?”
“I asked if you had anything to add?” Mr. Ettin grins like the giant nightmare he is.
“No, I don’t have anything to add. Why would I have anything to add?”
My tone is a bit defensive, a coping mechanism for whenever I am put on the spot. His smile transforms into a smirk, as if Mr. Ettin knows my discomfort and did it on purpose.
Reason 154 of why I despise this man.
“I just want to make sure that you didn’t have anything you wanted to add about the marketing campaign for the new line of products we’re rolling out.”
“No, why would I?”
Mr. Ettin shrugs in dismissal. “Eh, it just doesn’t seem as comprehensive as the last one you put together is all.”
I squint at the man, trying to discern the hidden meaning in his words and for sure, everything he says has a hidden meaning.
Was he saying that this project wasn’t good enough—that my research wasn’t good enough?
