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CHAPTER ONE – CHLOE
The Bastard
“Pour me a drink.” I slammed my bag down on the table and dropped woefully into my chair.
Heidi uncapped the bottle of soju and poured me a shot. “I’m guessing he didn’t accept your resignation today, either?”
I threw back the liquor and wiped my mouth, glaring at her. “No. Do you know what that bastard did when I offered it to him? He didn’t even look at me when he said, ‘Miss St. James, if that envelope doesn’t contain the report on the Adair Travel acquisition, I don’t want it.’”
My best friend rested her elbow on the table and cupped her chin in her hand. “It seems like he’s just coming up with excuses now. Surely, he’s aware of how miserable you are. There’s no way he can’t be.”
“Ha! Do you really think that loathsome, self-centred bastard is aware of anything but his own feelings?” I poured another shot and downed it. “I cannot believe such a miserable wanker is descended from such sweet men. His grandfather and father are absolutely nothing like him. I’mthis closeto begging Cassidy to let me work with her for the President instead, even if it means a pay cut.”
“What I don’t understand is why you have to hand your resignation letter to your boss. Can’t you just submit one via email to HR?”
“That’s the one bone I have to pick with the duke,” I said, toying with my empty glass. “Well, that and his insistence that I was vital to this arsehole settling in at the company. I mean, sure, I got a pay rise, but do you know what also went up? My blood pressure.”
Heidi poured me another shot.
“Direct employees such as my wonderful self are obligated to hand in a written resignation to their superior as well as contacting HR. I’ve already told HR I want to resign, but they can’t process it until the boss gives his permission.”
“That seems a bit arse backwards.”
“Yeah, but how much of a selfish git do you have to be not to accept your employee’s resignation? I’m giving him six weeks’ notice, and I’d be training my successor on top of doing my job. He’s hardly going to be left high and dry, is he?”
A waitress came over and set a plate of ribs and wings between us. “Your side dishes will be right out.”
“Thanks,” Heidi said. “Can we get another bottle of soju, please?”
“Of course.”
Heidi turned back to me. “Your problem is that you’re just too good at your job, Chlo. Isn’t that how you became the President’s executive assistant in the first place?”
“Yes, but that was when the duke was the President,” I replied. “He was much easier to work for, and I had competent superiors who taught me everything I know. Nobody was expecting him to retire and hand the business down this soon, and if I’d known, I’d have resigned before I ended up in the Vice-President’s office.”
“Don’t you still speak to the duke regularly? Can’t you ask him to tell his grandson to accept your resignation?”
“Ha! Do you think that would make a difference? The Bastard’s father has already tried. Cassidy caught me in one of my failed attempts and promised to speak to him, but that git of a boss of mine brushed it off.” I grabbed one of the ribs as our side dishes were brought out—and the other bottle of soju.
Heidi picked up her water and sipped through the straw, glancing away thoughtfully for a moment. “You knew resigning wasn’t going to be easy. It wasn’t like he became the Vice-President of the company at thirty-one just because it’s his family business.”
I tore into my rib with my teeth, pulling a hefty chunk of meat off the bone. All right, fine—she was right. That bastard was exceptional at his job and had worked to prove to the company shareholders and board of directors that he was qualified to hold his position, but I would never admit that out loud.
“I think he enjoys torturing me. Perhaps I’ve stumbled into a Christian Grey fanfic without realising it,” I muttered.
“Hmm. He certainly has the looks and the bank account for it.”
“Not to mention that insufferable know-it-all, micromanaging personality.”
“I’m not sure you’re someone who can complain about a micromanaging personality.”
“Please don’t compare me to him. I prefer to describe myself as meticulous,” I argued.
“Whatever you want,” she sang, licking sauce off her fingers before tucking her short, dark hair behind her ear. “Have you even found another job yet?”
I paused. “I have a couple of interviews lined up.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be able to pull in the same salary you’re on right now? You’re on more money than the average executive assistant.”
