Page 9 of My Favorite Boss

Then I turned my attention to the task at hand. Alexander Bane’s calendar was a mess. Obviously, someone had tried to fix it, only to leave it worse off than before. I went from window to window, checking emails, dates, times. Looking over previous schedules. The newer, faster machine made it easier.

The morning flew by. I had a list of things to do—reorganize the files, color code them, change the tabs, rearrange the file cabinet items. I had familiarized myself with the names and projects being worked on. When Mr. Bane shouted out for a file, I would know where to get it from.

He did that a lot. Shouted. Grunted. Made an odd noise of displeasure in the back of his throat. Please was not a word he knew or, if he did, chose not to use often. At least, not so far.

I did a final look-through of his new calendar. It was perfection. I needed to sync his phone with the revised information, and then he would get an updated version constantly. He had disconnected it when the last PA had screwed everything up. It had been my priority once I’d looked at the mess.

I knocked on the partially open door, waiting for the enter grunt. It was different from his displeased grunt or his exasperated sigh. This was one of anticipation, as if he was waiting for my mistake so he could express his displeasure.

I heard a muffled noise, which I assumed was him, and I walked in, finding him on the phone, his eyes shut, his voice pitched low.

“No, Mother, not today.”

He listened.

“Tomorrow doesn’t suit either. I’m very busy with revisions. In fact, I leave in the morning for a week.”

I frowned, glancing at my notebook. I had no notes about him leaving.

“I have a meeting. I’ll be in touch.”

He hung up, shaking his head.

“You’re going away on a business trip?”

“No. Unless my mother calls. Then I’m away.”

“You want me to lie?”

He looked at me, his eyes a chilly blue—like a frozen wave on the ocean. Unwelcoming and cold.

“You will do what I tell you.” His phone rang again, and he ignored it. “Dammit, that woman is pissing me off. I need her to lose my extension.”

He scrubbed his face. “What is it you want, Myers?”

He had started calling me Myers almost immediately. I had wanted to protest, but then I realized he called a lot of people by their last name. Saved him the wasted breath of adding Mr., Ms., or God forbid, the long word Mrs.

His partners called him Bane. Everyone else that I had met so far called him Mr. Bane. I chose to follow the masses. I wasn’t sure what he would do if I called him Bane.

But he was rapidly becoming the bane of my existence.

“I need your cell phone to sync your calendar.”

His desk phone rang again, and I thought he was going to throw it through the window.

He handed me his cell, and I turned, holding it in my palm.

“What?” he snapped.

“I need your thumbprint to open it.”

The phone rang again, and he cursed, answering it. “Mother, I said I’m busy.”

I sighed, crossing behind the desk. His hand was on top of the wood, and I grabbed it, shocked when he curled his fingers around mine, holding tightly. I had the strangest need to rub his knuckles. Smooth back his hair and comfort him.

Except he would no doubt throw me through the window, along with the phone he was gripping.

I set down his cell, uncurling his fingers. He seemed to realize he’d been clasping my hand, yanking it away. Calmly, I took it, pressing his thumb to the screen, ignoring his frosty glare and the angry words he was shooting at the woman on the other end of the line.