Page 6 of Hating the Boss

“You can have a seat here while you wait,” said Donna, gesturing to the one unoccupied chair at the end of the row. She gave me a reassuring smile before disappearing down the hall, probably to welcome the thousand other applicants.

I eased myself in the chair, discreetly sniffing to see if I reeked of cappuccino. There could be worse things to smell of, but there was no trace of my stupidly expensive perfume I had spritzed on this morning. What a waste.

I casually glanced at the woman next to me, her blonde hair twisted tightly into a chignon at the back of her head. She looked elegant in her black sheath dress and matching velvet pumps. The woman next to her could have been her sister, equally as elegant as she sat with impeccable posture whispering to herself. She was probably practicing interview questions. Something I had done with my sister, Jessica, the night before, but she had been only half focused because her favorite Netflix show was on.

A reality TV show about finding love while wearing a blindfold took priority.

Hell, it had me captivated too.

Too bad whoever the interviewer was couldn’t wear a blindfold today.

Time seemed to tick by slowly, as one by one, the chairs next to me began to empty, each applicant being taken back by an older man with a receding hairline and a bold mustache. I wondered if he was trying to make up for the lack of hair up top by really focusing on what he had left. I had the idea of complimenting him on it, but thought better of it as I sat with my fingers tangled in my lap nervously. I probably should have googled the guy who could be my future boss, but the job had only been listed late afternoon yesterday. I had spent most of the night perfecting my résumé. All I knew was he had a black mustache that curled at the ends.

I tried eavesdropping from where I sat, but I could only hear muffled words and at the end of each interview a “You’ll be hearing from me” as they exited.

I glanced at my watch, the seating area now empty besides me.

“So much for being early,” I muttered to myself.

It had been an hour of waiting here. My own interview was supposed to have started thirty minutes ago. No wonder this guy needed a personal assistant. He clearly lacked time management skills. I leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling, my impatience getting the best of me, especially when I heard a trill of laughter behind the door.

Blondie was trying too hard.

Finally, the door opened and out walked blondie number two, dawning a confident smile like she had it in the bag. I swallowed hard. It didn’t help that mustache man had a giddy grin plastered across his face as he followed her out. He was the kind of guy who would appreciate “the girls.” I wondered if having a creep for a boss was worth all this.

“You’ll be hearing from me,” he said in a sing-song voice he hadn’t used with the others.

Damn it.

I watched the blonde chignon disappear down the hall and turned to see the man step back inside the office. I clutched my shoulder bag tightly on my lap, quickly lifting the leather to peek at my résumé. I read it over as a refresher, like I didn’t have it memorized. It wasn’t like I had worked anywhere else in a while. Brandfield Enterprises had been my place of employment for years. I hoped the name of the company alone would leave an impression during this interview, as it was a top company on the East Coast.

I narrowed in on the skills I had listed out. I was just reading excellent communication skills when the trill of the elevator bell sounded down the hall. Great. More competition heading my way. I quickly tucked away my résumé and tapped my foot impatiently, wondering why I hadn’t been called back yet. I squinted through the frosted glass of the conference room, but saw no movement inside.

Hearing footsteps approaching, my eyes flicked to the side to get a peripheral view of the next applicant to arrive. My heart suddenly picked up its pace as a familiar dark head of hair sitting nicely on a pair of broad shoulders came into view. Now in a black jacket and a black shirt, both cut nicely to his tall build, the asshole from the elevator was walking toward me, and I was suddenly forgetting why I thought he was an asshole in the first place.

But then he looked at me, a devilish smile played out across his lips, and I remembered. His smile infuriated me and melted my very core at the same time. It was impossible to look away, my eyes catching on the small dimple on his left cheek, almost hidden by the slight stubble that grew along his sharp jawline.

Why was he looking at me like that?

The iciness in his gray eyes from earlier had melted away into something else. They were alive like the storm clouds drifting by outside. Like them, I wondered what would happen next. Rain? Lightning? A sudden sunburst? By the look on his face, he had some tricks up his sleeve, and I found myself anticipating what they might be.

He walked past me and into the conference room. Feeling somewhat annoyed, I stood up and followed him. If he was an applicant, he would have to wait his damn turn. Clutching my bag tightly at my side, ignoring the coffee stain peeping out from under my blazer, I walked in the room with my chin held high.

“Ahh, Ms. Atkinson. I was just about to retrieve you,” the man with the mustache said with a wary smile. “Please, have a seat.”

“But, I…”

Confused, I looked from him to the newcomer who had just strode in here and had made himself comfortable at the head of the table, his hands folded on top of each other on the glass tabletop. His head was tilted slightly as he studied me standing in the doorway, an amused expression on his face. That was when I noticed the pile of résumés in front of him. The list of applicants.

Oh shit.

I was wrong.

He was the boss, and for some reason, he had decided to sit in on my interview.

Breathe was the number one tip in that article I had read earlier, and right then, I had forgotten how to.

Chapter 4 Brad