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“I’ll tell the BILK you said hello. Bye.” I reached for my iPad, adjusted my glasses, and skittered to his office, my two-inch turquoise Mary Janes clicking against the black marble floor. After I pulled down my plaid knee-length skirt, I entered his fishbowl office.
Floor-to-ceiling windows outlined every single wall. His eyes focused on the screen in front of him, his backdrop was worthy of a picture frame—the Chicago skyline.
Brad Sebastian Brisken had the face of a Hollywood heartthrob, the jawline of aGQmodel, and the body of someone who lived at the gym all the time. His suit was always perfectly pressed, and the lines in his sleek slacks always hugged his firm thighs. There was never a dark strand of hair out of place. He looked like a Greek god—tall, fit, and fine.
“Took you long enough.”
“Sorry, was on the phone with my mom.”Jerkface.I didn’t sound sorry.
And this was how our two-year working relationship had been going. Him being a jerk, me snapping back or blatantly not caring.
Who cared if Brad was a millionaire? Who cared that he was seriously one good-looking, fine specimen of a man with his chestnut hair and dark brown eyes? Every woman fawned over him. Every male wanted to be him.
Me? Sometimes, he drove me to the point of insanity where I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck and choke hold him, WWE-style, until he turned blue.
After working for him for over two years, there was one thing I had come to realize: good looks and all the money in the world did not make up for his jerk-like attitude.
He motioned to the chair in front of his desk, and I sat down. And, as I swiped at my iPad, his phone rang.
“Hey, Jimmy.” He leaned back on his chair, resting his ankle on the opposite knee, and with a flick of his hand, he waved me off as though I were a fly on his shoulder.
I stood, about-faced, and was almost to my desk when he called out to me as though he had a permanent megaphone attached to his mouth, “Sonia!”
I pivoted and walked back into his office. When I sat down, his phone rang. He picked it up, and with a flick of his hand, he waved me off—again.
“Yeah, yeah. But did you get the tickets?” His boisterous laughter grated on my nerves. He swiveled in his chair and faced his floor-to-ceiling windows, his back toward me.
This guy!
I glared at him, stomped back to my desk, and was about to sit down when he called out again.
For the love of all that is holy.
My eyes fell shut, and I inhaled deeply. I took out my essential oils and rubbed one at my temples and my wrists. Lavender was supposed to alleviate stress, and I debated on dumping the whole bottle on myself to speed up the process.
Breathe. Or go postal and lose your job.
I counted backwards and walked into his office at a normal pace, purposely taking my time.
“Did you spill coffee on yourself?” He lifted a perfect eyebrow and eyed the brown stain on the front of my skirt. “That’s a first.”
Of course, it was a freaking first. I prided myself on being organized and neat, and I was—before stalking Jeff and his new girlfriend. Seeing them together and being so in love had officially screwed with my head.
Brad’s head ducked back to his computer screen where he tapped away. “Dry cleaning is on the couch. Where’re my other clothes?”
I peered over at the far corner of the room where a pile of pants, suit jackets, and shirts were stuffed into an overflowing bag.
“Last week’s dry cleaning is in your closet.” That was the first thing I had told him when I saw him this morning.
Maybe I needed to slip him some of that earwax solution, leave it on his desk with a little courtesy note.
“I’ve also made reservations at Alessi’s Restaurant for your date tonight.”
He lifted his head from the screen. “I said Carlucci.”
“You said Alessi.” My eyes widened, and I double-blinked. I’d chased this reservation down for the past few weeks and called every day to check if there was a cancellation. I’d finally snagged a reservation yesterday.Is this man serious?
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”
