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Glancing at the clock on the wall, I snap, “My shift starts now.”
His gaze studies my body like a map, so I wrap my arms around myself and clear my throat. Lust swims in the depths of his pupils as he undresses me with his eyes. A faint smile spreads across his face, and if I wasn’t paying attention I wouldn’t have noticed it. His eyes glue to my face. I feel the energy between us, as if gravity is pulling me toward him. I don’t like it.
What is he thinking about?
Maybe he’s staring at my scar. I doubt it. He’s not rude, and he never gave me any indication he thinks I’m hideous. It’s my insecurity messing with me. I shake my head.
Finally, freaking finally, he picks up his mug and slips his coffee without taking his eyes off me. Then he spits it out, spraying it everywhere on his desk.
Glaring, he sets the cup down. “The coffee tastes like shit.”
Asshole with a capital A.
“I did what you said and added one scoop of cream and sugar.”
He shakes his head, stomps past me, and picks up his dry cleaning.
“At least you got the dry cleaning right.” The tone of his voice is deep and low. “Tomorrow, be at the office twenty minutes early before your shift,” he snaps.
He hangs his suit on the bathroom door, plops down in his executive chair, and hands me an iPad. I press the power button and the screen comes to life, and I click on the notepad icon.
“I have a meeting with Jasper at three p.m. We have a meeting with the creative team at two. You can take lunch at noon and order me the Amy-O sandwich with no avocado from Jason’s Deli. Find a new maid for my penthouse. Answer all my events with no. Look out for the fashion gala event. Send a copy of the updated policy to the HR director, and schedule a lunch date with my mother.”
I nod as I type on the iPad. “Anything else?”
He shakes his head and turns to glance at his monitor.
I twist on the balls of my heels and place my hand on the glass door. When I turn around, I catch him staring at my ass, and when our eyes meet, I hurry out of his office.
I work throughout the day, cleaning out files, answering emails, and refilling his coffee.
I’m stressed out to the max. Atlas is the most demanding man I have ever met. He barks orders at me as if he is a drill sergeant. When we go to meet with the creative team to see what they design for the fall fashion line, they don’t come up with a great sketch, so he chews them out and calls them imbeciles. I wouldn’t be surprised if he burst a blood vessel. I want to say something so bad, but it’s my first day and I want to make a good impression. I’m staying out of the firing line as much as possible. When I take my fifteen-minute break in the break room, I hear from other co-workers that he changed EAs all the time at Naked. Now, I can see why. I glance at the clock on the wall, and it’s lunchtime, and I haven’t eaten all day. My nervousness from this morning has dissolved my appetite.
I call Thomas and he picks me up from the curb of the street, drives me to Jason’s Deli, where I order Atlas’s lunch and put it on the company’s credit card.
Once I’m in the office, I set the lunch down on his table.
“I’m going to the bistro across the street,” I utter.
I need to get as far as I can away from him. He opens the white box and checks the sandwich. I’m torn between wanting to fuck him and wanting to fight him. I study his large hands. A mental image pops into my head of him wrapping them around my waist, bending me over his desk. My pulse accelerates, and I shake my head, trying to wipe away the fantasy.
He tosses his sandwich into the trash can. “I thought I told you no avocado.”
My blood boils. “I told the cashier.”
“Next time, check the sandwich before giving it to me. I am allergic to avocados. Order me another one, then you take your lunch break.”
The son of a bitch. Ugh. “Fine,” I snap.
I do what he says, go across town, buy the sandwich and make sure to check it doesn’t have any avocado in it this time. Once I’m back in his office, I set it on his desk, and he checks and bites into his sandwich, giving me a thumbs-up.
When I stroll to the bistro, the coffee beans scent the air, and I love it. When I was little, my mother used to place coffee beans in bowls of water and set them in different rooms, and it helps to mask any smell. I stand in line, grab my lunch, and glance around the shop. I can use some human interaction, besides Atlas. I want to rip his head off his shoulders for the way he’s acting. He thinks because he’s my boss, he can treat his employees like shit. That’s why no one wants to work for him. He’s so different when he’s not at work, I don’t even recognize him.
I perch at an empty round table, and I dig into my coffee and croissant. A slender woman with brown skin, black corkscrew hair, and freckles dusted across her nose stands in front of my table.
“Can I sit with you?” she asks.
I move my purse from the wooden table onto the floor. “Sure.”
