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My boss adjusts his stance, and he looks even more formidable with his legs planted firmly apart and his chin angled just so. I blink at the level of authority rolling off him. His eyes dim, reflecting an emotion I don’t recognise, but it makes me shrink and heat all at once.
“I assisted Beryl,” I explain. “I’m on my way to maintenance as the door is jammed.” Wait—I thought he was going. What is he doing back here? “I thought you had left,” I say softly.
“That would suit you, wouldn’t it?” His gaze narrows. I keep my chin up and suck in a deep breath through my nose. My stomach churns, butterflies exploding from out of nowhere and fluttering frantically to escape the intensity of his gaze.
“Mr Carson-Ivory, I know we got off on the wrong foot,” I begin.
“Vomit will do that.” He wrinkles his nose, and I laugh awkwardly. Yes, I suppose that is true. “I’m a little disappointed, Lauren. After agreeing to continue your employment, I felt you’d be grateful for the opportunity, and we’d see evidence of your glowing resume in your work,” he scorns, lightly adjusting his cufflink, all the while looking me dead in the eye.
“I am,” I whisper. Grateful and working to the standards CI expects. I’ve read their policies, my contract, and the employee handbook enough times to quote it word for damn word.
“My main concern isthat.” He points at my face, and I automatically touch my diminishing bump. “No. That look,” he elaborates.
“My attire and makeup are within company policy,” I choke, shocked by his accusation.
His eyes do a lengthy sweep on me, and he nods his head ever so slightly. “It is. However, the look in your eyes isn’t something we require at The Carson-Ivory,”
“Excuse me?” Thoroughly perplexed, I gawp at him, looking over every inch of his inflated ego. He’s needling—taking a sliver of my professionalism and pocketing it for his own gain. What the hell does this man want, or expect of me?
“If you can’t disguise your dislike for me, your own boss,” he raises his brow, and I swallow audibly, “how can I expect you to be front-of-house and deal with difficult guests?” he murmurs. “Did I make a mistake in continuing your employment here?”
This is punishment for last night.
“No, Mr Carson-Ivory.” I offer him my best smile. It feels strained, and my cheeks are heating with every passing second. He watches, absorbs my discomfort and the bastard revels in it. “I apologise,” I croak. I’m not sorry that I don’t like him. The man is a power-hungry prick with a lack of tact. Apparently, he hasn’t yet realised that about himself, despite being able to pick up my flaws, pale skin and all.
His smile dips into a smirk, and the placid smile I’m fighting to keep on my face weakens. “You can go.” He speaks abruptly, and I flinch. Go, as in fired? I blink up at him. “To maintenance—” He nods down the corridor.
With a small nod, I rush off, gulping in air. I trail my hand along the wall, needing to feel the comfort of a hard surface. My legs are jelly, and my stomach is twisted up in knots. I really underestimated him. I honestly believe had I not puked on him, he would still dislike me as much as he does.
I make it to maintenance, tap on the door and push my way in. I could have easily called them from the front desk, but coming down here was a way to put space between my boss. I never expected that he would follow me to torment me in private.
“Hello.” I’m breathless, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by the few men sitting drinking tea.
“You okay?” One stands. I think his name is Albert. He’s an old chap, and I really like him.
“Yes, sorry.” I waft him off and take a seat. “I could have called, but I wanted the exercise,” I fib. “The luggage door is sticking. It will only open if I put my weight on it,” I explain.
“Why don’t you sit for a few moments, then we can go take a look,” Albert offers, picking up his cup and taking a swig. “I believe a new door is on order,” he tells me. Oh, it is?
“That's good,” I reply and allow myself to catch my breath. I sit with the guys for a few minutes, then Albert and I leave with the others sniggering about Albert and his wandering eye.
“Ignore them,” he mutters. “My eyes are fine,” he tells me, and I laugh. However, as we near reception, he begins preening, and I press my lips together.
“Ah, Beryl, how are you?” He beams, and I see the older woman's cheeks flush slightly. “Felicity.” He inclines his head.
“Oh, hello, Albert. Have you come to sort the door?” Beryl queries.
“That I have, lead the way!” He holds out his hand, talking to her directly. I watch them with a smile on my face. Did they set this up? Beryl fluffs her hair and Albert comments on her pearl necklace. The sneaky pair! Fraternisation is strictly off-limits. It was one of the first policies I signed. I doubt they are going for a quick smooch in the luggage room, but a little flirtation can’t hurt.
“What's that look for?” Felicity spits.
“Oh, just,”—I point after Beryl—“that was kinda cute?”
“They’re old.” My manager drawls, disgusted. “And it’s against policy.”
So what? Age is just a number! “Well, I think it's sweet,” I say, taking Beryl's seat and ignoring the snooty woman beside me. If she shoves her nose any higher into the air, guests will see right up her nostrils!
The last half hour of my shift goes well. I keep telling myself not to let my boss get to me, that tomorrow is a new day, and everything will work out. I need to ensure, going forward, that I carry myself in the appropriate manner. It is true that I have become a little too familiar with my boss, and I should show him more respect, even if I keep my job. I leave after giving Amberley a quick hug and hit the tube.
