by L. D. Davis
On the quick drive to his car, I gave him a rundown of his schedule for the day and reminded him of the phone calls he had to make before his first meeting.
“But don’t worry,” I said out my window as he stood by his car. “As usual, I will have everything written down for you on your desk when you get in.”
He nodded firmly as he pulled open his door. He started to climb in but paused and glanced back at me. He looked like he wanted to go into that awkward territory, so I did the best thing I could do. I put my window up and drove away without looking back.
At quarter to nine, Kyle and an entourage walked past my desk. He didn’t even glance at me, which was typical, and I was okay with typical. I followed a moment later, coffee in hand, just the way he liked it. I put the mug on a coaster on his desk while he tried to yell at the entourage. He raised his voice, but not nearly as loud as usual, and every few seconds he rubbed his head.
Hangovers can be a bitch.
I tapped my watch on the way out as a silent reminder that he needed to make a few phone calls and would have to finish yelling later. On his way to the board room for a meeting a few minutes later, he stopped at my desk.
“Reschedule my second meeting, Emmy.” He rubbed his head again. “Maybe reschedule all of them after this one.”
“I can clear your schedule up until one. That’s the best I can do,” I said without pausing in my work.
He scowled. “How do you know that without looking?”
With a patient sigh, I stopped and looked up at him. “I know every aspect of your schedule up until Wednesday of next week, where it gets a little murky. I know which meetings are more important than others, who can wait, who can’t wait, who will be irate, and who will be more irate.”
He scowled some more, which was typical.
“Just clear my schedule as far as you can,” he snapped and walked away, rubbing his stupid head.
When he returned a little more than an hour later, he didn’t look any better.
“Did you clear my schedule?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, following him into his office.
He collapsed into his chair and held his head in his hands. I put a sports drink on the coaster and three over the counter pain killers next to it. He looked at the drink with confusion, but before he could ask me any questions I walked out of the room. I returned a moment later with a baked potato that I ordered from a diner down the street while he was out of his office.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, practically growling.
“Eat the potato, drink the whole bottle of the sports drink, and take the ibuprofen. Eat and drink slowly so you don’t make yourself sick,” I spoke brusquely as I lowered the blinds. “Rest for a little while. I’ll hold all of your calls and keep anyone from coming in. You should feel better just in time for your one-o’clock meeting.”
Before I closed the door, I saw him staring at the three items I left for him as if they were alien. So typical.
Kyle’s lack of enthusiasm for work didn’t make my work load any lighter. I threw myself into it head first, completely emerged myself in it. The more I worked, the less I thought of the night before. It was only a one-night thing. It didn’t change the fact that he was still my boss, and obviously it made him no less of a dick. Reminiscing about it would only be a stupid distraction from important things. Besides, it was a mistake, an accident even.
Forget the fact that he was the first person I had slept with in almost a year, or that even though I was drunk I remembered it clearly—it was effin’ fantastic. Forget the fact that I had a hickey for the first time since high school on my neck under the scarf I was wearing, tied fashionably around my dumb neck.
A little before one, before anyone arrived for the meeting, Kyle came out of his office looking well rested, and less hung over. I didn’t ask him if he was feeling better, I barely took my eyes off of the computer screen.
“Emmy, email Diedrick with the financial reports I told you to do yesterday. Did you do the reports?”
“Yes.” I wrote down the note about Diedrick, while he continued on, giving me extra work to do on top of the heavy workload I already had.
“Did you order my tux for the gala?”
“Yes, I did that last week.”
“Emmy, I didn’t even know about that gala until Monday.” His tone was accusatory, as if I was lying to him. Like I would lie about ordering him a tux, thus making him show up to a black tie event in his underwear.
“I have known about the gala since they first announced it two months ago, Mr. Sterling,” I said with a little less patience than I had earlier in the day.
“I need a copy of that guest list,” he demanded.
“It’s already on your desk.”
He barked a few more orders at me before going back into his office. Once the door shut, Eliza the receptionist said just loud enough for a few of us in the office to hear: “What a dick.”
By six, almost everyone in our part of the building had cleared out. It was snowing, and I sometimes found myself staring out of the window. I loved to watch the snow fall onto the city, but I had a lot of work to do if I didn’t want to have to work long hours over the weekend. Kyle came out of his office, jacket slung over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up, as if he had been in his office doing physical labor. I almost snorted at the idea.
“Did you need anything else before you leave?” I asked him, not taking my eyes off of the monitor as I typed.
“I don’t mean to do it,” he said quietly. I looked up, surprised by his tone.
“You don’t mean to do what?”
“Be a dick.”
I looked away. We had that conversation already, kind of, and I didn’t want any more reminders of our one night together.
He sat down in the chair next to my desk, but I kept my eyes on my work, despite how astounded I was. In the near two years that I’d worked for him, he’d never once sat in that chair. Most women would feel flattered, but I felt a little uneasy.
“I know you said I have a choice, but I almost feel like I can’t help it.”
I thought it was usually women who got all chatty and mushy after a sexual encounter, but apparently I was wrong.
In an obvious, but subtle rejection, I quietly said, “You have a seven o’clock dinner date with Miss Venner. If you’re not careful, you’ll be late, especially with the snow.”
He was quiet and still for so long, I couldn’t help but to flick my eyes to his thoughtful face. I was instantly sorry when I realized he had been staring at me. I quickly returned my gaze back to my work.
“I forgot about that,” he finally said and stood up. “You shouldn’t work too late, the weather is supposed to get worse. You don’t usually work so late on Fridays, do you?”
“No,” I sighed, not wanting to say what I was going to say next. I really wanted to leave the events of the night before in the past and get over it. “I usually stay up late Thursday nights and get ahead, but I lost a night of work. So…”
“Oh.” He almost sounded uncomfortable.
“You should go,” I said, forcing a tight smile. “I will see you Monday. Enjoy your weekend, Mr. Sterling.”
“Thanks.” Before the elevator doors closed, he said, “Don’t stay too late.”
Like he ever cared how late I stayed before!
When I heard the elevator doors slide shut, I breathed a sigh of relief. That was awkward. I think I liked it better when he was just being mean and dickish.
An hour later when I was getting ready to leave, I noticed a piece of paper in the chair Kyle had occupied. I hoped it wasn’t one of his little notes regarding an appointment or something. I picked it up, turned it over, and my face flushed. I covered my smile as if there was anyone left to see it on my face. He hadn’t left it behind by mistake.
It was a SpongeBob sticker.
Chapter Three
The phone was ringing when I walked in the door. I already knew it was my mom. She ca
lled every Friday to see if I was engaged or married yet, and that was usually followed by a string of insults veiled as concern. I loved my mother, but I really didn’t like her, and often thought of creative ways of shutting her up.
I am the youngest of five kids and the black sheep of the family. My two brothers and two sisters were everything I wasn’t—perfect, married to equally perfect mates, with perfect children and perfect careers. At thirty, I was nowhere close to being married, let alone having children, and according to my nut job mother, my choice of employment was voluntary slavery.
When I finished college, my parents retired to the main family home in Louisiana. My siblings settled in nearby while I stayed in New Jersey in the home I grew up in. I was fine with the arrangement. I wasn’t particularly close to my siblings, and my best friend only lived a few minutes away. My mom, however, hated the distance between us. She couldn’t meddle with my life and offer me her unsolicited and ridiculous opinions. So, every Friday I allowed her a moment of my time, because if I ignored her entirely, she would be on the next flight to Jersey. Couldn’t have that.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, catching the call before it went to voicemail.
“Esmeralda.” My mother’s southern drawl was just as strong as it was when she first left Louisiana in her late teens. “I called you twice before already. Where have you been?”
“I was working, Mom.” I kicked off my snow soaked shoes. The bottoms of my pants were wet as well; so right there in the kitchen, I stripped off my pants.
“I wish you would go back to school. It’s not too late to be a doctor or a lawyer. Better yet, marry yourself a doctor or lawyer and you can stay at home and have babies.”
“Mom, this isn’t the eighteenth century, and my job is fine,” I recited the words I said most Fridays.
“You never even have time to meet anyone because of that damn job!” She lowered her voice for what she said next. “How do you get your…needs met without a steady beau?”
“Mother!” I was irritated that she went there—again, but I had a secret satisfaction knowing I had my “needs met” on her couch, by my boss no less.
“I’m just asking, Esmeralda. You can’t just go giving it up to random men.”
“I’m not giving it up to—you know what? I want to speak to a rational human being. Let me speak to my dad.”
“She don’t want to talk to me, her mother,” I heard her say as she gave the phone to my dad.
“Dad, why did you marry a crazy woman?” I asked after the usual pleasantries.
“I didn’t know she was crazy before I married her. By the time I found out, she was already knocked up and it was too late.”
I talked to my parents for another fifteen minutes. When we hung up, I felt just a little lonely. Even though I was fine with our living arrangements, I sometimes wished I had a closer relationship with my family. I would never admit it to any of them, but sometimes, I didn’t even feel like I was a part of the family. Sometimes, I just felt alone…
After the phone call, I made myself a drink. I turned the radio on in the kitchen and took out the chicken I left in the fridge to defrost. Cooking, drinking, and singing, I danced around in my underwear as the stress from the work week began to melt away.
The conversation I had with my mom didn’t melt away as easily though. She didn’t understand that I chose to be single, not because I was in any way trying to make a statement. After years of never dating anyone too seriously, I just thought it was time for me to finally be picky. I wasn’t incapable of finding a man to spend time with. My wavy dark brown hair and greenish brown eyes and flattering curvy figure were easy on the eyes and I was fairly intelligent, but even pretty and smart girls have a hard time finding a decent guy.
Several times I found myself looking at the SpongeBob sticker. While on the phone with my parents, I had used a magnet to secure it to the fridge. I was wearing SpongeBob panties again, but in a different color. What did Kyle mean by leaving the sticker? Was he trying to be funny? Was he flirting or was he making fun of me?
I carried the tequila bottle with me as I moved about the kitchen. I was drunk before dinner was finished cooking. It was snowing like mad outside, but between the heat blowing from vents and the alcohol, I was feeling pretty toasty. Singing softly to a song on the radio, I was about to take the chicken out of the oven when the doorbell rang.
Who the hell?
I crept to the foyer and carefully peeked through the curtain. Forgetting that I was only dressed in a tee shirt and panties, I threw open the door. Snow blew in onto my bare legs and arms. Kyle stared at me a moment, looked at the bottle in my hand, and offered a hesitant smile.
Chapter Four
“I can’t find my wallet anywhere,” Kyle said after I let him in. “I checked the bar and it wasn’t there. I’m hoping it’s here somewhere.”
“You can go check,” I gestured toward the family living room we had, um, spent the night in. “Maybe it got kicked under the couch. I have to go take something out of the oven.”
I put the bottle down long enough to take my chicken parmesan out of the oven. The music was still playing so I didn’t hear Kyle enter the room. I jumped a little when I turned around and saw him standing in the doorway, watching me.
“Found it.” He held up his wallet. “It was under the coffee table.”
“That’s good. I bet Miss Venner wasn’t too happy to have to pay for dinner,” I said, taking another swig of tequila.
“Once I realized my wallet was lost, I canceled the date.” His eyes quickly traveled over the lower half of my body before he met my eyes with a raised eyebrow. “Aren’t you cold?”
I looked down and then closed my eyes for a moment. I knew my face was turning bright red, I could feel it.
“Excuse me,” I whispered. I put the bottle on the counter, and with my head hanging low, I slipped past Kyle to go clothe my lower half.
I was so embarrassed, that it sobered me up some. It was the second time in twenty-four hours that I willingly appeared in my SpongeBob booty pants in front of my boss.
I went downstairs, in pants, and immediately said, “I’m sorry. I am usually here alone. My parents spend the winters in the south. No one really comes over, so I never have to really worry about answering the door, drunk, and undressed. This isn’t typical behavior, to find myself undressed in front of men.”
“I have seen you in less,” he murmured.
“Are you hungry, Mr. S?” I asked, ignoring his comment because it made my neck hot and my palms sweaty, and because it was so inappropriate. We really needed to move on from what happened between us.
“Call me Kyle, and sure, I could eat.”
“Calling you Kyle is a little strange for me.”
“You called me Kyle last night. In fact, you screamed it at least…how many times?”
My eyes widened and then narrowed just before I threw an oven mitt at him. “You’re being a dick, Kyle.”
He chuckled. “I’m sorry.”
I sighed and couldn’t help but to smile a little. “You never smile,” I said quietly as I set the table. “You’re always scowling and growling. It’s almost as if you hate your job, you hate being there.”
“That’s not far from the truth.” He looked at me sedately as he leaned against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed.
“Then you should find another career, because you’re not being fair to your employees and you’re certainly not being fair to yourself.”
There was a few moments of hesitation, and then he quietly said, “I’m doing what is expected of me.”
I snorted. “If I was doing what’s expected of me, I would be married, popping out a kid every couple of years.”
“You don’t want a family?” His brown eyes studied me.
“Of course, but look at me,” I gestured to myself. “I’m the poster child for Alcoholics Anonymous. I don’t think I’m quite ready to raise any children.” I took another swig of tequila to pr
ove my point. “My mom thinks I’m throwing my life away, that my best years are behind me.”
“It’s like they have no confidence that you can be anything else other than what they’ve set you up to be.” Kyle added, more to himself than to me, but I understood what he meant. Kyle’s dad was always nice to me, but he had extremely high expectations for his son.
A few minutes later, we sat down for dinner, but I traded the tequila for iced tea. It wasn’t an easy decision, but I didn’t think it was a good idea to get ripped around Kyle again.
An awkward silence descended. Typically, any shared meals with Kyle were with a bunch of other guys in suits or when we were really busy and ate in his office as we worked. I was worried that we wouldn’t have anything to say to each other, but a few bites into the dish, Kyle moaned in a way that almost made me drop my fork.
“This is so good,” he said with a mouthful of parmesan chicken.
I smiled, relieved and flattered. “My mom taught me at least one useful thing.”
The conversation was surprisingly easy after that. I was floored to discover that Kyle was capable of cooking his own meals. We sat at the table for a long time after the food was gone, talking and even laughing. I was amazed at how easy he was to talk to when he wasn’t being a complete penis.
“Your Mr. Hyde is really good,” I said sometime later. He was helping me clean up the kitchen after dinner. He washed and I dried.
It was amusing and….well…sexy…to see his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the suds on his hands as he performed manual labor. It was such a common job for such a snobbish person.
“My what?” he asked, his brow wrinkling with confusion.
“At work, you’re Dr. Jekyll. Now you’re Mr. Hyde,” I explained.
He thought about it a moment, his eyes on the dishes he was washing.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
The apology sounded so sincere, that I was momentarily speechless. I had no idea who the guy was anymore. He wasn’t just my mean, ranting boss anymore. He was someone else I was just beginning to acquaint myself with.
