“Fire them!” I interrupt the HR Director; my voice is deadpan.
“E-excuse me, Mr. Bolt?”
“You heard me. Let everyone on that list go. They’re dead weight. Either they go, or the company is in the toilet. I didn’t just waste millions on an organization that’s destined to fail.”
He clears his throat. “Some of these staff members have been with B&H Enterprises for over twenty years,” he says, sounding shocked.
I push out a breath and run my hand over my face. “Twenty-nine people need to lose their jobs today so that seven hundred and fifty-four staff members can remain employed. I know it seems ruthless, Ted, but it’s the only way.”
I hear him swallow thickly. “It doesn’t seem right.”
“Fire them today! Otherwise, you can pack up your desk, and I’ll promote your second-in-command. I guarantee he will do as I say. Call me when it’s done.” I put down the phone, pressing my fingers into my temples, trying to stave off a throbbing headache. It always amazes me how companies think they can stay afloat when they have three people doing one person’s job or when they’re top-heavy. Or both, in this case. There is no doubt in my mind that at least fifteen percent of the remaining staff will need to be terminated and replaced before the end of the month due to poor performance.
No excuses.
No prisoners.
It’s the only way. Three months and B&H will be breaking even. Give me six, and it’ll be thriving.
Change.
It’s a simple concept. You can’t expect to see change without implementing it. Otherwise, you’ll get what you always got. B&H is no different. I push thoughts of my latest acquisition aside.
I check my email. Seventy-eight have landed in my inbox in the last half an hour. I sigh and pick up the phone to dial my PA, remembering almost too late that she walked out on me last week. Janet up and left after eight years of service. It feels like I lost a limb. She handled most of the mail. All of the admin. She screened calls. Ran errands. She ran my fucking life.
To make matters worse, there’s a knock on my door. Who the fuck would dare come up here unannounced? They’d better have a good reason.
“What?” I growl.
Emily Lewis walks into my office. Her heels clack on the gleaming marble floor. She throws a newspaper onto my desk. “We won’t even talk about what’s trending on Twitter or blowing up every social media site in general. Who the hell is she?”
“Fuck!” I growl.
“Fuck is right. This is a PR nightmare.”
“It’s not how it looks.”
“It looks bad.” Emily folds her arms and glares at me. I will only hire someone on my direct team if they can stand up to me. There aren’t many. She points at the paper. “Who is she?”
“That’s the hostess at the Olive Branch. She was telling me that my table was ready. Look at my face…I don’t look happy. I hate it when randoms touch me.”
“At seventeen, this ‘random’ happens to be underage. She’s holding onto your bicep and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. At least that’s how it looks, and it looks bad, Bolt! What am I saying? It looks absolutely terrible. You already have a shitty reputation.”
“The hostess from the restaurant I frequent told me that my table was ready.”
“She told you in the shell of your ear…really?” My Public Relations Manager narrows her eyes and folds her arms. “Looks like more to me.”
“She told me my table was ready. Fuck…look at my goddamn face.” She also told me that she wanted to sit on my dick. Pity the photographer didn’t publish what happened next, namely my scowl, my hands going up into the air, and my step back. “For the record, I made my displeasure clear to the hostess. I date women, Emily…always women. I’m not into teenage girls. Fucking hell!” My stomach rolls at the thought. “I can’t believe you would even think such a thing.” The paparazzi are bastards. All of them! Ever since I made it into some top ten most eligible bachelor list a month or two ago, they’ve been on my case a whole lot more than normal.
“I know you would never go there, but it’s not what I think that counts. It’s the public perception that counts. I had the restaurant owner issue a formal apology to you. Turns out the hostess is his niece. He insists he never knew she was underage and that he was doing her a favor. They have had to let her go, they could get into serious trouble for hiring a minor.”
“Good,” I growl.
“Back to your earlier comment about only dating women. And you date women? ‘Date’ being the operative word here. Really?” Her brows go up, and her arms stay folded across her chest. “I’m assuming that you use that term loosely, because there have been quite a few women over the years, Bolt. It’s like your bedroom has a revolving door.”
I rub a hand over my face. “Do we need to go over this again?”
She makes a noise of frustration. “Yeah, yeah, you don’t want to settle down or have kids. You make my life and my job, almost impossible, you know that don’t you?”
“That’s why I pay you the big bucks. Now do your fucking job.”
She pushes out a heavy breath. “I’ll take care of it.” She picks up the paper. “You need to lay low for a while. No dating anyone. Are we clear?”
“I haven’t been dating. I haven’t dated anyone in ages.” Months to be exact. Even before the harpy fucked me up.
She frowns. “That’s not true. No, it…” Her eyes widen in realization. “That is true, actually. Every time you go anywhere near a beautiful woman, they snap a pic and tell the world that you’re an item.”
“Even though it isn’t true.”
“That damned eligible bachelor status you’ve been saddled with is a problem.”
“It’s a fuck-up.” That’s putting it mildly. I’ve had some lunatic stalk me. I’m getting fan-mail…fan-fucking-mail. People have nothing better to do. That much is clear.
“You need a girlfriend,” she says.
“No way!”
“I need one hell of a raise then.”
“Done!” I growl.
“Fine, but unless you fall in love, you need to keep your nose clean and your dick dry. Are we clear?” She points at me.
“Clear as day.”
“Fine!” she snorts.
“Fine.”
I watch as she leaves. I lean back in my chair. The start of a headache I had earlier has now developed into a pounding between my temples. I put my fingers there and take a few deep breaths. When I open my eyes, I see the heavy stack of resumes on my desk. There are well over two hundred applicants, and this is the shortlist that was sent up from HR. My life will get infinitely easier if I find someone to replace Janet.
I need someone who is computer-literate, well-spoken but not a pushover. They would need to be well-organized, willing to work long hours, and most importantly, be able to deal with me. I’ve always been impatient, a bit of a bastard, if I’m honest. Since my run-in with the harpy three and a half months ago, I’ve been insufferable and I can’t help it. Back to Janet leaving. My ex-PA was a saint. One of the most patient people I have ever met…and I broke her. She emailed her immediate resignation and left before I could try to convince her to stay. One minute she was there, and the next she was gone.
I’m offering a healthy monthly paycheck complete with benefits to whoever gets the job. The position will seem too good to be true. The truth is that ‘too good to be true’ is a fallacy. You get nothing for free in this dog-eat-dog world. I have high standards and a short temper. I feel very sorry for the person who gets me as a boss. I might end up chewing my way through several candidates before I find the right fit. It is what it is.
I pick up the first resume and spot a typo as my eyes scan the document. I throw it into the trash. The next candidate, a thirty-five-year-old man, describes himself as being energetic, honest, experienced, and flexible. He goes on to add that he loves animals and children. I quirk a brow. I’ll crush Thomas Alderton in five seconds flat. I dump the next three as
well, before putting a resume on the ‘maybe’ pile. I prefer facts and figures rather than flowery nonsense.
I almost throw the next one straight into the trash. Ashley Shaw has written her resume in a pretty font. I roll my eyes. Really? Does she actually think it’ll get her noticed? This is why I prefer not to have to do this myself. If only Janet had stayed long enough to help me replace her. She’s the only other person capable of knowing who would be the right fit for me. I grumble to myself as I take a quick glance at the resume in my hand. For the most part, the document ticks all the right boxes. I note that this person has only used three words to describe herself. Hardworking, patient, and creative.
She’s only ever worked for one company. A bakery…Shaw’s Buns and Breads. So not just any bakery but one owned by her family. That tells me that this little flowery princess is used to being coddled by her daddy. I almost smile. I’m tempted to call her in for an interview just to mess with her. If I had more time on my hands, I would. I’m about to toss her resume when I notice the list of her skills. It turns out that this candidate has worked in every part of the bakery from front-of-house to tackling administrative duties and everything in-between. A Jack-of-all-trades.
Fuck it!
I’m not sure why, but I put her resume on the ‘maybe’ pile. I’m giving the candidates five minutes to sell themselves to me. I can spare five minutes to see what she’s made of. I toss the next ten resumes, working quickly through the rest of the pile. I have to stop intermittently to take a call. I can’t trust reception to know what’s important and what’s not. For now, I field every call. It’s a pain in the ass. I need someone to start yesterday.
I whittle the pile down to eleven candidates. I will tell them to meet with me tomorrow afternoon. If they can drop everything to be here, on time and with guns blazing – so to speak – I might give them a chance. I can only hope that there is one amongst them who will be able to handle my shit. I pick up the phone and call the first candidate. Out of the eleven I call, seven can make it. I toss the rest in the trash. I need someone with grit and determination, but they also need heart. Plenty of heart. An almost impossible combination to find. I lean back in my chair and spot the paper on my desk, it’s folded open on the picture of that underage girl. I groan and crumple it into a ball, tossing it into the trash as well. The damage has been done.
4
The next morning…
Bolt
I’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes. Alone. I can hear my mother pottering around in the kitchen. What is she doing? I know that this is her version of the silent treatment. I stand and go into the kitchen, even though I know she doesn’t want me there.
She’s washing dishes. Fucking dishes. “Mom,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.
“Go and sit,” she says. “I’ll be out in a second. The coffee is nearly ready.” She keeps on washing.
I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m here to see you, Mom.” I try to keep my voice even. “I’m sure the coffee has been ready for a while. Surely the dishes can wait?”
She gives me the stink-eye, drying her hands on a nearby dishcloth. “Don’t tell me the state of affairs in my own kitchen, young man. I’m not one of your staff members, or one of those girls you like to run around with.”
There it is. Out. “I’m not running around with anyone, Mom, and of course I don’t see you as a staff member of mine.”
“Different woman every week, Bolt. It makes me so sad to see you throwing your life away.”
I take a deep breath and look at my shoes for a moment. I’m one of the richest, most powerful men in the world, and my mother thinks I’m throwing my life away. Her words sting, even though I know she’s proud of me. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”
“Pictures don’t lie.” She opens the refrigerator and takes out some milk. Bottles rattle when the door closes.
“You’d be surprised, Mom. They can be completely misconstrued. I haven’t dated anyone in a while.” Months and months.
“You’ve never brought anyone home to meet me.” She shakes her head, looking sad. “Forge, Lyre, and Night have settled down. Sophia and Vera have grand-babies.” Her eyes begin to fill with tears, but she blinks them away. I hate to see my mom upset. Fucking hate it. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before more of the dragon demigods settle as well.”
My brothers.
Settled down.
I want to choke out a laugh and correct her on that note. I’m not sure how Stephanus or Jarrod would get that right. Imagine being able to see into your girlfriend’s past or future whenever you touched them. It would never work. Rage? Please…he isn’t marriage or father material. No fucking way! Never going to happen. Trident is too much of a manwhore. Samuel, AKA Mr. Sandman himself, is too busy putting the world to sleep – okay maybe not the world, but close enough – to ever fit in with ‘normal’ society. Then there’s Death. He’s Death for fuck’s sake. The end! No ‘ever afters’ in his future. Death is Night’s half-brother and has hung out with us enough over the last few months for me to include him in this deduction. “I’m not sure the rest of us are…that way inclined.” I try to put it delicately.
“You want a string of women. Young girls.” She shakes her head. “Everything has become about money with you, Bolt. Beautiful cars, expensive clothing, and fancy restaurants. All that stuff is not important.”
“I know that, and I don’t want a string of women. I certainly don’t want young girls.”
“What about that picture in the paper, Bolt?” She looks so disappointed. I want to find whoever published that damn article and end them.
I go to her and take her hands. “I swear I wasn’t with that young woman. She’s a hostess at a restaurant I went to the day before yesterday for a business lunch. I don’t know who she is, I had never seen her before that moment. It’s this stupid ‘most eligible bachelor’ status I’ve been saddled with.”
“If only you weren’t single. You wouldn’t have to worry about all of this nonsense. Your picture wouldn’t be in the paper every week with a different woman. You need someone special in your life.”
I tell her what she wants to hear. It’s easier than trying to explain how I never want to settle down. How I’m not that kind of person. “I haven’t met the right person yet.” I squeeze her hands. My jaw tightens because it’s a lie and because my mind goes straight to Gabby. The harpy. I hate that her face is all I can see.
My mom smiles. “You will find love. Someone is out there for you, my boy.”
The right woman for me is dead and buried. Hell, the right woman for me wasn’t the right woman at all. It’s that poison talking. My mind is in turmoil. I nod and try to smile at her. What else can I do?
“That’s not the only reason I’m mad with you.” She opens a cupboard and takes out two coffee cups, which she places on a tray. “How many times do I have to tell you not to send strangers to my house?” She closes the cupboard with a light bang.
“I take it you’re talking about the contractors I sent here last week?”
She makes this huffing noise as she pours the coffee.
“The ones you sent away?”
“I don’t want strangers in my house. I’ve told you that.” She pours some milk into both cups, even though I prefer my coffee black.
“Your roof is leaking.” As if on cue, there is a pitter-patter of rain falling on her roof.
She looks up. “Lately, it rains whenever you come over.”
I shrug. “Just a coincidence.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Absolutely fine. I know I haven’t visited in over a week, but…” I squeeze my temples, pushing out a breath.
“Work,” she says.
“Yes.”
“You need to take some time off.”
It’s the last thing I need right now. More time to think. “You’re right, Mom. As soon as things are running smoothly at the company I just took over.”
<
br /> “Always work with you, Bolt.” She reaches for the tray.
“Let me take that, Mom,” I say.
“You’re my guest,” she says, slapping my hand away. “Next time, you must come for dinner, not just a cup of coffee.”
“I will, Mom.”
“Bring a friend along.” She smiles warmly.
I ignore the jibe. “I see you baked my favorite cookies,” I try to change the subject.
“Any kind of cookie is your favorite,” she laughs. “Let’s go and sit, and you can tell me all about your new venture. I’d better fetch a bucket first.” She looks up at the roof. The storm is in full swing.
“The leak.” I shake my head. “I wish you’d let me help you more.” I take the tray from her, thankful that she lets me.
“I wish you’d take my advice more.” She’s still smiling.
“It’s not the same.”
“It is.”
“Okay, Mom.” I head to the living room.
5
That afternoon…
Ashley
My hands are clammy. Crap! What if he wants to shake hands when I introduce myself? My skin will be damp and icky. I rub them on my skirt. Now I’m worrying that I went with the wrong outfit. I googled which color to wear for an interview and got black, navy, grey, and brown.
It was a relief, since the only suit I own is black. I wear it to funerals. I decided to wear it even though it’s a little frumpy. The skirt comes to just above my knees. The jacket is slightly loose on me, so I must have lost some weight. I guess I have been more stressed than normal with my parent’s business struggling over the last few months. It brings home to me the fact that I need this job really badly…bottom line. I also have a form-fitting light blue dress with a little black belt that cinches below my breasts. It has a high neckline and sleeves to my elbows. Maybe that would have been better. No…it was black or light blue, and every article I read said navy blue. Powder blue is hardly a power color. I push out a slow breath.
I practiced my introduction several times in the mirror this morning. I’m going over what I’m going to say again right now inside my head. I googled questions that are most frequently asked during an interview, and I’ve formulated answers. I realize that he might throw me a curveball, but I’ve got this. I really do! I’m sure I’ll be permitted to work my notice period. I’ll take a course in computer literacy if I am successful in this interview. I’ll practice my typing. If I have to, I’ll work overtime to get the job done. Being a PA can’t be as tough as Candice made it out to be. I’m smart. I’ll make it work. I need this paycheck. It could mean the difference between saving the family business and losing Buns and Breads altogether. One thing is for sure, we won’t survive unless we adapt.
Lord of Rain (The Dragon Demigods Book 5) Page 3
