Rude Boss

Essex

It irks me to no end when I have to alter my schedule at the fault of someone else. I’m not talking about changing it for a family emergency or anything like that. Of course, issues as such can’t be avoided. I’m talking more along the lines of canceling meetings to go chasing after a woman – something I usually never do, by the way, but this case is different. I’m chasing Quintessa to fill this position. If she thinks she can avoid me by turning off her cell phone, she’s in for a rude awakening. I didn’t get to the top by being avoided, nor do I accept any form of rejection when it comes to business. I’m a go-getter. The old me would’ve given up. This new man I am – he’s relentless.

I have my driver, Cooper, pull the car around. He opens the back door. I step inside, get comfortable, then he closes it. When he’s back in the driver’s seat, he asks, “Where to, Mr. DePaul?”

I give him Quintessa’s address. He asks no further questions – just the way I like it. No noise. No music. No nothing. He just drives.

When we arrive at the apartment complex – took about twenty minutes to get here – I take a minute to look around. The place looks decent enough. The grounds are decorated with palm trees like every other dwelling place in Florida. I get out, straighten my jacket and thread one of the buttons before walking to building 6419 in search of apartment ‘E’. It’s probably on the second level since A, B, C and D are on level one. I jog up the stairs and find her apartment around the corner. There’s no doorbell, so I knock, trying to figure out how this is going to go. What if she’s in here and doesn’t come to the door? I already know she’s turned her phone off after we talked earlier. I tried to call it on the ride over, only to have it go straight to voicemail.

I knock again.

This time I hear someone behind the door, unlocking it and asking who is it, but I don’t say a word. It’s not Quintessa’s voice. When the door opens all the way, there’s a white woman standing there wearing a confused outfit – a sweatshirt and plaid pajama shorts. She doesn’t know if she’s hot or cold. She has on a headset – the kind people who work at call centers wear, a pair of faded blue sweatpants with holes in the knees and a nice blouse. Working remotely has forced people to get half-dressed. I’m not here to judge the girl’s fashion choices. I’m here for my girl.

“Can I help you?” she inquires.

“Let’s hope so. I’m looking for Quintessa Bailey. Is she home?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I’m Essex DePaul.”

“Oh,” she says flashing a pinched, uneasy expression like she’s heard some unflattering news about me. Quintessa has probably told her all about the interview.

“Well? Is she here or not?”

After a fake smile, she answers, “Sorry. Quintessa is not here.”

“Sounds like you’re lying.”

The girl snaps her head back and says, “Even if I was, this is my apartment, Mr. DePaul. Goodbye.”

She attempts to close the door, but I prevent the door from closing with my new Berluti leather oxford shoes. She looks down at my foot and says, “What are you doing?”

“Preventing a door from being slammed in my face. Where is Quintessa?”

“Why? Haven’t you ridiculed her enough?”

Ridiculed? I’ll admit I was a little rough on Quintessa on Monday, but ridiculed? Hardly. Yesterday was child’s play. I tell her, “I take it she told you all about the interview.”

“Of course she did. Why are you here after what you did?”

“I think Quintessa will be a good fit for the position and a complement to the existing team.”

“And you came all the way over here to tell her that today, but you couldn’t tell her that on Monday?”

I’m getting frustrated by the questions, but I do admire her loyalty. I say, “Listen—do you want your friend to have a chance to work at a million-dollar firm that will make her career or not?”

The girl rolls her ocean blue eyes.

“Where is she?” I ask while playing detective and glancing behind her, looking for any sign of Quintessa’s presence.

“She’s on an interview,” she tells me, finally giving me the intel I seek.

“Where?”

“Dominion Financial.”

I leave her there at the door and jog back down the stairs. I slide in the back of the car and tell Cooper to floor it to Dominion Financial. There’s no way my girl is working for the competition.