Rude Boss

Essex

I’m sitting in the back seat of the Maybach waiting for Quintessa to arrive at work. I know she’s not here yet. I’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes and haven’t seen her car. It’s 7:50. Where is she? What’s taking so long?

Last night I had trouble sleeping, but that’s been the case since Monday – since laying eyes on her again after all these years. Last night, though, I found myself bombarded with thoughts that she wouldn’t come back today. That’s why I’m sitting here. Maybe orientation is too much for her. Perhaps Ms. Valentine, the girl she was sitting with in the cafeteria yesterday for lunch, spilled all the beans and caught her up to speed on life at DePaul & Company. A lot of people don’t like it here. I’m aware of that. I just don’t care. I don’t pay people to like me. I pay them to work for me. As long as Quintessa does her job, we’ll get along just fine.

At the café yesterday, I pretended not to see her, but of course I saw her. Can’t miss her. Her beauty lights up a room. Her presence does something to my insides that leaves me questioning why I waited so long to reunite us. If she only knew…

Under normal circumstances, I do not visit the café, but because I knew she would be there, I decided to leave my office for a bit just to get a glimpse of her. It was a way I could watch her and give her space at the same time. That’s all I needed. A glimpse. It was enough to help me power through another day of long meetings.

I glance at my watch again. It’s 7:55. Finally, I see her car turn into the lot. Since she’s arrived so much later than some of my other staff, she has to park to the back, near the overflow lot, which will make for a longer walk to the building. She knows she has to clock in by eight once she gets login access, so why is she carelessly getting here so late, already establishing bad habits?

She’s walking this way now, wearing a black-and-white checkered unbuttoned jacket, a black fitted dress that’s just above her knees and black flats – doesn’t look like her style at all – but after losing touch with her all these years, I don’t know what her style is. This may be it for all I know. It just doesn’t appear to suit her very well.

She almost breaks into a full sprint as she gets closer to my car. I step out, close the door and tap the car twice, alerting Cooper to leave. As he pulls off, I focus my attention on Quintessa. She appears to be frowning – no, she is frowning – as she approaches me. I watch her drop her head and cross her arms like she’s trying to shield herself from the cold. Or from me. She doesn’t speak – just keeps her head down and steps past me dismissively, like I’m some statuesque fixture attached to this building.

Like I’m going to accept that.

“Ms. Bailey.” After calling her name, I turn around to see if she’s stopped climbing the stairs. She has. I knew she would.

“Yes,” she responds stiffly. It’s an annoyed yes, but a yes, nonetheless.

“So, you made it back.”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“Neither. It’s an observation.”

“Oh. Well, it’s chilly out here, so I’m gonna go ahead inside.”

“If you’re cold, why don’t you zip up your jacket?”

“Because I can’t. It’s not my jacket. It’s my roommate’s and she’s thinner than I am. Any further questions, your majesty?”

I smile at her attitude. I think it’s cute. She’ll definitely need the tenacity to survive the demands of the job, but if she thinks it will deter me, she’s sorely mistaken.

I take a few steps up the stairs and stop.

She takes a few steps up, keeping the same distance between us.

I say, “I didn’t think you would come back.”

“Believe me, I thought about it.”

“Then why did you?”

She crosses her arms again, trying to warm herself from the breeze. People down here in Florida think sixty-eight degrees is cold. Back home in Detroit, sixty-eight degrees in February felt like a heat wave. I’m not fazed by it, but then again, I am wearing a suit.

She says, “I came back because I need a job. And the people I’ll be working with closely every day are a nice bunch. I really don’t need to work with or interact with anyone else outside of my team, and that includes you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I’ve been learning how things work around here. I think I’ll be just fine.”

She turns to head up the stairs again. I jog up to catch her.

“I wasn’t done talking to you just yet.”

Glancing at her watch, she says, “I’m supposed to be at my desk by eight, so—”