Rude Boss

Essex

After Greta and her team file out of the room, I take a seat directly across the table from Quintessa. I stare, but she’s not entertaining my gaze. She’s not looking at me at all. It’s like I’m not even here. She doesn’t know how much that irritates me.

I purposely stayed away from her, and by default, the entire team, for three weeks to give her time to settle into her new role. Besides, I had to come up with a plan to deal with her professionally without the personal issues I have with her getting in the way. Was that enough time to allow me to do that?

Hardly.

My purpose for meeting with the team, however, was valid. I know Mrs. Wilburn’s team is working as hard as they can. I also know the ratio of returns to tax associates is right where it needs to be and if I expect higher numbers, I need to hire at least three people to add to Mrs. Wilburn’s team. The numbers are a concern, but not so much that I’m willing to hire three more people at this time.

I clear my throat and lean back in my chair. In a way, I’m hoping that something about me will trigger Quintessa’s memory and let her know who I am. Being that I look so different, it’s a long shot, but my eyes are the same. I wonder if she sees anything in them.

Silence fills the room and adds distance between us. She looks up at me, her eyes slamming into mine, and while we hold each other’s vision, confusion appears on her delicate, beautiful face. She breaks the silence by asking, “Why am I here?”

I close my eyes. I guess it was wishful thinking on my part for wanting her to recognize me. Now, I have to be this person – the man she despises.

I say, “I expected more out of you, Ms. Bailey.”

“Excuse me?”

“I won’t repeat what I just said. I know you heard me.”

“I don’t want you to repeat it,” she says, her eyes flaring with annoyance. “I’m just wondering what you’re talking about.”

“You just sat here and heard the discussion I had with Mrs. Wilburn. I want numbers. The team—your team—isn’t delivering, even after I hired you. Was hiring you a mistake?”

I study her intently to observe every wrinkle in her forehead, the twitch of her jaw, and the way she rolls her eyes. I commit it all to memory.

She responds, “You know what…at this point, that’s for you to determine, Mr. DePaul.”

“Is that right?” I ask.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“In that case, I’m thinking it was a mistake.”

“Based on what?”

“Your department’s numbers.”

“That has nothing to do with me. I haven’t been here long enough to have an impact on those numbers. I’m doing my job. Greta is my manager. She gives me assignments. I can’t go above her head and force her to give me clients. You put her in charge of the department for a reason and, therefore, you should trust her to make good decisions.”

“Or you could be a little more assertive and tell her to give you some clients. It’s not like you don’t know how to do the work.”

“Of course I know how to do the work!”

“Then what are you waiting for? A sign from heaven?”

She sighs. “Again, I’m not the manager, and I don’t know what you’re expecting of me.”

“I told you what—”

“Then maybe—”

“Do not cut me off while I’m speaking!” I say demandingly.

Her eyes narrow to slits. “But it’s okay for you to cut me off?”

She has a mouth on her, but I’m the captain of this ship. She’s a passenger who needs to learn how to stay in her place. I continue, “I told you what my expectations were. Talk to Mrs. Wilburn and tell her to give you some clients.”