The Boss Crush

I don’t know why I ever doubted my gut to begin with. She’s a vindictive and jealous person.

“What was the point?” she asks as she laughs out loud. Sandy folds her arms across her chest proudly. She enjoys hurting people, and now she’s displaying it like a badge of honor. “The point was to get what I wanted. I took the pictures out of your portfolio, I left you with blank pages, and I got what you went there for.” Her eyes move all around us as she holds out her arms with her palms facing the ceiling.

She wants me to look. She wants me to know what my hard work got her.

And now I hate her even more.

Sandy sees the anger as it turns my cheeks fire red. It fuels her, she can’t get enough of it. So, she keeps talking, watching me, studying me, drinking up the emotions she’s pulling out of me.

“They all loved my art skills,” she says with a dramatic wink. “And when you came stumbling in looking like a barely legal hussy, with an empty folder, it was great. A classic bimbo moment everyone I’m sure still remembers.”

Tears start to fill my eyes, and I’m struggling to keep my breathing steady.

Sandy pouts her bottom lip, pretending like she gives a shit. But she doesn’t really care, she’s just fucking with me. “Don’t cry, the advice you gave me back then really was good, it did help. But I’m not going to apologize, when I want something, I take it. Welcome to the real world, Dalia.”

She doesn’t deserve a single tear from me.

I’m not going to cry in front of her, she doesn’t get the pleasure of seeing me hurt. Not this time.

Because I don’t need her. I don’t need this job. I don’t need shit from someone who would rather stab me in the back instead of doing the work herself.

“You know what. . .” I stand taller, lifting my chin higher. “If you’re going to fire me, then fire me. I’m not going to beg for my job. If my work got you here, then I know I can do better than this place on my own.”

“Go then if you think you can do better. But just know that I’m going to make sure any place you go to knows you’re a slutty, boss-fucking whore, who will screw her way to the top.” Veering her stare, she snarls, “Is that how you want people to know you, Dalia? As a boss-fucking slut?”

Shaking my head, I’m not backing down. I don’t care what she thinks anymore. Sandy isn’t who I am. And I don’t ever want to be her.

“Say what you want about me, Sandy, but you’re the one that stole to get here, not me. I can go to sleep at night knowing I actually have the talent. You just borrow it and call it yours.” Pushing past her, I reach for the door.

“Dalia, you walk out that door, you better not ever look back. I’m going to warn you one time, and one time only; stay away from Lyle and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll pretend this conversation never happened, and we can part ways amicably. But, speak one word to my brother, and I’ll end your fucking career. If you think high school was bad, you’ll never come out of this.”

“I’m having his baby, Sandy.”

“Says you.” Her voice is cold, dead, and the look in her eyes is just as dark.

Holding the handle firmly in my hands, I smile at Sandy. I smile and I don’t think she expects to see a smile that big. Her eyes grow wide as her upper lip pulls to one side. My smile is pissing her off, and it only makes me smile bigger.

“You know what,” I say, my voice surprisingly strong. “Go fuck yourself.”

And with that, I walk out.

I deserve better from a boss.

I deserve better for myself.

And I deserve to be happy.

12

Lyle

Where the hell did she go?

Trolling the room, I look everywhere for her, but she’s gone. I stand with a hand on the back of my neck, spinning in a slow circle, double checking to make sure I didn’t miss her.

She’s really not here.

“Lyle, you kn—”

“I’m sorry, David, you’ll have to excuse me,” I say, patting his shoulder and walking away. I don’t have time for shitty small talk, I’m looking for Dalia.

He stands still, and I can feel him watching me, offended that I’m not taking the time to have his little side conversation. I don’t give a shit.

I need Dalia on my arm. I need her at my side. That’s where she belongs.

Faces blur as I move through the crowd, searching for my girl.

Sandy is at the small bar, hitting a bottle of vodka. She’s pouring her own shots, refusing to give it back to the bartender. I debate with myself for a second if I should go slow her down or just let her be.