Rude Boss
“I do. Me.” I point to myself for emphasis. “You own DePaul & Company. You wear brands I can’t pronounce. Your driver chauffeurs you around in a Maybach for goodness sakes. And just the simple fact that you have a driver puts you in a class all on its own. So, tell me, Mr. DePaul…what can I do for you?”
“The first thing you can do is stop calling me Mr. DePaul when we’re outside of work.”
“But—”
“Please,” he says, and it’s not in a pleading way. It’s more like a demand. “I have a reputation around the office—I’m aware of that. It’s not necessarily good for business, but I just landed a deal with Walbridge Industries. I’ve been trying to work with that organization for years, but I could never seal the deal. After meeting with the CEO on Monday, he called me on Wednesday to say he was ready to work with the company. That was because of you.”
“Congratulations, but I doubt if I had anything to do with that.”
“You did. It was all you, Quintessa.”
“How so?”
“Having lunch with you at the Sandbar—or maybe just being with you put me in a better headspace. So, here’s what I was thinking…I need you to be my eyes and ears around there.”
“Lemme stop you right there. I’m nobody’s snitch.”
“No, not like that. I mean it in the sense that you tell me when I’m being too authoritative and need to dial it back a notch. You may not believe this, but I don’t get off on people being afraid of me. That was never my intention when I became the man I am.”
“What was your intention?”
“To make money. To build a respectable business—one I could be proud of. One my parents could be proud of. I wanted to make something of myself because I—well, you get the picture. So, are you up for the task?”
“And what exactly am I supposed to be doing again?”
“Be my eyes and ears. Help me keep my temper under control. If I go postal in a situation you deem unnecessary, I want you to tell me.”
“Sounds like a setup for me to get fired.”
He grins. “It’s not. I won’t fire you.”
“I want it in writing.”
“You don’t need it in writing. I’m giving you my word.”
I think it over for a moment and say, “I shouldn’t do this. I’m in no position to be controlling your temper.”
“Well, you obviously have some sort of control over my psyche if you were able to brighten my mood before that meeting on Monday with Walbridge.”
“I don’t think I did anything to your mood.”
“Trust me, you did. Now, do we have a deal or what?”
How can I say no to those pleading eyes blazing upon me? I don’t know why he stares at me the way he does, but it’s unnerving. “Yeah, okay. Deal, but I don’t want anyone else in the organization to know about this.”
“Then we’re on the same page because I don’t either. It’ll be our little secret. That way, you can keep talking about me behind my back with that Sahara Desert girl and no one will be none the wiser about our arrangement.”
“Her name is Zahara and nobody’s talking about you behind your back.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not,” I say, my cheeks burning to form into a smile that would expose that I am indeed lying.
He says, “You are. It’s written all over your beautiful face.” He picks up his glass and finishes the rest of his drink.
This guy…
He referred to me as beautiful when I know I look a hot mess, especially after running errands and working in my apartment for the better part of the day. I’m wearing cut-off jean shorts and a light grey T-shirt. My hair is thrown up in a ponytail. Dismissing his blandishment, I glance at my watch, stand up and say, “I have to get going.”