Baby for the Bosshole: A Grumpy Boss Romance

6

Five thirty-seven.

I get up and head out. Some of the staff are ready to call it a day; some are still working away on their laptops. At GrantEm, Friday doesn’t always mean you get the next two days off. But that’s why we pay top dollar. You can’t expect people to work the hours we demand and not compensate them properly.

Amy’s desk isn’t far from my office. From where I stand, I can see her well. Intelligent baby-blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. High cheekbones that would make most models shriek with envy. A slightly pointed, pixie-like chin. A wide and soft mouth that reminds me of Japanese camellia blossoms in full bloom. Her golden hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, making her look like a kid fresh out of college. A pale cream top and charcoal-gray skirt fit her slim body well, showcasing the swell of her breasts and long, pretty legs. She’s lost some weight since she joined GrantEm, which is a shame, because she didn’t need to.

But I’ve seen what Rick’s been feeding her on the few dates they were able to sneak in despite my best efforts to save her. I’d lose weight too if I had to eat what passes for food in Rick’s world.

As I study her, need clutches my gut, hot and brutal. It’s grown more intense over the past several months. But I shove it aside, put on my most charming boss smile and go over.

“Amy.”

She looks up at me, all professional and pleasant. “Hi, Emmett. Heading out?”

Her tone says she already knows the answer to that: No, I have work to do.

“No,” I say, refusing to add the rest. I’ve been working more and more since Amy started. No interest in dating, clubbing or going out. No interest in devoting more hours to working out, playing tennis or scuba diving. That leaves me with work as the only activity left to fill my free time. It’s a good thing I enjoy working.

“Then…?” Wariness creeps into her gaze.

She has nothing to worry about. I’m saving her from a weekend in Hell Rustica. “I reviewed the projections you sent me. I think they’re too optimistic, given the industry and some of the market indicators, which you should look up and incorporate into the model you’ve created. So. Can you adjust it, using more realistic scenarios?”

“Sure.” A properly cooperative tone. “When do you need it?”

“Today. I need to review it to make sure it’s ready for the meeting on Monday. Plus, it’d be great if you could find the pricing projections for the raw material needed for production of water filters, as well as labor costs in Vietnam and Thailand.”

The bottom half of her face remains friendly and professional. The top half? It’s shooting death laser through her furious eyes. If life were a cartoon, there would be a thought bubble over her head with a lot of f**k yous and assholes.

Perversely enough, the notion heats my blood. I’m f****d up. But then, being normal would be a miracle, given my background.

“I know you’ll be able to knock it out the park, no problem.” I beam. “I’ll wait for the updated Excel in my office. I have a few things to go over anyway.”

See? I’m not a complete asshole. I’m not throwing work in her lap—thereby saving her from a weekend worse than death—then calling it a day and leaving. Not at all. I’ll stay and work as well.

Of course, it’s possible working isn’t one of Amy’s hobbies, but hey, we can’t always do what we want.

Just like I can’t do what I want with Amy.

Chapter Four

Amy

Fuck my life.

No. f**k my boss.

He has to be high to ask me to redo the projections with more “realistic” assumptions. All of them were already done with the most conservative outlook. He knows this. Hell, everyone at GrantEm knows this!

And yet he isn’t happy.

What does he want? A financial apocalypse scenario?

I glare at the closed door to his office. I can’t believe I ever found him hot.

Slowly, my anger builds to a raging fury. I’m an i***t, and all the fancy degrees I’ve collected haven’t helped me see anything more than skin deep.

Because I still find him hot, dammit! Sometimes when I just let go of everything in my head and stare at him, I can feel myself melting like chocolate on an equatorial beach. And that, more than anything, adds to my irritation and frustration. I should find him hideous. Grotesque.

What’s worse—I can’t complain about working for Emmett to anybody. All my friends who graduated with me at Wharton and went into finance are insanely jealous. “You’re so lucky! I’d give up a kidney to be able to work for Emmett Lasker!” And it’s not just from my MBA pals, but everyone in the field.

So I shouldn’t resent the fact that Emmett just torpedoed another of my romantic plans on the same day he asked me pick out a present for his lady friend. Once in a great while—when the stars from twenty galaxies go into alignment—he lets me go home early enough that I can grab a late dinner with Rick. Emmett’s become more demanding in the last six months. He might be thinking I’m senior enough to rise to higher expectations. Or he’s decided he needs to make me work harder to avoid the regret of hiring me. Or maybe he’s realized his two-year carte blanche is about to expire, so he needs to kick it up a notch.

Regardless, these endless late nights will end. No matter how much Emmett regrets hiring me, the headhunters are going to focus on the fact that in the time I’ve worked for him I’ve overseen two IPOs and numerous ventures that got noticed by the national media. I’m going to get amazing job offers with more pay, more benefits and better hours over the next eight weeks. I’m probably going to have an orgasm right here on the office floor when I throw my resignation in Emmett’s face and keep every last penny of my signing bonus.

For that, I can suck it up for the next two months.

I boot my laptop. As it comes back to life, my eye catches the five circles and a star on my calendar. Please. I need to get the hell out of here. Please let the Blaire Group make me a juicy offer.

Then I finally note the sad little 6MAT by the star. Damn it. Should’ve known the trip wasn’t happening when Rick texted me this morning. Our relationship has been anything but smooth sailing. If I were superstitious, I’d suspect we were cursed.

Just look what happened today. I gave everything to Emmett before lunch, and he waited until now to ask for changes.

Stop being upset. Dig into the various markets and statistics and redo the model. Pull out the pricing projections Emmett asked for. The faster I do it, the sooner I can leave.

I open the Excel file I sent to Emmett. Even now, my projections seem fine. I can’t make my assumptions worse than they are without making them about a crappy case of recession, which I don’t think is coming anytime soon. Indicators don’t support that.

Still…

He sees something I don’t, I tell myself, taking a long, calming breath. He sees something I don’t. If I don’t force myself to believe this, I’m going to bash him over the head with my heavy-duty stapler.

Before I start digging into the spreadsheet, I shoot a quick text to Rick. I feel bad for letting him down because he was super excited this morning, but I have no choice. At least I’m not telling him through a Pulse post comment.

–Me: Something came up at work. I think I’m going to be late. Sorry!

After I hit send, I contemplate the huge model. Rick shouldn’t have to wait for hours when he could be heading to Lake Tahoe and getting the maximum value out of the cabin rental. So I type another text and send it to him, all the while doing my best not to cry over the fact that I’m stuck in the office and will have to make the long-ass drive myself later. This seriously is not how I wanted my Friday evening to unfold.

–Me: Actually, this is going to take a while. Why don’t you send me the address of the cabin? I’ll drive out after I’m done. Thanks!

It takes ten hours or so to drive to Lake Tahoe. s**t. Maybe I should just fly, not for myself, but for the safety of other drivers on the road. I can’t be sure I’ll be able to stay awake.

I put the phone away and begin poring over the market data. Still can’t see how my projections were wrong…

Nevertheless, I do manage to find enough indicators to support an absolute worst-case scenario and incorporate them into the model. This should make Emmett happy.

I’m a little over halfway done when my stomach starts to growl. I also can’t suppress a yawn. The numbers in the Excel cells are beginning to blur, bleeding into each other like the Rorschach blots psychologists use for personality tests. Wonder what it means that what I’m seeing looks like… I squint. Huh… Kind of like a p***s.

Maybe it’s a sign that, deep inside, I think Excel is a d**k, which doesn’t make any sense. I actually like Excel. It makes my job a hundred times easier.

I blink and shake my head to wake myself up. It doesn’t help much.

Need sugar. And more coffee.

I head over to the break room to grab a couple of candy bars and a latte from the fancy espresso machine Emmett’s brother Grant put in for his birthday. Emmett and Grant both give presents to the office on their birthdays. It’s a tradition. And probably tax deductible, if I know Emmett.

The floor’s empty except for two other desks—a couple of first-year analysts who report to Grant. They probably screwed something up. Or maybe they were too bullish.

But now even they are closing their laptops. Lucky them. That leaves me alone in the office.

Actually, not alone. Emmett’s still here. I know it because he hasn’t come by my desk, which is on his way to the elevator bank.

I walk into the empty break room, take a large mug that reads SHORT YO MAMA, fill it with fresh latte and grab a Snickers bar and two bags of Skittles.

“Why are you still in the office? You aren’t heading out?”

I turn, and there’s Sasha. We met at Goldman, become friends, went to Wharton together and now are roommates while we work at GrantEm. Unlike me, she works for Grant Lasker, who is a nicer human being than Emmett. She must be ready to go home because she’s carrying her laptop bag and purse.

“Emmett wants some adjustments,” I say.

Sasha looks at my java with pity. “He knows it’s Friday, right?”

“Yes, which is his most despised day of the week. The more he works, the more he thrives.”

She shakes her head.

“And the stuff I’m doing is for the meeting Monday afternoon. It can’t wait,” I say, not to defend Emmett, but to soothe my disappointment over not being able to nap in Rick’s car. Otherwise, I might just cry. Or scream. Or maybe do both at the same time—but not yet. I don’t have a job offer secured, and I haven’t hit the two-year mark, which means I can’t throw my resignation in Emmett’s face.

But in just fifty-six more days, I will. Gleefully.

She wrinkles her nose. “You couldn’t pass it off to an analyst or two?”

“If I’m not seeing what’s wrong, they aren’t going to. And I don’t want Emmett calling me in Tahoe and asking me to come in and redo it myself.”

“Tahoe?”

I sigh. “Rick booked a surprised getaway.”

Sasha raises both eyebrows. “Nice. I didn’t know he had it in him.”

“Yeah, me either. Let’s just say it was indeed a surprise.” And not in a good way, but I can’t discuss boyfriend issues with Sasha right now because it will take time I don’t have.

“That area has some really nice weekend rentals. Really swanky.”

“He likes them homey.” No need to see pictures to know what he would’ve picked. “I told him I’d join him later today. After I’m done. But whatever. Why are you still here? I thought you were heading out to see Gage.”

“We both had a few things to wrap up, so I moved my flight to tomorrow.”

“Price you pay for dating a high-priced Bay Area lawyer.” I haven’t met Gage yet. But then, Sasha hasn’t met most of my boyfriends, including Rick. We work too damn many hours.

“Yeah. Long distance sucks.” She filches a bag of sour gummy worms—her favorite—and stuffs it into her purse. She always takes one from the break room before leaving. Says it helps her control herself. She claims if she goes to a supermarket hungry, she’ll end up cleaning out the aisle. “But you know me. No working from home. Ever.”

I nod. That’s been her longstanding rule. Says it ensures that work doesn’t encroach into her personal life. I adopted it too during my second year at Goldman. It helped avoid burnout while putting in hundred-hour weeks, so I’ve kept it.

“Hey, if you need help, let me know.” She pats my arm in sympathy. Unlike some who might say it as a friendly but empty gesture, she means it.

“Thanks, girl. I will.”

After wishing her a great weekend, I head to my desk. I consume the latte, and caffeine jolts through my system, pushing away the fogginess.

I unwrap the Snickers and pull my phone out of my purse to check for Rick’s directions to the cabin. Multiple texts and five missed calls. This is unusual. He’s never called me over missed or changed plans. Not that he’s done much to hide how he felt. He can whine better than a three-year-old who missed his nap. But he never tries to compete with my career for my attention. That’s the biggest reason we’re still together, despite the times my gut whispered that I needed to cut my losses. Rick and I really aren’t going anywhere. Rebounding with him seemed like a great idea six months ago, especially when my last boyfriend dumped me after I couldn’t make two consecutive dinner dates and said that he needed a girlfriend who would put him first. He didn’t understand that dinner dates won’t pay off my debt.