Bending My Straight Boss

Why, Mr. Greco?

Alessandro’s point of view.

Of course, he’s back to being an arrogant ass. I just hope it's not because of last night. I mean, he asked all those questions, so it can’t be. Right?

Anyway, I don’t give a s**t. It’s not like I’m not used to it. But now he has taken it to another level. He hasn’t said a word to me today. He even went and took some files on his own, only to avoid talking to me, and it’s starting to push every f*****g single button I have.

I decide to let it be for now. Maybe it’s not about me, maybe he’s having some personal problems. Right?

It’s been three days since we had that talk, and every day is getting worse than the day before. I’m starting to feel useless. He does everything on his own just to avoid being near me. And today has been a busy day, but he didn’t ask for my help. He didn’t even greet me, for f**k's sake! And it was physically painful not to tell him to f**k off and punch him into next week.

I mean, he wasn’t quite talkative before, but he would at least ask questions about files. But he doesn’t even look at me. It’s annoying and I don’t get why. He asked and I answered. I guess that he had an idea of what I could think about under the shower. You don’t jerk off thinking about how your hot boss types at his laptop. Even though he is hot when he types. And sweet. When he frowns and---not the point.

It’s time to go home and I decide that enough is enough, and, as usual, without knocking, I barge into his office, and without asking permission, I take a seat on the chair across from him, determined to clear the air.

“Okay. Tell me what’s wrong,” I demand, and he answers coldly without sparing me a glance.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Really? You didn’t say a word to me yesterday, and you haven’t said one today, and you haven’t looked at me once. I know that it’s not in your nature to give the time of day to someone for more than 60 seconds, but still, not even one word, not even one glance?” I ask, desperate to get an answer, but he doesn’t say anything. He continues typing as if I’m not even here.

“Are you homophobic?” I ask in an exasperated tone of voice, and he finally looks at me. The look on his face takes me by surprise. I expected him to look at me with disgust or anger, but no. He looks at me as if I said the stupidest thing a human could ever say.

“Of course not.” The tone of his voice is as flabbergasted by the allegation as his eyes are, confusing the s**t out of me.

“Then what is it?! I mean, I don’t think that it’s about the conversation we had. You asked me. And I guess that you expected an answer like that. No one strokes themselves thinking that their hot boss is in a meeting. Okay, maybe thinking that he sucks his d**k during a meeting, but... you get the point!” My voice gets louder with each word as all the anger and irritation that have gathered over the last few days start to come to the surface.

I wait for an answer, an explanation, but he just looks back at his damn f*****g laptop.

“Just tell me already! Did I do something wrong?” I snap, but he doesn’t even bother to look at me.

“I know what’s wrong…” I say after a few minutes of contemplating in silence what could make him act like this, and his head shoots up, and he looks at me... scared?

“You do?” he asks with wide eyes filled with fear, and I decide that yes, my guess is right.

“Yes! You are homophobic, and of course, you can’t fire me. You’re probably afraid that I’ll sue you. But you don’t have to be afraid, because I’ll make it easy for you and quit,” I say, and he lets out a big breath of relief, then looks back at his laptop that now I’m dying to break. And I don’t know why, but that breath of relief hurt. f**k! No! I’m okay.

“I told you I’m not homophobic. I had a rough couple of days,” he replies, and I scoff in disbelief.

“If I didn’t know you better, I would’ve probably believed you. I arrange your meetings, remember? You don’t have a personal life. So the only reason is me. I know that you don’t want me here, and I’ll quit. You know that until tomorrow I can have another job, so that’s not a problem for me. But if you have an ounce of respect for me, you’ll admit it.” I try not to let him see or hear the anger mixed with hurt in my voice, hurt that I don’t f*****g know where it comes from, but right now I don’t have time to look into that.

I’m waiting for him to answer me, even though I know the answer, and I’m positive that it will hurt to hear him say it, but something in me needs to hear it. Maybe the part that respects and looks up to him, just so I can stop respecting and looking up to him.

“Yes. It’s because of you. Satisfied?” he admits through clenched teeth, and as I expected, a sharp pain hits my chest, and the respect that I had for him disappears, leaving behind a bitter taste.

“I knew it!” I exclaim in a sad and disappointed voice, get up, and he looks at me puzzled.

“I’ll go and write my resignation,” I answer the silent question in his eyes, turn and go.

I shouldn’t be bothered by his reaction because he’s not the first homophobe I’ve met, not the first who avoided me as soon as he learned that I’m gay as if I had the plague. I’ve had worse—much worse—from some of my family, but still... it hurts.

We never talked about this subject, but then again, we didn’t talk about anything but work, but I thought that after building such a huge company on his own, with no help, he would be more open-minded and not judge by that minor fact.

Maybe the fact that he never treated me differently due to my skin color made me respect him more and gave me the impression that he wouldn’t treat me differently or judge me if he knew my s****l orientation.

But it looks like I was f*****g wrong!

I push all these thoughts away and start typing my resignation when I hear the door to my office open. I know that it’s Gina, the crazy chick that makes my days here a little better, but right now I’m not in the mood to listen to her jokes.

“Gina, I’m busy,” I say without looking up, and with an even voice, so she can’t see or hear my distress because there’s no way in Hell that I’ll tell her what happened.

“It’s not Gina.” The first shock comes from the deep, husky voice. The second comes when I look up to make sure my ears aren’t deceiving me and see the man in question standing in front of me.

“Okay, either I’m seeing things, or my boss is in my office for the first time in 9 months,” I say while my brain still tries to comprehend that Mr. Dario Russo is currently in my office.

He chuckles at my reaction, then comes over and sits on the chair across from my desk.

“That’s a strange view,” I state, and he chuckles lightly, almost making me smile. Keyword ALMOST!

“As you said, miracles happen,” he replies, and I take my eyes off him, because I’m getting distracted by the shadow of his smile, and I need to be angry.

“What do you want? I’m busy,” I say in an irritated voice that tells him to f**k off, then do what he does and continue typing what I was typing, that being my resignation, but I’m interrupted when he leans over and closes my laptop.

What the f**k does he want now?!