Boss Man Bridegroom

by Quinn, Meghan

  Her face pales.

  Her mouth falls open.

  And it really does look like she might have a nervous breakdown.

  “Why on earth would you do that?” Linus asks.

  We both stare her down and even with the inquisition waiting for her answer, I thoughtfully observe her. She might look like she’s in a state of panic, but what really intrigues me—besides her red-framed glasses and the beautiful eyes that are hidden under them—is the way she gains her composure, stiffens her back, and straightens her shoulders, showing me she’s not about to take crap from anyone.

  Putting on a good face, she smoothly says, “I thought this man was being rude about office supplies, and he needed to be set straight before ruining the day for others.”

  “Oh God.” Linus slaps his hand to his forehead and shakes it, probably humiliated at this point.

  But I don’t waver. I continue to stare at Charlee, observing, taking her in, waiting to see if she cracks.

  Impressively, she doesn’t.

  She holds strong, firm with her answer, and that’s when I know without doubt.

  She’s the girl I need.

  Unfortunately.

  I might regret this, no, I’m pretty sure I’ll regret this, given the fact that my mind is warning me off from what I’m about to do, but sometimes my gut outweighs my mind and right now, my gut is winning—she’s the one I need.

  Standing from the table, I button my suit jacket and say, “You’re hired.”

  I doubt two words have ever shocked her more in her life.

  “What?” Her jaw hits the table.

  “What?” Linus asks at the same time while snapping his head up.

  Ignoring them both, I adjust the collar of my shirt and then the cuffs of my sleeves. “Starting salary is two fifty. It’s low, but I have yet to see you prove yourself. We offer a very comprehensive benefits package that will be introduced to you on Monday. Be at the office eight sharp. Go to HR, they’ll be waiting for you.” I look at Linus. “Thank you, Linus. It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

  Without another word, I take off, needing to get the hell out of this conference area and away from all things stationery.

  * * *

  “Thanks for meeting with me today.” Bram, my best friend, my frat brother, my soul mate, steeples his fingers together and takes a seat at the round kitchenette table in his apartment . . . that he shares with my sister.

  This past year, Bram started dating my sister after apparently pursuing her for many years and when I say many, I mean ten. He was pining after her for ten long years and he finally made his move. It was a rocky start, and when I found out . . . boy, did I have words about it.

  I looked my sister, Julia, straight in the eyes and I told her not to fuck anything up with Bram because he’s the best man I know, and I wouldn’t stand for her breaking his heart.

  Not what you were expecting, were you? Thought I’d be the overbearing brother who threatens any man’s life who comes within twenty feet of my sister? Not this guy.

  I was Team Bram. I couldn’t bear it if his heart was broken, not just because I love the guy and I’ve seen him naked more times than I care to admit, but because when he’s upset . . . he’s a whiny baby.

  You can’t get the dude away from you.

  A fucking cling-on, he has no ability to pick himself up, brush himself off, and move along. Instead, he is glued to the people he can rely on, which would be me and our other best friend, Roark.

  “Will ya get on with it?” Roark asks, leaning back in his chair, a tumbler of milk in his hand.

  Yeah, milk.

  Roark McCool, sports agent to all the mega stars on the baseball field, basketball court, and football field, he used to bleed Guinness from his veins but ever since he met his girl, Sutton, he’s changed.

  In a big way.

  He’s still the surly Irishman with an accent thick enough that sometimes you can’t understand a damn word he says, but now instead of drinking a glass of whiskey in the morning, he’s apparently switched to milk.

  “Before I get started, can I get you some more milk?” Bram asks, pointing to Roark’s half-empty glass.

  He swirls the white liquid, downs the rest like a shot, and then slams the tumbler on the table. “Do you have chocolate syrup to go with it?”

  Bram holds his finger to the sky. “You came to the right place.” Turning to me, Bram asks, “Can I get the big man a chocolate milk as well?”

  Jesus Christ, when did this become our lives?

  Just a year ago, we were guzzling beer down, our fingers coated in Dorito dust while we screamed at the television, rooting for our favorite teams. We might be sophisticated and rich-as-fuck businessmen, but when we’re together, taking a second to breathe from the fast lives we live, we slip back into our frat-boy roles.

  Which I enjoy, but ever since two thirds of our group started dating and became doting boyfriends, our dynamic has changed.

  We’re still there for each other, but instead of sharing a family sized bag of Doritos and clinking our beer bottles together, we’re apparently going to look over tux options that correspond with wedding flowers while drinking goddamn chocolate milk.

  Giving in, I say, “Yeah, I’ll take one.” Because, why not at this point? It’s not like we’re ever going go back to the old days. Might as well enjoy our evolving friendship.

  “That a boy.” Bram walks over to the kitchen and starts pouring large glasses of milk. “If only I had ice cream, I’d make us milkshakes. Ughh,” he groans. “Missed opportunity. That’s okay, we’ll make do with what we have.” He fiddles around the kitchen. “Linus told me you hired a new assistant. Starts tomorrow.”

  “Ya did?” Roark asks, looking shocked. “I thought you were destined to having that eejit setting up your schedule in the worst way possible.”

  I rub my forehead with frustration. “Don’t even get me started with the temp. He set up a meeting for me yesterday to talk with Gwendolyn Havershire . . . for ten minutes at a fucking office supply convention. I wanted to murder him. And I couldn’t cancel, so I went.”

  “That’s where you met your assistant though, right?” Bram asks, plopping a string of chocolate syrup into each glass.

  “Yes. She was hanging out with Linus. Used to work for Harold Danvers.”

  “Oh shit, I’ve worked with her a few times,” Roark says. “I remember being super impressed. She’s just getting a job now?”

  “I guess so.” I shrug. “I didn’t really ask her many questions.”

  “You hired her based off Harold’s recommendation?” Bram asks, stirring each glass and then placing a red and white striped paper straw inside.

  “The fact that she worked for Harold had me interested, but it was how she called me a turd nugget that really set me on fire to hire her.”

  Roark laughs while Bram hands us each a glass of milk with confusion in his brow. “What do you mean she called you a turd nugget? How dare she insult my little Rathy bear.”

  “Don’t fucking call me that.” I sip my chocolate milk and hate to admit but, damn, this hits the spot. I hide my reaction though, because I don’t want the boys to know I’m apparently going soft as well.

  I explain to them how I “met” Charlee, our little dispute at the entrance of the convention, and her very mature name-calling.

  “Sounds like my kind of gal,” Roark says, sucking down his milk faster than the rest of us.

  “The best part of it all was that she didn’t back down. Yeah, she called me names and she lied about being Mrs. Havershire—”

  “Which was a bold move,” Bram says, “but admirable given her love for office supplies and that you were being a piss parade and ruining it for her.”

  “Exactly. She didn’t cower, she didn’t duck away, she held strong and stood her ground. That’s what I want in an assistant. Someone who isn’t going to take any crap but still be nice while turning you down. Plus, her organization precedes her. He
ll, she was licking her lips at the prospect of getting a new planner, and that has Maria Kondo written all over it.”

  “I roll my T-shirts differently because of Maria,” Bram says thoughtfully. “So much more drawer space.”

  Roark gives Bram an annoyed look and then turns to me. “She starts tomorrow. That’s good.” A smarmy grin spreads across his face. “Is she pretty?”

  “Why do you care?” I ask. “You have a girl.”

  “I’m aware. I’m asking for your own sake. Want to make sure you don’t get yourself into trouble again.”

  I work my jaw side to side, my temper flaring.

  Yes, I might have fucked my assistant before. And yes, it turned into a relationship and then yes, she ended up breaking my goddamn heart and leaving me without a competent worker. But, I swore I would never do that again.

  Ever.

  Charlee Cox might be gorgeous, and she might have the perfect hips to grab on to when fucking, but she’s also completely off-limits. I’m more mature now, I’ve learned from my mistakes, and that is one mistake I will never, ever make again.

  “She’s average,” I say, a bold-faced lie and both my friends catch it before they throw their heads back and laugh.

  Fuckers.

  I sip my chocolate milk while they continue to laugh.

  Bram is the first to calm down.

  “Average. Okay. That means he already wants to fuck her.”

  “Easily,” Roark agrees. “Dude, is that why you hired her?”

  “Fuck. Off. You know I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I hired her because she comes highly recommended and held her ground when I challenged her. I liked that.”

  “And you probably liked her boobs too.”

  “Don’t be a fucking moron,” I say to Roark, even though, yeah, they were perky, but that doesn’t mean anything.

  Off. Limits.

  “Are you going to test her out, be a dick like you are to all of your assistants until they prove themselves?”

  “It’s the only way I know how to test them.”

  “Or,” Bram says, “you can be nice and make them feel like they’re appreciated. That’s how I got Linus to be so loyal.”

  I shake my head. “That’s not me and you know it. If I was nice to her right off the bat, everyone in the office would already think I was fucking her.”

  “Valid point.” Roark taps the table. “Consistency is key.”

  “So this poor girl is going to be run through the gauntlet starting tomorrow?” Bram asks. I nod. “Look out, Charlee, you have no idea what you just signed up for.”

  I couldn’t have said it better myself.

  Chapter Three

  CHARLEE

  “Hi, Grandma.”

  “Oh, my goodness. Hi, Chuckie. How’s my beautiful girl?”

  Chuckie is the lovely term of endearment my grandma decided to give me at a very young age. My grandpa’s name was Charlie and of course, she used to call him Chuck, therefore, I’m Chuckie.

  “I’m good. I wanted to let you know I got your birthday brunch invite. The old broad still has some beautiful cursive in her.”

  She chuckles. “Young broad, honey, young broad. And thank you. How did I do on the raunchy factor?”

  Every other weekend, we get together and do hand lettering together. When I started showing her my different styling of phrases, she was immediately hooked and has been carefully applying vastly inappropriate words and phrases on her correspondence, especially for a soon-to-be eighty-year-old.

  What I love about my grandma though is that she’s young in mind and body despite her age. She’s hip, in with all the cool lingo, has a vast array of weekly activities, and is always keeping herself busy. She likes to call herself the Silver Queen of Long Island because she pretty much rules the seniors in her senior center, constantly leading them in aerobics classes—Jane Fonda style, headbands included—walks around the island, as well as some serious puzzle competitions. I’ve been a part of a few, and I’m not kidding when I say my hand was almost gnawed off by the sharpest pair of dentures I’ve ever seen when I was being too slow with one edge.

  Thinking back to her card that read “Brunch time, Bitch” I say, “It was a new feeling, having my grandmother call me bitch. Sparked something exciting inside of me.”

  “I knew it would.” She chuckles. “I focused on highlighting the B word. Ronald Gaffrey walked in on me at the rec center while I was outlining in green and he sneered. When he turned around, I flipped him the bird.”

  “Ugh, Ronald Gaffrey is such a pill.”

  “A giant horse pill,” Grandma replies. “So, are you calling me to tell me about a new man you ran into at the convention? What did I tell you about being in your best light? Did it work?”

  I ran into a man all right, a brute of a man with a grumpus attitude who hired me while scowling. Can’t feel better about that . . .

  “I didn’t meet anyone.”

  “Drats. I thought that was going to work. You know I’m not getting any younger. I need to see you walking down the aisle, Chuckie. I still think about how Chris almost tore my heart out of my chest.”

  You weren’t the only one, Grandma.

  Chris tore out everyone’s hearts by not showing up at the altar, but instead, hopping on the plane to go on our honeymoon.

  Without me.

  When I finally got ahold of him to ask why, it was a simple answer. He didn’t really love me and didn’t know how to tell me.

  Yep. Stand-up guy that one.

  I don’t love you, but hey, plan the wedding, spend all the money, and then on the actual wedding day, I won’t show up. Ass. Hole. It would have been much simpler if he’d broken up with me instead of proposing. And cheaper. And less humiliating.

  But he felt the pressure from his parents to get married, and even though I hate his guts, I kind of understand what he meant. I feel the pressure from my grandma on a weekly basis.

  “I know, but something good did come from the conference.”

  “Oh, sweet goodness, did you get a job?”

  I knew she’d be excited. She worries about me all the time, and I know it’s because she was one of the deciding factors for me staying in the city when I was let go. She took it personally as her fault. She’s been trying to find me a job ever since through her “contacts.” The only interview I got was with her neighbor’s son who is an anal doctor and I just . . . I couldn’t. I admire anyone who wants to work with human’s asses for a living, but I am not one of those people. I mean, how do you address his patients as they leave looking like they’ve just had something stuck up their rear end? Hope you have an ass-some day.

  “I did. A really amazing one.”

  “Well, slap my arthritic hip, that’s wonderful, Chuckie. Tell me all about it.”

  Smiling to myself, I sit back in my couch, cup of hot chocolate on my knee and I say, “Well, it’s an executive assistant job . . .”

  * * *

  What a beautiful morning.

  The smell of sewer wafts in the air as I walk to my new place of employment, enjoying a donut from the bodega around the corner. A new day, and a new chapter is ahead of me.

  I called my parents Saturday night after I spoke with my grandma to let them know the news.

  They were ecstatic. Being from Upstate New York, Schenectady to be exact, they were always worried about me living the fast-paced life in the city, and that worry increased with the merger. I told them not to worry despite them begging me to come back to Schenectady where I could work for their podiatrist friend at the front desk.

  No, thank you.

  I knew what I was doing and even though funds got pretty low, I never let them know. But now, nothing to worry about because my salary is OH MY GOD good. Mr. Danvers loved me, but he didn’t love me that much. And when Mr. Westin said it was low to start, I held back my scoff.

  Yeah, okay, that’s low . . . surrrre. How will I ever live?

  Sunday night, Mama bought her
self a delightful steak to celebrate the night before my first day. And . . . I got the truffle butter to go with it. I slathered that gooey yumminess and suckled on cultured cuisine’s teat.

  It was everything I could have asked for.

  Now that I’m here, ready for a new day at a new job, I could not be more excited.

  I wonder what it’s going to be like? Mr. Danvers’s office was always so pleasant. Fresh flowers were always at my desk, I had many friends on multiple floors, and working for a man who appreciated me was icing on top of the cake.

  Casual Fridays were always a win.

  Plus Mr. Danvers worshipped the ground I walked on and trusted my opinion.

  Hopefully, I can have an impact on Westin Enterprises like I did for Mr. Danvers.

  Before I walk into the building that I will soon call my new work home, I lick the glaze off my fingers from my donut and then quickly wipe them with a wet wipe from my purse. Clean and ready to go, I take my phone out of my purse and stop a lovely looking lady who doesn’t seem to be in a rush like the other people around me.

  “Would you mind taking a picture of me?” I ask her. “It’s my first day at my new job and I’d love to have a photo to commemorate the moment.”

  “Of course,” the lady says with a kind smile. “Congratulations. What a wonderful day to start a job on. The sun is bright and shining past all these concrete buildings.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” Smiling, I step back and hold on to my purse, giving the best side pose I can muster.

  “Got it.” The lady hands me my phone back. “Enjoy your new job. Knock them dead.”

  “Thank you.” I wave to her, grateful for a pleasant New Yorker this morning.

  On the way up to the HR floor, I quickly post my picture to Instagram, tagging Westin Enterprises of course and then put my phone back in my purse. HR is on the sixty-first floor, but I’ll be working on the eighty-eighth. Sounds so regal. From working with Linus and Mr. Danvers of course, I already know Westin Enterprises isn’t only invested in real estate but multiple facets of different businesses that fall under the umbrella of the powerful conglomerate that Rath built at a young age. Investing his money consistently has brought him to the point that he has ten different branches of Westin Enterprises as well as a thriving philanthropic sector that Rath spends most of his time focusing on.