BOSS: The Wolf

by Jolie Day

  If it’s over either way, why not?

  I might be an asshole with a fucked-up past, but I’m not my father. I’m a reputable businessman who rides motorcycles with his close buddies on the weekend. And I’m not about to let some spoiled, stuck-up vanilla lawyer tell me otherwise.

  “I’m afraid that’s not how business works,” he huffs condescendingly. “This whole ‘dulce periculum’ attitude from the men in your family may work in the biker world, but it’s not appealing to investors.” He waves his hand after dropping the Latin phrase, staring at me with an expectant grin. He probably assumes I don’t know what he’s saying and that I’ll back down, that I’m in over my head.

  “Condemnant quo non intellegunt.” I make a point to sit up very straight, remaining perfectly calm and composed. But there’s a sternness to my voice that brings all of them to rapt attention. “They condemn that which they do not understand. I’m well aware of how business works. There’s no ‘danger is sweet’ attitude being thrown around here. Need I remind you that I am a CEO of a billion-dollar company? Our net worth was in the millions before I stepped up to fill my grandfather’s shoes. The rest of that success is due to me. If the investors have concerns about our personal lives outside of the company, that is to be addressed with me.”

  Eric coughs into his hand covering a laugh.

  I stand up, buttoning my suit jacket and so does Eric. “You would all do well to remember that you’re employed by me, and the same goes for you. If you have opinions or reservations about me, by all means, come see me in New York and talk to me. Speaking of which, now that we’ve wasted an entire day on this poorly handled nonsense, we’ll be going back now.”

  “Mr. Embry…” the main guy protests, not looking so cocky now. “Please, come sit down. Let’s work this out.”

  “I pay you to do that. If you find a solution to this mess, reach out to my assistant. I trust you have her number. Until then, I’ll be seeking out other law services.” We march out before they have a chance to respond.

  Eric claps me on the shoulder once we’re outside the door. “Nice Latin, bro.”

  I smirk. “Guess that stuffy-ass boarding school paid off. Fuckin’ assholes.”

  Eric chuckles. “Yeah. I think you might’ve scared them.”

  “Good. They should be.”

  Once I’m back in my room, I pull my phone from my pocket. I need to hear her voice. I can’t explain it, and I don’t waste any time overthinking it. I just start dialing her number. She finally picks up, but the line’s silent at first.

  “Charlie? It’s Joel.”

  “Oh, uh, hi…yes…hey, Joel.”

  “Everything all right?” I chuckle by accident. It’s so good to hear her voice, and it feels like it’s been longer than a couple of days. But still, I can’t help but be amused by the way she sounds when she’s flustered.

  “Perfectly fine. I assume you’re calling about the annulment paperwork.”

  I’m taken aback by the coldness in her voice, so I decide not to bring anything up about our marriage yet. “Not really. I just wanted to talk to you.”

  She’s silent for a few seconds. “How did the meeting go?”

  “Ah, lawyers.” I scoff. “They’re a nightmare. But we’ll get it sorted out. Actually, I could use your help with something. Remember when I interviewed you, you talked about those Khadi markets in India?”

  Another long silence. “Mmm-hmm, of course.” Her tone gets sharp, like she’s impatient with me.

  “I’ve got several people working on ideas and would like to have you on the team as well. Will you get a presentation together? We need to start working on a solid plan for taking the company into its next phase, to get ready to give the fashion industries something new—the next revolution, I believe you called it?”

  “So, you called to talk about work?”

  “Just briefly.” I run my hands through my hair. “Is it a bad time? We could talk when I get back tomorrow if you prefer.”

  “It’s my day off, Joel,” she shoots back firmly.

  “Of course, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” I’m cut off when I realize she hung up on me.

  I stare at the phone, wondering what else could go wrong today. But I can’t hold it against Charlie. We’re in a strange situation. I send her a text asking if everything’s okay, then place one more call.

  Women.

  I’m not wasting any time to start sorting through this mess, professionally or personally. I don’t like loose ends. They have a way of coming back to bite you in the ass—something my father never understood and why I’m left to clean up his fucking mess as usual.

  I jump in the shower and start thinking maybe this is what I needed—maybe everything had become too easy and stale for me. The current challenges have me feeling alive and awake again, and I’m ready to remind everybody exactly what Joel Embry’s capable of.

  17

  Charlie

  Men.

  I was so looking forward to talking to him, and he has the nerve to call about work? My attention is rapidly turned from staring down at my phone to staring at my calendar and doing repetitive period math. It’s absurd. It’s only been a month since Joel first pulled over to help me on the side of the road.

  And now?

  Now, I’m in the throes of a pregnancy scare.

  Nora’s comment was just an off-handed one. It shouldn’t have carried any weight at all. Just a not-so-funny joke (okay, it was pretty funny, but only if I’m not pregnant) about what could make matters worse at this point. And it would have just been that, if I weren’t several days late when aunt flow normally shows up like clockwork.

  I decide to take a test.

  It will be negative. I’m certain of it. One hundred percent.

  It’s just my anxiety about this whole situation that has me running late, and once I see that negative confirmation, I’ll start my period. I grab my purse and slip on a pair of shoes when another wave of nausea hits.

  Okay, so it’s not just the lingering paranoia from Nora’s joke that has me paranoid. It’s this relentless nausea and the fact that my breasts feel like they’re balloons full of needles. That and the fact Joel and I had sex twice…that I can remember.

  As I walk to the store, I’m kicking myself for that. How could I have been so reckless? I told Joel I was on the pill, and I am. I was taking it regularly. I could swear I did. Or was I? At least I tried to. Okay, maybe except the two times I was out partying with Nora, but other than that, I’m positive I never missed. Maybe I should have taken Mrs. Loughty up on her offer to set me up with that gynecologist after all, even if it was only for a patient-doctor relationship.

  My job search kind of bumped the task of getting a new doctor sorted out to the bottom of my to-do list. I wasn’t having sex, anyway. What did it matter? Or so I thought. I should have been more careful, which I admit, I wasn’t.

  The moments (or hours upon hours) we spent together have been replaying in my mind on repeat ever since they happened, but I’m positive the quality of the sex doesn’t have anything to do with whether or not they result in pregnancy. The first time, it’s not like I expected to run smack-dab into Joel, fully nude. I was being impulsive, just going with the moment. I mean, hell…He was naked for God’s sake. And I couldn’t help myself. It was as if something came over me, a moth seeking a flame. And boy, was he a flame. He’d set my entire body ablaze in an ecstasy I hadn’t known existed.

  The second time, my judgment was a tiny, teensy bit impaired. Okay, I was black-out drunk. Drunk enough to marry the guy…which begs the age-old question: Is it possible one acts upon their true passions and inhibitions while intoxicated? Flashes of us smiling come to the forefront of my mind, and I wince. Had he been happy, too? Or was it only his drunken state? And then, my question resurfaces. No. I shake my head to myself. It can’t be, however unfortunate. It doesn’t matter that I want him. I’ll not entertain the idea of being with a man who is unavailable and not the
“relationship” type.

  I’m furious and stomping by the time I reach the market on the corner. His last little phone call didn’t help. Here I am freaking out over our accidental marriage and now a potential, however unlikely pregnancy—and he has the nerve to call and start making work demands. “That’s why you don’t get involved with your boss, Charlie,” I chastise myself under my breath, as if I haven’t already reminded myself of this fact twenty times over.

  I stand under the fluorescent lights, still fighting back the sick feeling in my stomach and staring down the rows of aisles. It suddenly occurs to me I have no idea where to find a pregnancy test. I’ve never had to buy one before. I’m positive I bumped into Nora the first time we met when she was standing in the aisle with pregnancy tests, focused on studying the backside of the packaging. We’d instantly bonded over the fact that she wasn’t just holding a pregnancy test in one hand, but a pack of condoms in the other. Where was the isle again? It looks like they’ve rearranged the place.

  My gaze drifts over to the cashiers working—a creepy-looking middle-aged guy and a cranky-looking old grandma type—neither of which I want to face and ask about the tests. I’ll have to find them on my own. Shouldn’t be too hard. The pharmacy aisle perhaps?

  I scan the shelves of cold medicine, thermometers, and band-aids with no luck. It spits me out among the tampons and pads that I so desperately wish I were buying instead right now. Finally, I see the selection of pregnancy tests—all with maternal-looking women on pink boxes. I don’t have a clue on how to pick one out. So, I study the backside of the packaging with instructions. I find myself wishing there were a black box with a distraught-looking woman on it, maybe paired with the word “oops” in big giant letters across the front. That’s the pregnancy test that I need.

  I consider buying the cheapest test available. That would be the smart thing to do since I’m sure it will be negative. “Yeah, right.” I sigh. I take deep breaths and remind myself this is all just an exercise in easing my mind. There’s nothing to worry about, so which test I pick doesn’t really matter. But if I’m going to do this, I might as well make sure it’s accurate.

  I pick one Nora had held—it’s one of the pricier tests—a box that includes two just for good measure. After I get my negative result, I’ll stash the other one away for the next time I find myself married to my boss and possibly pregnant with his baby.

  I’m nearly in the clear as I approach the checkout line. I think I should purchase something else to avoid the embarrassment of placing one lone box of pregnancy tests on the counter, but my stomach is still too upset to even allow me to eye over the snack selection.

  A magazine maybe—one I can discreetly wrap around the box. That’s bloody perfect! I kneel at the rack to pick one out when suddenly I hear a voice that paralyzes me.

  “Charlotte! Daaarling, is that you?”

  I immediately know that sweet, creaky old voice as that of none other than Mrs. Loughty’s. Inside I’m gobsmacked—no! It’s not me! You’re mistaken…please, please keep moving along. But while I’m frozen in horror, she reaches down and places a hand on my shoulder, making it impossible to pretend I didn’t hear her.

  I snatch up the closest magazine (ironically one with the headline: 25-Year-Old Giving Birth to a 150lb Alien Baby!), and attempt to fold it around the test, then pull an extremely awkward maneuver of sliding it behind my back as I stand up and turn to face her.

  “Mrs. Loughty!” I laugh and smile, but my eyes are so wide I know I look like a madwoman. “Why, hello!”

  “Fancy running into you here, dear,” she gushes, moving too close for comfort, almost as if she’s trying to catch a glimpse of what I’m hiding behind my back.

  “Oh, yes…fancy indeed.”

  “Your mother tells me you found a job.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” I nod, tightening my hands around the box and magazine, clinging onto them for dear life. If she sees this blasted thing in my hand, she’ll tell my mother immediately (not because she wants to get me into trouble, but out of overconcern), and then I’m completely buggered. I’ll have to tell her everything. “Yes, I did find a job. At Embry Gear.”

  As I say it, all I can think about is Nora calling me “Mrs. Embry” and it turns my cheeks bright red. Then there’s the swimming feeling in my gut that’s only growing worse. I can’t decide if it’d be worse for her to see the test or for me to retch on her right here in the middle of the store.

  “That’s lovely, dear!” She beams. “Oh, you modern women. I think it’s wonderful that the job thing worked out, though I do think finding a husband instead still would have been a better investment of your time and energy.”

  My lips tighten and twist. If she only knew!

  “Have I mentioned my friend Linda’s son? Herbert’s a gynecologist. He’s such a handsome stud. Only divorced three times.”

  The irony of it is enough to nearly make me faint. But I’m quickly distracted by the slipping feeling between my fingers.

  “She said he’s single and ready to mingle.” Mrs. Loughty winks. “If you know what I mean.”

  The glossy magazine cover is doing a poor job of gripping the box encased inside, and it’s starting to feel dangerously close to spitting it out on the floor right in front of her.

  “Well, speaking of mingling, Mrs. Loughty, I’m actually just popping in here on a quick break, and I should really get going…”

  “Oh, that’s perfectly fine. I should get going, too, dear. Let’s chat while we wait in the queue.”

  My heart starts pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to jump up through my throat. I cannot, under any circumstances, find myself at the checkout with Mrs. Loughty standing next to me. I usher her in front of me in the queue, but I know once we’re rung up, she’ll want to walk me out, too.

  “You know, I had a job when I first met Mr. Loughty.” She starts explaining without a care in the world.

  Soon she’s prattling off her whole life story, yet again, and it truly was somewhat interesting the first five times I heard it. But now I have the time it takes two customers to check out to figure out how the hell to get myself out of this mess. I consider dropping the test to the floor and sliding it away with my foot—so I only have the alien-birth magazine in my hand by the time we get to the cashier.

  But that would do nothing to help ease my mind about this mess. I’d just have to repeat this whole disaster all over again at another store. There’s also the risk that she’d see the test before I could kick it away, or the dreaded kind passerby who might pick it up and bring it back to me. I can see it now—the expression on Mrs. Loughty’s face as they hand it over saying, “You dropped this pregnancy test, ma’am.” It’s hard to imagine her owning a cell phone, but if she does, I know she’d pull it out right then and there and call my mother on the spot.

  Mrs. Loughty is still rambling on, all of her words a blur to me, and I’m quickly running out of time. She’s oblivious to the pained expression on my face, but the cashier isn’t, and he’s beginning to shoot me the strangest of glances. I keep trying to respond with a friendly smile, but my muscles are so clenched from stress it only makes me appear more insane.

  Just when things seem like they can’t get any worse, Mrs. Loughty affectionately places her hand on my back as she speaks to move us forward in the queue. She nearly makes the test pop right out of my hand, and it’s enough to send me flying back from her several feet with a terrible shriek. A stack of candy bars goes spilling across the floor as I bump into a rack behind me. Following the sounds of their wrappers sliding along the floor, there’s a stark silence with Mrs. Loughty, and every customer and cashier within a few feet gawking at me.

  “Are you all right, dear?”

  “Absobloodylootely! Ha-ha.” I laugh awkwardly. “Fine! I just…I just remembered something. Uh…something I forgot! I have to go back, right now. But it was so lovely running into you and…I, uh…I just have to go, so see you later!” I’m practical
ly shouting at her through my nerves as I take off, maneuvering the test back around to the front of my coat.

  As I fly to the back of the store, fast enough that I’m certain she can’t keep up after me should she decide to follow, I know that at the very least, she’ll be alerting my mum to my curious behavior. I can hear her expressing concern that I’m cracking under the stress of this work visa, and that she’s worried about me. Whatever conversation ensues between my mother and me afterwards is still far better than what could have happened if Mrs. Loughty saw the test.

  I duck behind an aisle filled with massive amounts of toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and disinfectants in the far back corner, ignoring the customers who pass by, staring me down like a crazy person. That makes at least ten people who saw me today and thought I was cray-cray, and truthfully, they’re right. But I’m willing to let them think what they want if it means avoiding blowing my cover to Mrs. Loughty who keeps looking to see where I am.

  I hide and don’t come out until a full five minutes have passed after Mrs. Loughty exits the store. From there, I rush to the counter and check out faster than I ever have in my life, hoping and praying not to run into anyone else. Then I break into a full-on sprint home. Of course, I have the misfortune of almost bumping into Mrs. Loughty yet again (is bumping into people some sort of curse?), but thankfully the poor dear is so wrapped up talking to the pigeons on the street corner, rifling through her bag for breadcrumbs, that she doesn’t notice me.

  I run right past her and don’t stop until I’m locked safely in my apartment’s bathroom. Phewww.

  After catching my breath and recovering from the entire ordeal with my back braced against the closed door, I’m still left with the task of actually taking the test. I stare at it in the plastic bag on the counter wishing this weren’t my life right now. But…it will be negative. I just have to tell myself that over and over, and maybe that alone will make it come true.