Boss I Love To Hate

by Kayla, Mia

  “Eight,” I corrected her, feeling even more pathetic.

  I had counted down the days since I last saw him, the days since our breakup conversation. Every day, I thought the ache would lessen. Time heals all, they said. But, for me, unfortunately, it hadn’t.

  “Okay, eight. Which proves my point even more. It’s time for you to move on.”

  I pushed myself off the couch and headed to my fridge. I’d eat my misery away in a pint of Baskin Robbins. The good thing about looking like I still had to go through puberty was that I didn’t gain weight, and I could eat whatever I damn well pleased.

  “How could Carrie do this? How could she do this to me?” I whined. I tore the ice cream carton open with my teeth. I jammed a spoonful of Jamoca Almond fudge in my mouth. “She’s one of my best friends. She couldn’t even ask me if it was okay to invite him? I mean, she doesn’t even have to ask me because she knows I would have said no.”

  I stuffed more ice cream in my mouth. Maybe a brain freeze would hit, and I could stop thinking for a minute.

  “This is your own fault, you know,” Ava said.

  “I hate you.” I knew Ava was right, but I didn’t want to own up to that fact.

  “Well, it is. You wanted Jeff to be friends with everyone. You wanted him to get along with everyone. Now, look. After jamming him in our throats for years, he and Tim got close.”

  I pushed at my temple, finally feeling a brain freeze coming on, but it did nothing to all the thoughts running through my brain.

  Why did Ava always have to be my voice of reason?

  Then, it hit me. I lifted my head from the carton. “Did they double date? Have Tim and Carrie met the new girl?”

  Ice filled my veins. That would be the ultimate betrayal and mean the termination of our friendship.

  Ava’s silence only confirmed it, and I left the ice cream carton on the kitchen counter to mope again.

  “This is grounds for quitting her wedding.” I was being absolutely serious now. Dead serious. I didn’t care that we were weeks away from her wedding and that we had eight years of friendship behind us.

  “Sonia …” I could hear the pity in her tone. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m not sure if they double dated.”

  “Who cares?” I stabbed the spoon into the ice cream. “She’s still invited. After all I’ve done for that little wench. I introduced Carrie to Tim. How could she?” I paced my apartment back and forth and forth and back. It didn’t take me that long to get from one side of the room to the other, given it was only seven hundred square feet from end to end. My bedroom wasn’t even a room, more like a closet, but it was in downtown Chicago, so I was proud of my closet.

  “Sonia, you have to pretend you’re okay. For fuck’s sake, save face.”

  I could tell she was losing patience with me.

  Once again, I found myself on the couch, facedown this time, like I was dead or dying. Maybe it would be better if I were.

  “Listen to me.” Her stern, authoritative tone pushed through. “Do you want him to think you are not over him? Do you? Even if you are not, he’s moved on. Pretend that you have, too.”

  I shook my head against the cushions, feeling the microfiber against my cheeks. “Oh, yeah, so easy,” I huffed. “So, what do you want me to do? Get the finest guy alive to go with me? Show up to her wedding and pretend he’s my boyfriend and that we’re madly in love and I’ve moved on?” The laugh that roared out of me was like one from a rated-R Halloween movie, one that could raise people from the dead.

  “Yes.”

  Her response had me shooting up from the couch.

  “Yes? Okay, yeah, right.”

  She must think I was nuts. No, she was the nuts one. I was merely being sarcastic.

  “It’s either that or let him know that you’re still pining over him. He broke your heart, and you’re going to make him regret it. It’s the sweetest type of revenge. Been there. Done that.”

  I blinked and peered over at my ice cream melting on the counter. Damn it. That was my only pint.

  I vacantly stared hard at the now-mushy puddle that was supposed to be my solace. I felt like my life was mush.

  Why is life so unfair?

  “Are you listening to me?” Ava’s voice heightened.

  You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

  “Fine.” I sighed, resigned. “Say I even consider this plan. Where do I find the finest guy alive? Tinder?” An evil laugh escaped me.

  “Hell if I know. Chris has a beer gut the size of Illinois. I’m a personality type of girl. Good-looking guys? I wouldn’t even know where to look.”

  A slow migraine crept up from my neck to my temples. “I don’t know.”

  I wasn’t sure about this. Any of this. There were so many obstacles to overcome.

  1. Find a good-looking man.

  2. Be secure enough to approach said good-looking man.

  3. Propose this absurd arrangement to this stranger because, hell knows, I know no one who was model fine.

  Why will a perfectly good-looking stranger even want to do this?

  I can buy you dinner.

  Like that would work.

  Most grown men could buy their own dinner. If not, then I wouldn’t want to be taking them as my so-called date. It was weird, picking up a grown-ass man from his mother’s home.

  “You’re doing this,” she insisted, pulling out all her positivity. “We can make this happen, so commit to the plan. Now, we have to start looking.”

  A weariness filled my bones, and the mental fatigue rendered me unresponsive. I was too exhausted to try but even more exhausted to argue.

  * * *

  Brad

  After dinner, Sarah helped Mason with the dishes while I ushered Mary up the stairs.

  “I’m going to get you, you little monster.”

  She squealed and ran up the stairs on all fours as I pretended to chase her, my fingers curled and outstretched like monster claws.

  Five years ago, when Mary and Sarah’s mother had passed away, and then our parents, Mason and I had decided we would move in with Charles. Mason and I had made a pact long ago that we’d help Charles raise the girls. Natalie’s parents were long gone, and our parents had raised us to know that family meant everything.

  From a very young age, the three of us had been groomed by our parents about the business—how to run the company and the ins and outs of the firm—but no one had taught us anything about raising children, most especially girls. But we learned. There was no satisfaction from the day-to-day at work, but soon enough, I’d found out that my joy came from watching my nieces grow up.

  Mary was brushing her teeth, and I was enjoying how the toothpaste and foam were getting everywhere—on the sink, on her Barbie pajamas, on the floor.

  Mary was meticulous in brushing every tooth, just like the dentist had told her. I didn’t stop her five minutes in because good hygiene was important, after all.

  “Did you have a good day at school?” Because I knew she’d had a blast at Great America.

  “I … I … yeah … pray … play.” Her words were muffled in the foam, and she had me chuckling.

  Her eyes grew saucer-wide, and she giggled, spitting out the toothpaste from her mouth. After she gargled with water, she pointed a tiny finger my way and squinted like I was in big trouble. “Uncle Brad, you did that on purpose!”

  I grabbed a towel from the rack, scooped her up in my arms, and dried her off.

  “Hey …”

  Her laughter was like endorphins to my soul, and I needed to hear it again and again. It was my personal addiction. So much so that I had a video on my phone of Mary laughing uncontrollably when she had been just over a year, playing peekaboo. Every now and then, I’d watch it on replay just to lift my mood.

  “I just want to make sure you’re dry.” I wiped off her face, rubbed the towel over her dry hair, and back to her face.

  “I’m dry. I’m dry.” She laughed, the sound muffl
ed behind the towel. She pulled the towel off her head and wrapped her arms around my neck. “You and me and a bedtime story. You can tell me about Elsa and Anna or …” She bounced in my hold. “How about a story about Grandma and Grandpa or …” Her tiny fingers tightened around my neck as I walked out of the bathroom and toward her room. “Tell me again about that prince and all these princesses that chased after him because they wanted his crown jewels. I want to hear that story, Uncle Brad. I want to hear that story.” She ducked her head and kissed my cheek. “Please, Uncle Brad. Please.”

  Shit. I really couldn’t blame Annie. I would’ve taken Mary to Great America, too. This girl would’ve gotten me to buy her the biggest stuffed animal and eat all the cotton candy in the world for dinner just by her look alone. Not one woman had that kind of hold on me. Mary did though.

  “Only if you tell me which part of dinner was the best.”

  “Your mac and cheese.” She grinned and rubbed her belly in an exaggerated effect.

  She is good. This girl knows how to read and work people. Watch out, men of America.

  “Right answer, kiddo.” When I reached her pink explosion room, I gently placed her on the ground.

  She leaped up and down and jumped into her bed, kicking off its ruffled comforter. “Uncle Brad?”

  “Yeah?” Fuck, she was so cute; my heart was melting all over the carpet.

  “What’s protein? Uncle Mason kept saying that mac and cheese had too much carbs and not enough protein.”

  I chuckled. “It’s nothing you need to worry about right now.”

  I sat at the edge of the bed and pulled the covers up to her neck. She had the lightest blonde hair, just like her mother, Natalie. I wondered how Charles felt every time he looked at her—a walking reminder of his first love. Sarah, on the other hand, was the spitting image of Charles, but she held her mother’s personality, genuine without any pretense with her dark brown hair and eyes.

  “But Uncle Mason kept saying I need to eat more protein.” She scrunched her nose, the way she did when she was worried about something.

  I touched her nose with the tip of my finger, and she relaxed. “Uncle Mason worries too much.” If we were breathing clean air, if the water was pH-balanced, if our organic lotion caused cancer … everything. “Now, did you want to hear the story about the prince and his crown jewels?”

  Her eyes brightened, and I began to tell her my life story. The PG version.

  * * *

  Sonia

  My fingers tip-tapped against the keyboard, nonstop and relentless, getting this memo done for Brad, but my mind … my mind was on other things.

  Carrie had called me—not once, but four times last night. Ava had probably told her that I knew, and she was trying to make amends. I was too angry to talk to Carrie, remembering how I’d cried for hours on the phone and at her place and in her arms as she tried to comfort me when Jeff and I broke up. How could she possibly do this after everything I’d gone through?

  Ava had been right about one thing. When Jeff and I had first met, I had been madly in love. From the third date, I knew—or at least, I thought—we would last forever. And so I did what any girl in love would do. I’d integrated him into every aspect of my social and family life, introducing him to my immediate and big extended Italian family, double-dating with my girlfriends and their boyfriends, kissing up to his family. Wasn’t that what couples did when they were madly in love?

  “Sonia …”

  The annoying tone of the BILK echoed from his office.

  Usually, I had a tolerance for Brad. I’d worked and slaved for this man for over two years. I knew when to stay away and when to smile and just shut up. I knew what he liked for breakfast and lunch, the type of girls he dated. How he wined and dined and screwed them.

  I’d previously found a bra in his office. He had called me from his car phone, seemingly sheepish and embarrassed for once. He’d asked me to throw it out so that the cleaning staff wouldn’t see the evidence of his rendezvous.

  Yes, he had the nerve. Brad had no shame. It was as though that one incident had broken the barrier, and I was just one of his buds like he was sharing stories with his new best friend. He told me everything now. Really, he liked to hear himself talk.

  When that had happened, I had been offended to the max, but the next day, he’d bought me coffee and a box of doughnuts, and … well, it didn’t take a lot to make me happy.

  “Sonia!”

  I pushed off my desk, exhausted, and grabbed my iPad. I entered his office and slammed the door behind me. “Yes?” My tone was clipped, short, without its usual fake cheeriness.

  He lifted his dark brown eyes to mine and tilted his head before speaking, “The meeting at Clarks has been canceled.”

  “All right.” I swiped at my iPad and pressed delete on his ten o’clock. He could have called me on the phone like he usually did. I lifted an expectant eyebrow. “Is that it?” Then, came my smile. The forced smile that seemed like I needed to take a bad crap.

  He twisted his pen between two fingers and then tapped it against the desk. The continual tip-tap of the pen against the mahogany wood grated on my nerves. “We’re meeting with Thomas at Titan Printing next week.”

  “Oh.”

  This was news. There’d been an article on Brad’s desk weeks ago that Titan Printing was going bankrupt. They were the biggest printing company that serviced the whole West Coast and also Brisken’s biggest competitor.

  “Are you really going to buy out the company?” Since we’d crossed that boundary, I felt I could ask him these questions now and then.

  “That’s the goal. If he wants to save his company and the thousands of jobs that could be lost, Thomas will need to make a decision. And we …” He pointed to himself. “… are his best bet.”

  I made note of it on my iPad. “Anything else?”

  He stared at me, as though he were studying me, and then he frowned like a little boy and let out a long sigh. It was almost comical.

  “My date was horrible, in case you were wondering.”

  Oh hell, not again. Could this guy get married already, so I didn’t have to hear about his god-awful dates?

  Not only was I his secretary, his personal assistant, but more recently, I had also become his Dr. Phil. I tried hard not to groan, pleading silently with him to let me be on my way.

  “You never said anything about it the other day.” My tone was even as I pretended to be concerned.

  He paused to examine me, his eyes expectant.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  My patience for Brad, for today, for my life was shot. Really, I hadn’t wanted to know then, and I did not want to know now about his dating life. Listening to him gripe about his sex life was definitely not part of my job description. Though it would be interesting to hear he couldn’t get it up.

  He shrugged, and then, with a shake of his head, he replied, “You’re always saying I’ll find the one. Don’t worry. Maybe the next one will be it. You’re good like that. I don’t know if you’re bullshitting me, but it does make me feel better.” His face clouded with an uneasiness that I wasn’t used to, and he leaned in as though he were waiting for me to say something.

  I blinked once. Wow. I guess I never really thought he listened to what I was saying.

  That was what normal, sympathetic people were supposed to say when someone was down on their dating luck. Did I believe it? I didn’t know. He never had a hard time getting a date, like the rest of us average folk.

  “Sit down, will you?” He motioned to the chair in front of him when I kept silent.

  I blew out an audible breath that I couldn’t hide, and he carefully eyed me. If I didn’t have more self-control, I would have stomped my foot, tantrum-style, for good measure.

  Could I say no to the boss? Because I really wanted to at that moment.

  “It sucks when it doesn’t work out. I really liked this one.” A long sigh escaped him, and his body went limp ag
ainst his chair.

  “You liked the one before that and the one before that.” I tried to keep my face neutral, not sure what he wanted me to say.

  “I’m being serious here.” He rubbed at his brow and pulled at his necktie, frustration heavy on his features. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, but every time I have sex with a woman, I lose interest. It’s like sex is the kiss of death. It’s to the point where I’m afraid to have sex.” Then, he let out a small laugh and shook his head. “Well, that’s not exactly true.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, that’s way more information than I wanted to hear.” I stood, deciding to take the risk and be honest. “It’s the chase for you, Brad. You win. You get bored. You move on.”

  “That’s not true. I took my time with Olivia. I was searching for that connection, but something was missing between us.” His mouth slackened, and he almost looked offended. “I’m looking for a relationship. I’m relationship material. My parents were married for over thirty-five years. Charles is married, and Mason has been in a long-term relationship. It’s in my genes,” he insisted, eyebrows raised as though my words had shocked him.

  “Are you really now? Or is this what ‘normal’ people do?” I put normal in quotes. “Maybe you’re just the black sheep?” I lifted a shoulder to my ear.

  Out of the brothers, I could see that. Charles and Mason were even-keeled and in serious relationships and somewhat normal.

  “You’re the worst.” He tossed the pen on his desk and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at me as though I held all the answers.

  “Then, fire me.” I knew he wouldn’t and couldn’t. No one would be able to last in this position long enough. “A minute ago, you said I was the best.”

  He pointed to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit. We’re still talking.”

  I lifted my head to the ceiling, closed my eyes, and blew out a breath. With all that had been happening recently in my life, I didn’t have any room in my brain or emotional bucket to take anything else in. When I rested my eyes on him again, all pretense disappeared. “I’m not your shrink, Brad. Just take your Xanax, and all will be right in the world.” The shitshow that was called my life was hindering my brain-to-mouth filter. I was being way too honest than I usually was.