Daddy Boss

by Claire Bishop

  Mom’s been telling me for years that I should save my money and just move home. I’ve always told her that I wanted to make it on my own, and if I couldn’t even afford an apartment, then I had bigger problems than just money.

  She just convinced me to move back home. Not only that, she convinced me to take over their mortgage, all while I was thinking that I was the one coming up with the heroic solution.

  I try to tell myself that I’m digging into this too deep, that they’re just in a bad position and that pride can only go so far anymore, but this is exactly something my mom would do. It’s not even out of character that she’d use the looming threat of her cancer to add weight to the plan.

  I don’t know if she really believes that I’m incapable of making it on my own, or if that line of tripe is just her way of trying to get me to visit more, be around them more.

  Of course, she’s never really been the sentimental type. We get along really well when we don’t talk about anything even remotely personal, but she’s always chided me on every decision I’ve ever made, always telling me that “mother knows best” and various similar versions of the thought.

  Regardless of anything, it’s hard to fight the realization: my mom just played me.

  Chapter Eight

  That Moment When It All Becomes Clear

  Eric

  My crew and I show up for work, but the door is locked.

  “You know…” José starts, but I interrupt with a quick shake of my head.

  “You’ve really got to learn some patience, José,” I tell him. “Breaking in here is the reason why we’re working pro bono. Do you really want to know what’s going to happen if you do it again?”

  ‘Good morning, gentleman.’

  We turn around to find Jessica standing behind us in a dress that hugs her hips.

  Damn, she is looking fine.

  “There’s been a little change of plans,” she says.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Well, it occurs to me that I’m not really going to be able to justify having you all continue to work when it’s so obviously driven customers out of the store. You said that you were close to being finished yesterday, correct?”

  “Yeah,” I answer. “What you’re saying is—”

  “What I’m saying is that I’m going to need you to finish up what you’ve got going now, and then I’m going to have to let you go. How long do you think that’s going to take?”

  What the fuck? This way, that way, just finish up what you’ve got going and then I’m going to let you go. This woman changes her mind way too much. But she’s hot as hell.

  “Well, I called my carpet guy, but he won’t be here until tomorrow—” I start.

  “Would you mind giving him a call?” she asks.

  “Why?”

  “I just want to see if there’s any way we could turn that tomorrow into a today,” she says. “I really want to get this place looking like a clothing store, not a construction site.”

  I sigh, pull out my phone, and dial Manny’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Manny,” I start. “Hey, my client just wanted to know—”

  Jessica pulls the phone from my hand and puts it to her ear.

  “Hey, Manny,” she says. “I’ve got to get this project done today, so unfortunately, if you’re not able to accommodate that, I’m going to have to find someone that will.”

  Oh, this is bullshit.

  “You will? Great,” she says, hangs up, and hands me the phone. “He’ll be here in an hour,” she tells me. “It’s interesting what people will do for you if you apply just the slightest pressure.”

  She is always so direct. I kind of fucking like it.

  “That’s one of my business associates,” I tell her though. “You can’t talk to him that way. It puts me in a bad position.”

  Her eyebrow rises.

  Even though she’s not saying anything, her message is clear enough: if I hadn’t interfered with her relationship with one of her business associates, we’d be finishing up this job under very different circumstances.

  “Why’d you change your mind?” I ask. “I know you said it was the customers, but that really hasn’t seemed to bother you before.”

  “I care a lot about my customers and their impressions of my store,” she retorts.

  “That’s not what I mean,” I tell her. “Up until this morning, you’ve gone about this whole thing as a necessary evil, that in order to improve the store, you’re going to have to accept that things are going to be a bit messy for a while. Besides, if you were really concerned with the customers’ impression about all the construction going on, you would have had me and the guys do our thing after you closed. In fact, that’s a question that nobody here has really gotten a straight answer to: why have you insisted that we only work during your business hours?”

  “Well, based on some recent experiences, I’d say it’s a good thing that I did insist on that,” she says. “Yes, it would have been nice not to have to deal with you quite so much, Eric, but at least this way, I’ve been able to keep an eye on you. That being said, I’m not an unfair woman, and I’m not going to make you do extra work for free, so why don’t we get this finished up and get it finished up today, I’ll pay you the rest of what you have coming to you, and that’ll be that.”

  “Guys?” I turn around and my crew disperses, giving Jessica and I a wider berth to talk. “What’s really going on? Yesterday, you were ready to kill me with my own power tools and today you’re Norma Rae. Something changed.”

  “I just decided that revenge isn’t going to change anything, and that I’d rather have a finished store than the satisfaction of making you suffer,” she says. “There are more important things than watching you squirm.”

  “Well,” I tell her, “whatever the reasons, I hope you do know that I really do apologize for the ways I’ve let you down since we started working together. You’ve been a complete nightmare, but that’s no excuse to—”

  “Oh, I’ve been the nightmare?” she asks. “You said that you were going to have this whole thing done in a matter of a couple weeks, maybe three, and here we are, what, two months out? I just want to get this done. I wouldn’t look any further into it than that.”

  She just betrayed herself. If it weren’t for the last sentence, she might have convinced me, but specifically telling me not to look any further into it tells me that there’d be something to find if I did.

  “All right,” I tell her. “Only one thing left then, you know, apart from finishing up today.”

  “Yeah?” she asks. “What’s that?”

  “I owe you lunch,” I tell her. “I know that we haven’t really gotten along so well over the last stretch, but I really would like to follow through on that.”

  “I don’t want to have lunch with you,” she says.

  Getting turned down by the hot chick always stings. However, that doesn’t stop me from trying.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t really want to have lunch with you, either, but it’s the civilized thing to do.”

  If that doesn’t get her to let me buy her lunch, nothing will.

  My motivations? Well, those aren’t worth going over unless she says yes.

  “So you think we should both go to lunch with each other, even though neither of us wants to, just because it would be the civilized thing to do?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  One of the things she’s tried not to let show too much is just how much more civilized she finds herself than me. I’ve just called her out on it in a pretty direct way.

  Let’s see what happens.

  “All right,” she says. “What time?”

  “Well, why don’t you open up so your people can get going and my men can get the project finished up and we can slip out in a few minutes?” I ask.

  “It’s not even 9 in the morning,” she says. “How does that equate to being lunch?”

&n
bsp; “Call it breakfast,” I tell her. “It really doesn’t matter. All I know is that I’d rather not go to some restaurant covered in sweat and sawdust, and I would imagine you’d rather not have that kind of lunch companion either.”

  “You do make a good point,” she says. “All right, then, let me get everything going and we’ll pick up a quick bite.”

  “Sounds great,” I tell her. I want to tease her, saying, “It’s a date,” but I resist the temptation. I’m on thin enough ice with her as it is.

  Jessica goes and unlocks the door, and I lock eyes with Linda. She and her coworkers must have arrived somewhere during the discussion between Jessica and me.

  The door’s open and Jessica heads to the register.

  It’s the strangest ritual. Despite having cashiers that clearly know what they’re doing, big boss lady doesn’t even seem to trust them with something as fundamental as opening their own registers in the morning.

  “Hey,” Linda says. “I hope this doesn’t disappoint you, but I just got back with my old boyfriend, so you and I are going to have to stop seeing each other.”

  “That’s fine,” I tell her. “We agreed early on that this was just going to be a casual thing anyway.”

  Truth be told, I am a bit disappointed. It’s not that I thought she and I had something serious, but it was nice to have someone to feel close to, if only as a casual thing, even knowing that it was only ever going to be for a little while.

  Oh well. There’s always Jessica. With her attitude and body she must be amazing in bed.

  Maybe that’s who I should go after.

  “Okay,” she says. “I think it’d be great if we could stay friends, though. I don’t want you to think that I’m just tossing you out of my life entirely. Just, you know, the bedroom.”

  I laugh. “You’re fine,” I tell her. “This is pretty much what we’d already agreed to, so don’t even worry about it.”

  “Great!” she says. “Listen, Jessica’s done opening my register, so I’m going to get to work, but I’m glad we could talk.”

  “Why does she do that?” I ask.

  “Control issues,” Linda says. “I’m just surprised she hasn’t tried to tie my shoes yet. If anyone needed a long, hard, sweaty—Jessica, how are you this morning?”

  Yup. Jessica is definitely Linda’s soon-to-be replacement. She just doesn’t know it yet.

  “I’m fine,” Jessica answers. “Are you ready for today? It’s going to be a big one.”

  “What’s going on today?” Linda asks.

  Jessica looks at me and says, “Today, we get the store back.”

  * * *

  “Don’t you think we should be getting back?” Jessica asks.

  “We haven’t even gotten our appetizers yet,” I tell her. “What’s the rush? It’s not like we’ve got a five-course dinner coming.”

  “I just need to get back,” she says.

  “Just relax,” I tell her.

  “I don’t even know what we’re doing here.”

  “I just thought it would be a good idea for you and I to sit down and see if we can work out some of our differences,” I tell her. “Things have gotten a little out of hand on both our parts.”

  “Maybe so,” she says, “but what’s the point? After today, chances are you and I will never see each other again.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I tell her, “but don’t you think it’s nicer to part with lunch than just the memories of how we’ve screwed each other over in the last couple months?”

  “I don’t really care,” she says, and starts to get up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got to get back there,” she says. “What if we have a big client come in and I’m not there to answer their questions or help them find what they’re looking for?”

  “That’s what your staff is for,” I tell her. “You can’t be there all day every day. Besides, it’s not like I’m asking you to take a whole day off, I’m just talking about the next 20 minutes to have some breakfast or lunch or brunch or whatever we’re calling this.”

  “Twenty minutes?” she asks, now standing next to me. “That’s about 19 minutes longer than I can be gone from the store.”

  There’s something familiar in the way she’s talking, but I’m sure it’s a coincidence.

  “You work hard,” I tell her. “You need to eat. Otherwise, where are you going to get the energy to micromanage everyone and stress yourself out to the point of near-psychosis?”

  “Yeah,” she says, “calling me crazy is going to really work for you here.”

  “Just sit down for a minute,” I tell her. “The waiter’s coming with our appetizers. If you find yourself having a conniption before the entrees arrive, you can go.”

  “You don’t get it,” she says. “If I’m not there, the store falls apart.”

  She really is a control freak.

  More than my ex was, but somehow, this trait always attracts me.

  “I doubt you have any evidence to support that theory,” I tell her, “seeing as how you’re never not there.”

  “Fine,” she says in a huff, resuming her seat. “But this isn’t leisure time. This is a business lunch.”

  “All right,” I chuckle. “What business would you like to discuss?”

  I’d expected the silence. What I hadn’t expected was that she’d actually pull out her cell phone, dial her own store and ask whoever’s on the other line if things are going all right, all the while assuring her employee that she’d “be right back.”

  She hangs up, and I can’t stop smiling.

  “What?” she asks. “I get that you don’t take your job seriously, but that doesn’t mean everyone else works the same way.”

  “That’s hilarious,” I tell her. “I take my job very seriously. I just don’t fetishize it like you do. Do you have any idea how condescending and insulting that phone call was?”

  “It wasn’t condescending at all,” she says. “They all know that I like to take a hands-on approach when it comes to Lady Bits.”

  “You know, out of context, that would be hilarious,” I smile.

  “Oh, ha ha,” she says, as a smile forms.

  “And you’re right,” I start. “You just told your employee that you don’t trust her or any of your other workers enough to let them handle the store for 10 minutes, all the while assuring her that ‘mommy will be back soon.’ There’s nothing condescending about that at all.”

  “You just don’t get it,” she says, shaking her head. “This is the way I work—it’s the way I’ve always worked.”

  “I can tell,” he says.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” she asks.

  “Well, that’s a gray hair, isn’t it?” I ask. “You’re what? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight?”

  “I’m 30,” she says. “And how exactly did you manage to insult me for being too young and too old in the same breath?”

  I grin. She looks like she’s in her early 20s. Not a single wrinkle, and I can tell because her face isn’t plastered with makeup. Thank God. This way I know what I’ll be waking up to in the morning once I fuck her.

  “I’m not saying you’re either too young or too old,” I tell her. “I think that you’re too stressed out, and it really shows in the way you deal with your employees and your customers.”

  “How does it show to my customers?” she asks. “I have a spectacular game face.”

  “You really don’t,” I tell her. “Remember last week when that woman came in looking for a new handbag? She made some stupid pun and you terrified pretty much everyone within range of your too-long, too-loud, wide-eyed laughter. You kind of looked like that kid in school who’s extra nice to everyone because she doesn’t know how to relate to people.”

  “You know,” she says, “if you just brought me here to insult me, I really don’t see the point in continuing.”

  “Before you use what I’m saying as a pretext to go lord over your staff and make everyone, espe
cially customers, nervous, why don’t you just take a minute to have a bit of the onion rings?” I ask. “They’re pretty tasty, and you haven’t so much as looked at your food because you’ve been too worried about what may or may not be going on at the store.”

  She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, she hails a passing waiter and orders a double shot of whiskey.

  As the waiter’s walking away, Jessica leans forward and says, “Look, I know I come off as overbearing, but I guess I just don’t trust that things would get done if I’m not there to oversee it.”

  Oh shit.

  Is there any way the woman I’ve been texting could be Jessica? I can’t imagine that would be possible.

  That response, as I recall, is almost verbatim to what that woman told me last night during a similar discussion, though. I decide to test the theory.

  “Your staff seems like they’re all perfectly capable women doing a great job for you. You’re acting like they don’t know Prada from Donna Karan and would just as soon kill and eat your customers as give them good service,” I tell her.

  “Do you know Prada from Donna Karan?” she asks.

  “Not even remotely. Really, I’m just proud of myself for remembering the names,” I answer.

  She tries to hide it, but I can see that brief flicker of a smile come over her lips.

  “They’re a good staff—great, really. Without them, I don’t know if I’d even have a store. They just don’t have that—oh, what’s the word?” she asks.

  “Inside experience?” I ask.

  She cocks her head a little and eyes me.

  “That’s what most control freaks use as their justification for their control freakery,” I cover.

  It’s her. It’s got to be her.

  The wording’s different, but the idea is exactly the same. Add to that the knowing look she gave when I used the phrase “inside experience,” and I’m almost certain that I’m talking to the woman who’s been giving me something to look forward to after work for the last while.