Bad Boys Rule

by Naughty Aphrodite

  The thing is, as I've said before, being a busty, chubby girl; I'm not gifted with cat reflexes. Thus, my falling was anything but gracious. Mud went everywhere on my body, especially my boobs, and the whole class started laughing at me, giving me the nickname Busty Muddy.

  I don’t know what is about high school and boobs, but I got the short straw of it. The next day, Greg stopped texting me as he was one of the avid witnesses of my accident. I still have some classmates calling me Maddie, not knowing that my name is Chloe.

  I wish I could say that this was the worst moment of my high school life, but it's just in the top ten. Slipping in the women's toilet in front of the coolest girls, breaking the Science Project of the valedictorian of our year just one day before showing it to the Science Fair (and probably costing her a spot at Harvard doing so) and finally, outing one of the teachers after tossing down his notes and revealing intimate photos with his boyfriend are the top three high school moments that defined me to this fine young lady.

  And now, I’m sitting outside a coffee shop, crying my heart out on the pavement, talking to an imaginary audience about my life, proving that I can't even make a coherent thought without sounding pathetic. I'm a mess, the kind of mess that lives with her parents until she's thirty and too old to admit that everything is not okay.

  It's going to rain soon. This ain't the time to get even worse than it is. I rise on my feet and straighten my clothes. I turn and look inside the brimming café. My reflection seems to feel better than I am. Maybe this is what I'm supposed to do; look at my reflection and find that hidden beauty inside me.

  Only that I can't.

  Being unemployed is first on my To-fix list, together with staying with my parents. Diet has taken the second place right now, but I must say it's close behind, especially after meeting that handsome businessman earlier today, right before the accident.

  I check my phone and see a call from Nadia. She must have called me to see if I got the job. The problem is that I got it and lost it all in a day's work.

  Here’s how it happened:

  Nadia, my childhood friend, knows about my dire situation. When she heard that they're searching for a waiter in this local coffee shop, I was the first person she thought of applying. The truth is, I was hoping I could get an admin job at an office or something far away from combustibles and breakable equipment, but working at a café is classes above nothing.

  So, I put on my best clothes, head straight to the shop and almost beg the owner to take me. He interviewed me and checked my CV and after seeing that I meet his criteria, he decided to give me a chance.

  "Listen to me, Chloe," he said, "the pay isn't anything special and there will be days that you'll feel too sick to come to work but you'll have to come because there’ll be no one to trade shifts with you. But, it's an easy and honest job. Is that okay with you?"

  What was I supposed to tell him? No? I don't remember to have agreed so fast about anything in my life.

  So the boss gets me at a serving post, pouring coffee and wiping the tables. Overall, it's a really easy job. You smile at new customers, ask if they want coffee, pour them a cup if they agree, and leave after wiping the table to wait for the next customer.

  Easy peasy.

  No. "Busty Muddy" Chloe found a spectacular way to mess it up really good.

  A pair of smart-looking businessmen walked in the café. I spotted them in seconds because they seemed like they didn't belong in there. Both were good-looking and well-groomed, but one of them was a rowdy boor and the other a mysterious gentleman.

  Either way, I was too focused on keeping my work that I didn't have the time to make any illicit thoughts about their sexy duo. However, my body must have had a different idea. Maybe I was too eager to serve them? Maybe I was searching for the opportunity to get closer to that black-haired gentleman with the striking blue eyes?

  Or maybe it was just my clumsy disposition that caused everything?

  I think you can guess what happened next.

  When I was close to them, I slipped on something wet on the floor, lost my balance and dropped a half-full pitcher of hot coffee on the rowdy businessman's crotch. And it's not one of those days that it was the "optimistic" kind of half-full. No, not even close.

  "What the fuck?!? Are you out of your mind?" the man started yelling after he briskly jumped up from his seat.

  "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. Oh my God, I'm such a clutch," I reply, but you know all those golden boys. They can't let something like that slip their attention.

  "How old are you? Sixteen? Haven't your parents taught you how to hold a fucking pitcher? My suit is destroyed and you almost ruined me down there," he keeps yelling.

  "I'm really sorry, sir. I can compensate you if that's what you want. I really am sorry."

  "This is a designer's suit, you dimwit! Even in your dreams, you don't have the money to pay for this. God. Let's go, Deacon. This place is a shithole," he says and gets on his feet.

  By then, the whole shop has turned and all customers are looking at us, some of them giggling quietly, others capturing the whole scene with a camera. I think that there were some that looked at me with compassion, but I don't seem to recall their faces. By the time my boss —ex-boss — arrived at the scene, my eyes were full of moist as I was barely holding myself together.

  "What happened here? What's going on?" the boss asked.

  "Your employees are useless, that's what happened. This woman here dropped a ton of hot coffee on my crotch, destroying my suit and almost hurting me," the businessman says.

  The man with the blue eyes just rolled his eyes and patiently waited for his friend to end his tantrum and leave, however, he did nothing to help me. I don't know why it bothered me so much that he didn't speak up to him, but I thought that maybe someone would bud in to help a damsel in distress.

  Before leaving, the pair got free coffee and countless apologies from the boss. After that, he called me to his office and a second wave of yelling and ridiculing started.

  "Are you out of your mind, Chloe? I gave you a chance and you blew it on my face. You couldn't have come at a worse time. There's nothing I can do but fire you. You're a menace and I don't have the time and resources to train an adult how to hold a pitcher."

  I didn't talk back to either of them. I'm not one to start or end a fight, but right now, still staring into that café, I really hope I did. I would have punched them both in the face and told them that I don't deserve that treatment that no one deserves to be treated like that. People are not born to serve coffees. Let's get robots to do that, for God's sake. It's the 21st century.

  But now everything is over, together with the confidence I built up to apply for this job. I look at the time and see that if I don't hurry, I'll lose the bus home. Usually, I wouldn't care for a simple thing like that, but it's one of those days that even a small win is a win overall. And I need this more than ever.

  As I turn to get away from this wretched place, I spot a limousine getting closer to me from the distance. It's a big road and it's not like I haven't seen a limousine before, but this time it's different. I imagine the two businessmen riding the luxurious car with that arrogant smug of theirs and I want to toss a stone theirs way, to hurt them in any way I can.

  Only that I’m wrong.

  The car parks in front of me, leading to my jaw dropping from the surprise. In my mind, I was thinking that it would continue down the road, but it didn't; it stopped right at my site.

  The man inside lowers one of the tinted windows slowly, in a movie-like speed. Is he trying to build a dramatic suspense or something? It certainly works, especially when the face behind the limousine finally gets revealed.

  Unable to hold myself back, I exclaim. “It’s you!”

  He grins with those perfect teeth of his. He's awesome and I act like an infatuated teenager.

  “Hello to you, too, Ms. Chloe. It’s miss, right?”

  "
Um...I...yeah. I'm single," I reply, even though I'm more than aware that this isn't what he asked.

  "Perfect. A position in my company opened recently and I'd like to discuss the possibility of working with you. Are you interested?"

  My mouth shapes a wide O from the surprise; suddenly, I'm glad I visited my dentist last week. "Yes, of course. Absolutely!" I sound too eager, however, it doesn't feel like it's about the job. "I...um...can I have an address or something?"

  The man smiles at me and bends forward to pick up a card. "Here you are. Come tomorrow at 10 am. We'll make sure there are no pitchers with hot coffee this time," he jokes.

  I want to laugh but it's like one of those times when you meet your favorite celebrity and want to act natural and cool but you mess miserably? Yeah, something like that.

  I make an awkward sound that's something between choking and giggling before grabbing the card from his hands. "Okay. I'll be there tomorrow morning. Thank you so much, Mr. ..."

  “It’s Deacon Stamford. But please, call me Deacon. All my employees use my first name,” he says.

  I nod. I look at the stylish black card with the golden letters and quickly get the feeling that I'm supposed to say something.

  "Okay...Deacon. Thank you again for this opportunity. You don't know what this means to me."

  His last grin is warm, understanding. "Don't worry. That bastard deserved everything he got. I wouldn't have done it better myself. So, Ms. Chloe, I would love to stay and chat with you, but I really have to go. We'll talk again tomorrow. I hope you have a good day," he says and signs his driver to leave.

  I don't know how many minutes (or hours) I stand still looking at the road. Did he just offer me a job in his office?

  Chapter 2

  Do you know the meaning of the word ‘misplaced'? That certain sentiment that leaves you feeling like you're in the wrong place at the wrong time? I mean, you must have felt misplaced at least once in your life. Track back your memories to that certain moment and multiply it ten times.

  Yeah. That's how I'm feeling right now. Misplaced. I did my research about Deacon Stamford last night, but I never thought that the man was one of the richest bachelors of the city. Okay, my research might have derailed to pictures of him and his many flings, but you can't accuse a girl of being interested in a man; especially this man.

  Deacon Stamford; a rising star of the business department, with a net worth passing that of many known celebrities. Who would have thought that men like him stroll around town without security, ending up on shady cafeterias on the other side of the city? Deacon certainly doesn't fit the bill of a billionaire, but I guess he must be to own this company.

  Back to the subject at hand then. Why do I feel misplaced? I'm riding one of the most luxurious elevators I've ever seen, wearing a pair of tight pants and a red shirt. No one ever taught me the meaning of "dress for success" so I just "dress to get by the day". Being a medium height, brunette girl, I have caught my hair in a messy bun and adopted the style of the personal assistant in the old movies. I feel like I own the world riding that elevator.

  Which is the complete opposite of what I felt yesterday.

  Deacon Stamford is the person I have to thank for this opportunity, the man with those striking blue eyes. I can't forget his glance when he rode away on his limousine, almost thanking me for dropping that hot coffee on his friend's lap. Even now I grin at the thought of that moment. I swear he was grateful that the things turned out the way they did.

  Nevertheless, the ride to the top is a long one. This building must have more than fifty floors. The buttons on the lift go all the way to fifty-two, so I guess that's that. The people down in the reception hall gave me a card and some papers to fill in before I could even leave the entrance lobby. They said something about signing an NDA and things like that, but I wasn't really paying attention.

  I'm closer than ever to obtaining a job of my dreams, a job away from the embarrassment of clumsiness and messiness, a job working for the most handsome billionaire.

  The glass elevator gives a perfect view of the city. Is that the view all Deacon's employees see every day? Is that the view he sees every day? Something about that thought gives me the chills. So much power gathered in one man is both terrifying and alluring. I was never into alpha males because I never thought they would be into me.

  I mean, movies don't show girls with flabby stomachs ending up with the man of their dreams. But I guess I get why men like Deacon can have any woman they want. Money, power, charisma, and the muscles to bond all these together to a package writing "perfect man" on the cover.

  The elevator finally slows down to a stop and the automated doors open to a huge floor decorated with expensive furniture and a secretary office in the middle. A thin wall is separating the room from the waiting room and Deacon's office. Is he the one that will be interviewing me?

  My stomach tenses to a knot and my knees feel weak. I don't want to get in there, not before losing all the extra pounds and visiting my hairstylist to give me a better look. But this is no time to chicken out; I need this job more than I need Deacon's affection.

  After steeling myself, I take a step forward and enter the room. The secretary's office is empty but I have the feeling it won't be for long. As I walk closer to one of those designer armchairs, I think I hear laughter coming from inside the office. It doesn't strike me as weird; I know that I would be laughing all the time if I was the CEO of a company like this.

  It sounds like the distinctive ring of the elevator created a short upheaval inside the office. Feet are rushing to the door and soon, I meet the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

  I spring on my feet and get ready to greet her. On her stead, she smiles while holding a small tablet in her hands. That’s it before she sees me.

  “Excuse me; did you lose your way?” That is the first thing she says to me.

  Dread and anxiety fill my body. "Um...no, I think not. Deacon said I should be here at 10 am to go through an interview for a job?" I didn't mean to end my sentence with a question, but there was something in her presence that drove me to that outcome.

  "Are you that girl from the coffee shop?" she replies to me, promptly.

  "Yeah. I guess that's me."

  Her eyes travel up and down my body before ending up on my face. God, I hate her inquisitive gaze. Why do I feel like I'm judged for just being here?

  "Follow me then. Mr. Stamford is waiting for you," she says and turns her back to me.

  This woman is the exact opposite of me; skinny, with the perfect, golden hair, green eyes, expensive clothes, and of course, the confidence to shine. She's tall but wearing a pair of black, stylish heels make her seem gigantic in a charismatic way. I guess Deacon likes his secretaries hot.

  I follow her close behind but it feels like I’m heading to my execution. She doesn't talk, doesn’t try to be funny or calm me down, and of course, doesn’t give a shit if I need this job. She just wants to get this over and done with.

  She comfortably strolls through the office's door into the other half of the room. In my surprise, Deacon's office is humble in a minimalistic way. The furniture in here is of the same quality as the rest of the floor, but his desk is a messy hell of papers, pens, and computer screens.

  Once again, I have the feeling that Deacon doesn’t belong in here even more than I do.

  His secretary hems after she slows down to a stop a couple feet away from one of the two armchairs meant for Deacon’s guest. “Ms. Chloe has arrived, Mr. Stamford.”

  His head pops; he stops whatever he’s doing and starts staring me in the eyes. “Ms. Chloe! It’s so nice to see you again.” His eyes and that naughty smirk of his do a great job of untying that tight knot inside my stomach, but don’t help reduce the rattling of my knees. I’ll need to have a seat soon if he continues to look at me that way.

  "Good morning, Mr. Stamford," I copy that woman's manner; it doesn't feel natural to speak to
Deacon using his first name in front of her. "It's nice to see you, too."

  We smile at each other for a long minute.

  "I see you've met Linda. Usually, she's the one that takes care of the interviews, but I asked her to include me in this one. Do you mind?"

  I shake my head. Of course, I don't mind.

  "Great then. Please, don't mind me. I'll be a silent observer. Go on, Linda."

  The woman isn't happy with how the events turned out. Linda furiously taps the screen of the tablet before starting the interview.

  "Ms. Chloe, do you have any previous experience in assistance job position like this one?" I shake my head but before I can continue with my reply, she continues. "Why do you think you're a good match to assist Mr. Stamford in his business endeavors even though you have zero experience in this department?"