Page 10 of Big & Bossy

“Making this many mistakes is unacceptable,” I stated, pointing toward the screen behind me. “There was never this much of an issue back in Chicago. I know you all are better than this.”

Mumbles of “sorry, sir” echoed throughout the room. I knew I was being harsh, knew I was nit-picking. But our investors expected better, I expected better, and goddammit, why was Mandy still in the back of my mind?

“I need perfection,” I snapped, turning off the monitor. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

Everything in me was telling me to shut up and go back to my office. I was irritable, angry, and frustrated all because of Mandy. Part of me wanted to cancel the entire thing, move everyone back to Chicago, rip up my contract with L&V. and never think about her again. But I’d put so much effort into this, I’d risked everything.

Everything for someone who would rather I didn’t even exist.

Slowly, methodically, I made my way back toward my office. I needed to get away from all of it, even for an hour, but I knew I couldn’t. I had a reporter waiting for me, I had people to please, a business to run. I just didn’t want to do any of it.

“Jackson?”

I turned, expecting Angela to be staring at me with hatred but instead I was met with my spitting image. Black hair, much longer than mine; tanned skin; a scowl that could curdle dairy.

My sister.

“Jesus, did Mom send you?” I snarled, turning away from her as an instruction to follow me.

“Obviously.” Her heels clacked on the tile as she walked. “You’re expected at brunch this weekend. Mom said you haven’t responded to her text.”

“I didn’t respond because I’m not going,” I snapped, turning on the ball of my foot to face her. “I’m busy. She knows that. I can’t believe she sent you all the way out to goddamn Colorado just to convince me, and it’s even worse that you agreed to do it, Tiana.”

“You know mom has her ways.” Her eyes glanced around the dimly lit hallway, her young face scrunched up. “This place is shit. I hope you’re not staying here.”

“I’m obviously not staying here. We’re building a new office, which, by the way, you’d already know if you paid any attention during our weekly ‘family’ calls.” The door to my office felt like a barrier between me and the journalist, and although I’d much rather stay out in the hall and chat with my annoying little sister, I was already late for the interview. “Tell Mom I’ll consider it. I have to get back to work.”

“Fine,” she groaned, tipping her head back in frustration. “You’re the worst. And your attitude is shit, Jack.”

————

“So, Jackson. I think I’ll start with the question every woman in America wants to know…”

No. Please, no.

“Why are you still single?”

I sighed as I leaned back in my chair, my irritation already flaring. Every single time I got interviewed it was always the same shit—why are you single, do you have any women in your life right now, what’s your idea of a perfect date.

You’d think with the number of times I was asked about my love life that I was Taylor Swift and not the head of one of the biggest tech corporations in America.

“To be honest, Clara, I’ve been far too busy with our latest AI model, Infinius.”

“It’s Claire.”

“Okay, well, to be honest, Claire, I’ve been too busy with Infinius,” I repeated, preventing myself from rolling my eyes as I said the words.

“We’ll get to Infinius later. What I and the readers are desperate to hear more about, though, is if you’re seeing anyone,” she explained, her lips tilting upward as she dragged the clicker of her pen along her bottom lip.

“No, I’m not,” I clipped, sitting forward in my chair and resting my elbows on the desk. I knew I’d have to tell her eventually. It always went down like this until I answered their incessant questioning, leaving little to no time to actually talk about the things I was proud of and about the company. “Can we move on now?”

“Of course we can. Just a few more questions on this topic though.” She slowly shifted her position, uncrossing her legs then crossing them the opposite way and slightly leaning forward, emphasizing her chest. I fucking hated it. “What do you look for in a woman? What’s your type?”

“How is this relevant?”

“It’s what our readers want to know.”

“Jesus,” I sighed. I rubbed at my eyes, pushing just a little too hard on the socket and making a headache bloom beneath the surface. Not you, I wanted to say. “Brunettes,” I replied, and she perked up as she pulled her brown, straight hair over her shoulder. “Curly hair. Dimples. Tanned, but in a subtle, natural way. Athletic body, not too tall.”

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