Page 9 of #Bossholes

She's silent the entire ride to the top floor, her eyes trained on the rows of buttons. No skin off my teeth. Aside from our place of employment, I doubt we have anything in common, and she doesn’t strike me as a woman who enjoys small talk.

I have better things to do anyway. Like figure out how I can survive the worst bosses on the planet because at the end of the day, I need this job, and if they asked for me personally, I doubt I can convince them to give me my old job.

Ugh.

I just had to go and open my big fat mouth and put my foot right in it.

Seems like one of the things I’m really good at.

As soon as the elevator doors open, I follow her out, quickly nod to the receptionist, and stop short as she gestures to a glass enclosed office.

“I had the foresight to bring your”—she glances back at me, her mouth puckered, and her eyes narrowed. Oh, yeah she’s not pleased with me at all—"belongings up here. And I must say, your choice of pens is most inappropriate.”

Pens?

Well, fuck.

No wonder she doesn’t like me. She must not be a fan of Thundercunt Thursday or Motherfucking Monday.

Chapter Six

Wyatt

Can you tell me again why we brought a perfectly adequate legal secretary up from the nineteenth floor instead of bringing in another temp? There’s a reason we don’t poach our own staff.

Maverick

Thought we could try something new and different.

Brantley

I don’t like new.

Or different.

I’m still not on board. We’re going to end up with no employees.

Wyatt

Let’s all be surprised that you don’t like something.

Brantley

Yeah, well, Zach seems pissed. Apparently, he has a big meeting today and no one to take notes. He was waiting in my office when I got here. It was an ambush.

I don’t like to be ambushed.

Wyatt

Maverick

Last time I looked, neither of his hands were broken. I’m pretty sure he can still take notes.

Wyatt

Why this one? Did you two have a moment around the slurpee machine at 7-Eleven.

Maverick

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