Page 1 of Bossing My Holiday
1
WAVERLY
“Shit, shit shit. Crap, crap, crap! Oh, my god, I’m so freaking late! Move!” I practically shove two people out of the way as I race up the steps and through the glass doors of the towering skyscraper of OuestHicks Pharmaceuticals. I’m going to be in so much trouble for this. My building lost power overnight, which meant that my old phone wasn’t charging and subsequently died, meaning my alarm didn’t go off this morning.
I’m more than an hour late, and with no power, that meant no heat or hot water, so that was a fun way to wake up.
My stomach clenches at the thought of my boss, Tristan Ouest. Despite the freezing temperatures, sweat clings to my brow as I climb onto the elevator, fidgeting and shifting my weight while we ascend at a snail’s pace. It’s not even like I can turn on my phone to email or text him, and I left my work laptop in the office last night.
Argh!
He’s the jerkiest boss on the planet. The biggest Scrooge I’ve ever met. So unlike his co-owner, Mr. Hicks, who is equally as gorgeous, but charming and funny and kind. How they’re bestfriends, I have no clue. And why I don’t work for Mr. Hicks instead of Mr. Ouest is something I lament daily.
I sigh. It’s going to be a long day with Tristan. I can only hope the impending holiday and Christmas spirit will soften him. Fingers crossed.
The elevator doors open, and I step off only to have to jump around a sniveling Thomas, who all but bangs into me. Clearly he was too distraught to follow proper elevator protocol and wait for me to get off before he got on. Except in Thomas’s desperation to flee, his foot tangles with mine, tripping me. My heel drops to the elevator floor with a heavy thud, and I tumble face-first out of the elevator.
I go down, my arms flailing wildly to stop myself, and I smash right into a wall.
Or more like a wall of man because the wall smells like sexy, expensive cologne and feels like hard muscles as it moves against me. He jumps back, uttering a harsh expletive in French just as something searing hot douses me. I yelp in pain and grab frantically at my blouse, causing the strap on my bag to snap and my purse to go flying. Like a rainbow, the contents are tossed into the air and spill everywhere along with the remains of the coffee that burned me. I hit the wood floor on my hands and knees like a wounded animal, and all around me, people gasp.
The elevator doors close with a cheerfulfuck youding, taking my shoe with it.
For a moment, all I can do is blink, too stunned and hurt with my coffee-stained blouse and burned skin beneath it to move. I’m staring down at my birth control packet, two tampons, my wallet, an ancient pack of semi-melted gum, and the single girl survival kit my best friend Jennie bought me as a gag gift for my birthday last week that I forgot to take out of my purse. Asshole repellent spray and a small, hot pink vibrator are on full display for all to see.
A whimper escapes me as two things register at once. The expensive black shoes I’m staring at and the cool air hitting the back of my thighs and ass because my skirt has flown up. Naturally. I mean, what sort of humiliation would be complete without that? The only thing that could make this worse would be if I had a bottle of lube in here.
Immediately I sit back on my haunches, scorching heat all over my face that has nothing on the burn on my chest. Tears of humiliation threaten, but I push them down and force myself to look up.Please tell me I’m wrong. Please tell me I’m wrong. Please be Mr. Hicks instead.
Nope. Tristan Ouest, co-CEO, co-chairman of the board, and my boss, is standing above me, his expression one of fury and absolute loathing.
Fuck!
And here I was hoping to slip in under the radar. I brush back the dark strands of hair clinging to my face and scramble for the contents of my purse. He bends and picks up the asshole repellent spray, though he visibly eyes the vibrator. I shove it back in my broken purse, followed by my birth control and the tampons.
He hands me the asshole repellent with a raised eyebrow, and I skirt his gaze as I go back to my purse.
He stands to his full height, a towering beast of a man. “Why are you all standing here?” he barks at everyone around me, and I note feet scurrying away. That’s a relief.
I swallow my humiliation and crane my neck to meet his gaze. “Mr. Ouest, I’m so sorry. Thomas tripped me, and I fell and didn’t see you?—”
“You’re almost two hours late, and this is the entrance you make? Since when are you this clumsy?” he sneers, his ice-blue eyes a touch colder as they tend to get when he’s angry. “Look at this mess.” He wipes at the speck of coffee on his jacket whenhe finally takes note of my shirt. “Jesus,” he hisses. “Are you burned?”
I gulp and shove the last item back in my purse, grateful he didn’t mention the other items he saw. I don’t bother answering him. I doubt he actually cares, and that the concerned furrow of his brow is merely for show.
Somehow, he must take pity on me because he grabs me beneath my left arm and pulls me up, practically lifting all my weight with his hand. The moment I’m upright, he releases me and steps back, taking in my ruined white blouse. It was my favorite. And not only can I not afford another one, but my purse strap is broken, and my shoe is somewhere between the lobby and the eighteenth floor. Great.
“Do you need a minute?” he finally asks, his voice still hard but lower. Probably because I haven’t given him one of my pithy retorts. I’m too shellshocked and embarrassed from everything this morning has thrown at me to muster my regular strength with him.
“If I could have five minutes to find my shoe and attempt to get this coffee stain out of my blouse, that would be great.”
“You don’t have another outfit here?”
“No.” Because why would I? In the two years that I’ve been working here, I haven’t so much as spilled a drop of anything on my clothes.
“You’ve got five minutes, and then I expect you in my office ready to work with another coffee for me since you spilled mine.”
He turns and storms off down the hall back toward his corner office, and I mentally debate my best course of action.
