Being yelled at by Mr. Jett was one of the worst experiences I had ever had, at least in my career. I cried all the way home, worried he was going to fire me. I went into my apartment and my roommate was home, unfortunately. I hid in my bedroom and got on Grindr. I decided to meet up with a guy that I had hooked up with before. I asked him if I could stay the night. He said yes. So I threw some things into a backpack and quickly left the apartment. I went to his place first but we went to a club and danced and drank. Then we went to his place and had sex. In the morning, he let me use his shower and then I put on a brave face to go to work.
Usually I liked to call my mom when something was bothering me. This time, though, there was something embarrassing about being yelled at by my boss. I couldn't bear to tell anyone about it. So I decided to keep my mouth shut and pretend like it never happened.
I said good morning to Sasha, acting like it was any other day at the office. When I entered my office, Mr. Jett was sitting on the couch with a notebook. He shut it and stood up. "Emerson, good morning," he said. "Will you sit down with me?"
I nodded, ready to get fired, and sat next to him, dropping my backpack next to me.
"I need to apologize for my behavior yesterday," he said. "It was really inexcusable to yell at you like that. I'm so sorry. I truly regret making you cry and hurting your feelings. It was a very rough day yesterday, but that is not an excuse." While he was talking, I found my eyes welling up again. It was so easy to make me cry. "I don't blame you if you look at me any differently, but I will try to be a better boss to you. Alright?"
I nodded, wiping a tear. "It's fine, I-"
"No. It is not fine. You deserve respect. I tend to...to bicker with Michael and others so sometimes I forget that I can't be that way with everyone else," he said.
"Does Michael like it when you're like that with him?" I asked, and immediately regretted it.
Mr. Jett paused. "He probably doesn't," he said quietly. He cleared his throat. "You were right. I did say you can stay in the office as long as you want. I said you will see me in my less than moments. So it just takes getting used to on my end."
"Well, just remember that I am your assistant and here to help you," I said. "Like is your ankle better? It looked like you were limping."
He smiled softly. "It is doing well enough. I just twisted it or something."
"Let me grab an ice pack," I said. There was a small employee's kitchen and sitting area next to Sasha's desk. I saw an ice pack in the freezer one day. "Really, I'll be right back. I have one just outside." Before he could say anything, I jumped up and ran to the employee kitchen, retrieved the ice pack and came back into the office. I grabbed one of the decorative pillows and placed it in the center of the couch. "Put your foot up."
Mr. Jett looked at me, a little dumbfounded, but he took off his shoe and complied. I pulled down his sock so his ankle was revealed and placed the ice pack onto it. "Don would sometimes have to play nurse," he said quietly.
I smiled at him, asking, "Really?"
He kept looking at me with the same look on his face, like he couldn't believe what he was witnessing. "Yes," he said. "Mostly when I was hungover."
"Oh, well I'm a little hungover today, so I get it," I said.
"You do not seem hungover at all. You seem really chipper."
I shrugged. "Well, I do have ADHD, so that could be it. Trust me, my head really hurts. I just kind of can't stop."
"Stop what?" he asked.
"I dunno. Everything."
He chuckled, the first time I ever heard anything like a laugh come from him. Don't get me wrong, it was not much of a laugh at all and he still did not smile with his teeth, but it was something. "Well, I can't seem to start anything, continue anything, or finish anything. What neurological disorder is that?" he asked.
"Hmmm, to me it just sounds like burn out. Or maybe depression," I said. To my surprise he chuckled again. "What do I know, though, right?"
"I'm not sure what you know. I don't know a lot about you at all. How about I treat you to lunch today?" he said.
My neck grew red, and I had to remind myself that this was my boss offering to get his employee lunch and not a hot guy asking me on a date. "Sure, we can do that!"
"Good. We can order food from the restaurant and eat it here," he said. "I do need to get to a virtual meeting now, by the way."
"Yes, of course, totally." I pulled the ice pack from his ankle and awkwardly pulled his sock up, something he totally could have done on his own. However, in my awkward gesture, I just barely pushed his pant leg up and noticed a tattoo. "You have a tattoo?" I asked.
He pulled his pant leg up to reveal an hourglass tattoo. "Yes. I actually have a handful. I don't remember when I got this. It doesn't mean much, just a reference to a Pink Floyd song I like," he said, pulling his pant leg down.
"Is it Time?" I asked.
"Yeah, that's the one. You don't peg me as the...Pink Floyd type." He started putting his shoe back on.
"My dad is a big fan of classic rock," I said, squeezing my knees.
"Nice. What music do you like?" He stood up and put his hands in his pockets.
"Whitney Houston," I said. "Here, look." I grabbed my phone and showed him my lockscreen, the same lockscreen I had had all my life. "I met her when I was fourteen. My parents had literally fundraised money for us to go to England and see her in her final world tour and for me to meet her. I could almost cry looking at it." I could almost cry.
"That's really incredible," he said. "Your parents seem incredible too."
"They are. It was my first time overseas. I didn't grow up with the most money, but my best friend had just killed himself a few months prior so they wanted to do something nice for me and a lot of people totally understood." I realized, too late, I was oversharing.
"That's very beautiful of your parents to do that for you," he said softly. "Now, wish me luck on this meeting that could easily be an email."
I nodded. "Good luck," I said.
When he left I sunk into the couch. I was so stupid. I literally had no reason to tell him all about that. He said he didn't know anything about me, but that wasn't an excuse to go and share my life story. Still, I felt more relieved that he apologized. And that I wasn't getting fired. I liked being an assistant. I was good at it. When I first started, I was actually looking forward to having to be a little extra as an assistant. I thought it would be to do more than clerical work, like the "being a friend" aspect seemed interesting.
The morning was relaxed. Phone calls, emails, the occasional chat message from Sasha. At eleven-forty-five, Mr. Jett sent me a chat message asking me what I wanted for lunch. It would be brought up at twelve-thirty. I was a pescatarian so I ordered the vegetarian pasta with a side salad. I grew nervous thinking about eating with Mr. Jett. Was he going to ask me a million questions? Was it going to be awkwardly silent? What would he even ask me? I couldn't ask him anything. I guess I could just ask work related questions. But what if he thought I was boring for asking them? Or that I didn't care about him personally?
By the time I (somewhat) calmed myself down from my overthinking, lunchtime rolled around. Mr. Jett came into the room. "The food should be here in a few minutes," he said. "Come sit with me." He took a seat at the table by the window.
I sat across from him, admiring the view from the window. "I like that there are a lot of windows up here," I said.
"Yes, I have another one that overlooks the south side, too. It's nice," he said.
"Really? Can I see one day?" When I asked, I realized I never really saw anyone ever go into his office other than him. I think Don went in a couple of times, but that was it. I felt stupid (yet again) for asking.
"I suppose you could," he said after a moment.
The food arrived then. Mr. Jett ordered a steak with mashed potatoes, a roll, a side salad, coleslaw, and french onion soup. He was a very fit guy. I could tell he worked out often. So I guess he needed a lot of food to keep up with his work outs.
"Are you a vegan?" he asked, pouring steak sauce onto his steak.
"No, I'm a pescatarian. I still like cheese, dairy, and fish. I have a sensitive stomach so I just don't do well with a lot of things. I get really full fast, too," I said, starting with my salad.
"I probably eat too much," he said. "Would you like a roll? Or anything of mine?"
"No, thank you, I'm good."
We ate a little bit in silence, but it didn't seem awkward. Just eating. After a few bites, though, he began asking the questions. "Are you originally from New York?" he asked.
"Yeah, not Manhattan, though. My family is from Ossining," I said.
"Oh really? You live close to Sing Sing?"
"We live on the other side of town. My grandfather did actually work there up until he retired. He was a maintenance guy there. One time he took me inside and showed me his office. It was...interesting to say the least," I said, laughing to myself.
"I can only imagine. What do your parents do?"
"My dad is a branch manager at a bank. My mom is a high school math teacher."
"Oh, nice. Where did your parents go to college?"
"Well my dad did not go to college," I said. "He started as a teller and worked his way up to be a branch manager. I mean he's been a manager for a while now, but he had to work hard. My mom went to Queens College of CUNY. So that was her stint in the city." I took a bite of my pasta, bracing for the next question.
"Very nice. Do you have any siblings?" he asked. He took a bite of his steak.
"I have a twin sister. She goes to NYU right now. She is also studying education, but she wants to teach college classes." I looked up at him for a second and then back at my food. "What about you? How many siblings do you have?" I asked.
I don't think he was expecting me to ask questions back. I had to hide my smirk. "I have four siblings. I-" He paused. I couldn't read the expression on his face. It just kind of reads like sadness. "I have an older brother, an older sister, a younger brother, and a younger sister. We don't talk much, though."
I nodded, regretting asking him about his siblings already. "What about your parents?" Was it smart to ask about them too?
"My mother and father don't really work now that I provide for them. I don't often speak to them either," he said. "I mean, I speak to them all every now and then. We're just not close."
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. When he didn't say anything, I said, "You can always talk to me, you know. I know I am your assistant and you don't really know me, but maybe that would make it easier for you. Like, your coworkers are your friends that have known you forever so they see you way differently than I do."
He chewed on his food for a minute and then asked, "How do you see me?"
"Oh, well, I mean you're my boss," I said.
"Be honest with me. Completely honest. I won't be mad."
"I guess...I see you as smart and successful. You're very private and I'm not sure why. You almost seem shy sometimes, but maybe not shyness, more of introverted I guess. I feel like you probably have a lot of challenges going on you don't let the world know about. Sometimes you seem sad, but you could just be tired considering you are a CEO."
He eyed me for a moment, then glanced at his food. He took a bite of his steak.
"Sorry if I am way off and said anything that-"
He waved his fork. "No, nothing to be sorry for," he said.
"Okay...so what do you see me as?" I asked. I shrugged, smiling.
"Hm. That's a fair question. I'm not really sure. You seem...fun. Very friendly. I bet you could become friends with anyone." He tutted his tongue. "Honestly, please don't take this the wrong way, I haven't really...analyzed you, I suppose. Truly, I mean. You know, I examined you as an employee for this position, but I guess maybe that was my problem. You are a human being, after all. I should just view you like that."
"Oh, well..." I pursed my lips, and then said, "I was hoping you would say something like 'I view you as an incredibly amazing, perfect in every way young man.'"
Mr. Jett chuckled, and for the first time ever in my time working for him, he smiled with his teeth. In photographs, he always gave a soft smile with no teeth. He looked nice smiling that way, but I could tell he was just doing it for the camera. There were not many photos of him at all fully smiling. Even those did not seem to be genuine and they were from when he was younger so it was hard to visualize what his smile looked like today. His smile was gorgeous. His upper lip was shorter than his bottom lip, so when he smiled it shrunk a little. This was a good thing, though; it made for a nicer smile with more teeth.
"How about we do lunch every Wednesday?" Mr. Jett suggested.
"Sure, I can do that," I said, trying not to smile too much.
"Good. Feel free to use it as a time to tell me or ask me anything you need to."
I nodded. "Sounds like a plan, Mr. Jett."