The Wrong Boss: Chapter 9

“This is your spot,” the head EA, Kaia, told me, gesturing to one of the desks in the pod. We were on the level just below where the C-suite executives had their offices, close enough to run and do their bidding, but far enough away that our tapping keyboards and ringing phones wouldn’t disturb them.

I frowned at the picture frame on the desk showing a smiling young woman and someone I assumed was her mother, then slid my gaze to the poor little succulent that looked like it’d been overwatered to within an inch of its life. “Are you sure?” I asked. “It kind of looks like someone already claimed this desk.”

“It’s yours now,” she said, and we both glanced up when the elevator doors opened.

A short woman with tears streaming down her face came rushing out, making a beeline toward us. She sobbed as she crashed to a stop, grabbing the picture frame from the desk with one hand while she ripped open the bottom drawer with the other. Pulling out her purse, she stuffed the photo into it and turned to Kaia. “He fired me,” she blurted.

“I know,” Kaia replied, stone-faced.

Ouch.

“It’s only been two weeks! I need the money, Kaia. Can’t you just… Can I do filing? I’ll be the official coffee runner. I’ll clean the meeting rooms. Anything. I know I messed up the travel arrangements, but I was on hold for three hours! There were no flights! What was I supposed to do?”

I looked away, shifting my weight from foot to foot.

“Mr. Christianson’s word is final,” Kaia said, still in that hard voice. “I’m sorry, Alison.”

The woman stared at the head assistant, then crumpled in on herself. A few excruciating moments later, her things were vacated from the desk and she was in the elevator, escorted by the building’s security for her final exit.

Meat grinder, indeed. I would have to be at the top of my game if I wanted the paycheck, the benefits, and the stability that they would provide.

I glanced at Kaia, who stared at a spot on the floor, her jaw tense. When she felt my gaze, she looked up and schooled her expression. “As I was saying,” she stated, “this is your new desk.”

“Not the first time?” I guessed.

Her features softened. “It doesn’t get easier, no matter how many times it happens. Her mother was sick, you know. She really needed the job. She was a good kid. Always happy, but just…”

“Not good enough.”

Kaia pinched her lips and nodded. “You’ll be taking over her duties. Here’s your login for the computer.” She handed me a Post-it note. “I’ve already printed out the company’s travel SOP. Unfortunately, you’ll have to fix Alison’s mistakes, which might prove to be a challenge. We need to send Mr. Christianson to Los Angeles tomorrow morning. The plane’s wheels need to be on the ground by eight o’clock if he’s going to make his meeting. I’ve already tried to reschedule the meeting with no luck. The information has been emailed to your new work address. You have until the end of the day.”

My heart thumped. Not an easy task, especially judging by the thickness of the travel arrangement procedure document. I glanced at the first two pages. The man flew only on specific airlines, certain routes, and even had preferences for only a handful of seats he deigned to sit his expensive tush onto on any given plane.

Mr. Meat Grinder had exacting standards. I’d assumed we’d be reporting directly to Chuck Hearst, who was the focus of most of my research when I’d prepared for the interview—he was the one listed on the company’s website as the board’s director—but Kaia had said “Christianson.”

I’d have to do more digging if I was going to survive the week.

I straightened my spine and gave Kaia a nod. “No problem.”

She arched a brow. “I like the confidence.”

“I’m faking it,” I admitted.

A quick, barely-there smile flashed over her face. “Aren’t we all,” she replied dryly. “I’ll check in in a few hours.”

“Thanks.” I took a seat, then typed in the username and password Kaia had given me into their designated fields. While the screen loaded, I glanced at the succulent Alison had left behind. “It’s you and me against the world,” I told the plant, and I moved it to the corner of my desk closest to the big window nearby.

Then I got to work.

My first task was to read the SOP in detail. Then I read it again. Rummaging through the drawers that Alison had so carefully organized, I found a yellow highlighter and took note of the requirements that the boss laid out for travel. Then I reviewed the mistakes Alison had made—she’d chosen an airline on the Do Not Fly list, and she had him landing with just fifteen minutes to get from LAX to the meeting site, which, considering traffic, would put him between an hour and an hour and a half late.

A quick search told me that there were no flights available within the allowed parameters, which meant I had to get creative.

I picked up my phone, and a familiar voice answered on the third ring. “A little birdie told me you don’t work for Wentworth anymore. I’m not sure I should even be picking up the phone right now.”

“Hi, Deena. Word travels fast. It’s my first day at the new job.” I bit my lip. “I need a favor.”

“And here I thought you were calling to tell me that Cole Christianson is as delicious in person as he is in photos,” the travel agent replied with a dramatic sigh. I could just imagine her checking her nails with exaggerated casualness, a gleam in her eyes proclaiming the possession of some juicy gossip.

I froze for a second. Cole Christianson? My throat tightened, just as it always did when I heard the name of the man who had changed my life, then I shook my head to throw off the feeling. How many rabbit holes had I jumped down looking for him? I wasn’t going to find him in the big corner office at my new job, that was for sure. And I didn’t have time to get distracted when I was supposed to be fighting for my job—and my life—by booking a flight that may or may not have existed.

“I haven’t seen him yet,” I admitted. “But I have to get him on a plane to LAX first thing in the morning.”

“Hmm,” Deena replied, clearly enjoying herself. “You don’t work for Wentworth anymore, darling. And I don’t think I’m contracted with Hearst.”

“Please,” I begged. “The girl who messed up got fired this morning, and I’m pretty sure I won’t last the day if I don’t figure this flight out. They gave me her desk. The chair was still warm when I sat down.”

“Gross.”

I huffed a laugh and glanced around at the other employees on the assistant pool floor. A few of them chatted in quiet voices. Many of them typed away or talked on their phones, clearly uninterested in wasting any time. Kaia met my gaze over the top of her computer monitor, and I gave her a tight smile before ducking my head. “Please. I know you have connections, Deena. You’ve always been the best at what you do.”

“Keep going,” she crooned. “You know I respond well to flattery.”

This time I did laugh. “Your hair is fabulous. Your style is impeccable. Your nails are a work of art.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“No one is as clever or as talented as you. I bow down before you, because I know I’ll never come close to your travel arrangement skills.”

“Oh, all right, I’ll help you just this once,” she said. “What do you need?”

I told her, hung up the phone, and twelve minutes later, a flight confirmation was sent to my new work email with the boss’s top choice for airline and flight number. The seat selected was the third-best choice according to the SOP document, but I’d take it.

I texted Deena a slew of over-the-top compliments about her prowess as a travel agent and status as a style inspiration, to which she replied with a simple, “I know,” then I forwarded the flight confirmation to Kaia.

Thirty seconds later, my manager was striding toward my desk, her eyes shining. “I don’t know how you did it, Carrie, and I don’t care. Follow me.”

I jumped up, trying not to let the triumphant smile spread across my lips the way it wanted to. “Where are we going?”

“Upstairs,” she replied.

I gulped. “Oh. Really?”

“I know there’s an actual beating heart somewhere inside Christianson’s chest,” she told me as we entered the elevator. “I want him to see your face, to know who it is that knocked this out of the park so quickly.”

“You want to humanize me so it’s harder for him to fire me in ten days’ time.”

She threw me a sideways glance, laughing. “We’re incredibly short-staffed. I can’t afford to lose anyone. Especially not someone who seems to have the connections to make things happen.”

“I got lucky,” I demurred, but pride burned through my chest. I made a mental note to send Deena the fruit basket to end all fruit baskets as a thank-you gift, just as soon as I got my first paycheck.

“No such thing,” Kaia answered, striding out as soon as the elevator doors opened. She motioned for me to follow, then knocked on one of the frosted glass doors on the quiet, glossy executive floor. A small black plaque proclaimed the occupant’s name in simple white font: Mr. Cole Christianson, CEO. I sucked in a long breath, trying to get enough oxygen into my body. The air was thin up here, although maybe that was just the crush of my ribs constricting my lungs.

First day jitters. That was all.

This was good. Kaia was obviously respected here, and I’d made a great first impression. All I needed to do was keep it up, and I’d be able to give Evie her own bedroom for the first time in her life. I’d be able to repay Hailey for her generosity by giving her the gift of privacy as her family grew. I’d have stability. That landmass on the distant horizon was close—so close that I could almost feel sand beneath my toes. I was nearly safe on solid ground.

Deep breaths.

I was getting ahead of myself; I’d done one single task. That wasn’t enough to secure my place at Hearst. I’d have to do it again and again and again to prove myself. I was ready. I straightened my back and lifted my chin while a deep, resonant voice called for us to enter.

And that voice…

No. I was overwrought. I was high on my own meager success. I was thrown by the name on the door, those four letters of the first name that brought me back to the day of Hailey’s wedding when everything changed for me.

But it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. That would make him the entirely wrong boss for me.

On legs that felt like wet noodles, I stepped over the threshold after Kaia, surreptitiously wiping my sweating palms on the sides of my hip-hugging skirt. My throat was dry, and I saw none of the expansive view of Manhattan nor the designer furniture or the contemporary oil paintings adorning the walls.

All I saw was a pair of broad shoulders in a perfectly tailored black shirt. I saw familiar black hair that was just long enough to curl at the ends. I saw a trim waist, and the curve of a neck along which I’d scraped my fingernails in the throes of passion all those years ago.

My breathing became jagged. My vision began to cloud at the edges.

I needed to get my eyes checked. Or maybe my head. This was wrong, wrong, wrong. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. It absolutely, definitely, could not be him.

Not when I needed this job so badly. Not when even the chance that it was him sent my heart galloping faster than my weekly group fitness session. The owner of this company wasn’t my child’s father. There was no way.

No. Way.

“Sir,” Kaia said. “I wanted to introduce you to Carrie Woods. As you know, she just started this morning, and she’s managed to fix Ms. Bronson’s blunder with your travel arrangements. I thought you’d like to put a face to the name and let us know if you’d like her to handle anything else.”

Cole Christianson’s movements paused for the briefest moment when she said my name. It was hardly a pause. More of a stutter as he reached for a glass, a slight twitch of his fingers as they curled around the crystal.

It was the tiniest break in his otherwise calm demeanor, and it made the breath leave my lungs in a rush.

I looked at those hands on that glass, and a vision flashed through my mind. Another glass in a low-lit bar. A hand sliding up my thigh, the press of his thumb against my knee.

Those hands had been on me. In me.

It couldn’t be. I’d looked for him. I’d been desperate to find him, to tell him about my—our—daughter, and had only given up when life swept me up in its current, when I’d resigned myself to doing it alone.

How could I have searched and searched and come up empty, only for⁠—

As he turned away from the bar cart where he’d been fetching himself a glass of water, the world fell away from beneath my feet.

Dark eyes snapped to mine. Recognition flared. The earth tilted.

My loafers’ heels were only an inch high, but I felt like I was teetering on six-inch stilettos. The last remnants of strength in my legs gave out as my knees knocked.

Distantly, I felt my mouth shape his name, but no sound came out.

Then everything went black.