My fingertips tingle with the urge to snatch the coffee away and tell him exactly where he can shove it.
“Actually,” he continues before I can say anything. “Forget the coffee. I have a meeting across town in fifteen minutes.”
“Better get moving then.” I clear my throat. “I’ll call the car for you.”
“And tell them to move quickly and if they can’t, I’ll find someone who can. I don’t feel like waiting around today.”
“Yes, sir,” I sneer, before turning around and leaving his office, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.
I need this job. I need this job. I need this job.
***
Five o’clock can’t come any faster. I have even taken to clock-watching the last fifteen minutes, because with Sir Asshole in and out of meetings all day, there hasn’t been much for me to do, other than field calls and work on his schedule.
I am tapping my pen against my desk, to the beat of the ticking clock in my brain, when my name sliding through the air on a voice with a timbre so deep and velvety it sends shivers up my back.
“Piper.”
I look up into the stormy eyes of my boss.
He is standing across from me at my desk and from my position; he’s positively towering over me.
His shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows now, and he still hasn’t put the tie back on. He oozes deliciousness.
“I don’t pay you to daydream.”
And there is it. The Asshole.
“I wasn’t daydreaming. I was counting. I have a lot to do this evening, and the last five minutes seem to be moving at a snail’s pace.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Well, sorry to put a damper on the evening, but I need you to stay a little later tonight.”
I have to fight the actual urge to chuck a stapler at him.
“I’m sorry. I have plans this evening and…”
“It isn’t voluntary, Piper.” He pulls out his cell phone and slides his thumb across the screen. “I need the spreadsheets and handouts for the meeting tomorrow prepped and ready to go. It was moved up to the morning.”
“Mr. Lennox, I can do those things from my laptop at home or I can be here bright and early tomorrow morning. I am needed elsewhere tonight, but I can assure you that what you need will be in your inbox tomorrow morning before you arrive.” I hold firm.
“I admire your ability to be openly insubordinate. It’s charming, actually.”
His face is stoic, not showing an ounce of humor, save for the slight twitch of his lips that I could almost call a slight smirk.
“One of my many talents, and I wouldn’t call negotiation insubordination, now, if you don’t have any objections, I will make sure everything is ready to go by the morning… regardless of whether I do them from home or early tomorrow.” I sit back in my seat, crossing my legs.
“Wouldn’t want to keep you from your date,” he hisses, squaring his shoulders.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re so eager, one can only assume it’s because you have a date you need to tend to.”
Is he serious right now?
“Well, first of all, if I did… it wouldn’t be any of your business. Second of all, no, I don’t have a date, unless you count helping sling pasta and pies with my brothers as a date, then sure… hot date central right here.”
He goes to speak, but I interrupt him.
“And third of all, just because a woman has plans and is in a hurry to get to them does not mean she has a date. Women aren’t defined by dates or lack thereof,” I huff and stand. “I’ll have your spreadsheet to you by morning and the executives will have it as well. I’ll have the handouts ready before it begins.”
“Sounds like you need to have a date soon. You’re very high-strung.” He smiles when I glare at him. “Have a good evening, Piper. I expect to see that email tomorrow morning before you arrive.”
The shrill sound of the phone ringing between us on my desk breaks through and I release a breath. He doesn’t move though. He simply stands there with his hands in his pockets.
“Are you going to get that?” He says.
“I’m off the clock. You monopolized my last few minutes.” I pull my purse from the bottom drawer.
“I see.” He bends forward, pulls the phone from the receiver, and places it on my ear, forcing me to answer the call. “You’re salary, not hourly. Say hello.”
I huff loudly. “I’m sorry, but Lennox Publishing is closed at the moment, and…”
He pulls the phone away, clearly reading between the lines that I was about to say something wildly unprofessional to whoever was on the other side of the phone.
“Lennox Publishing, this is Nathanial,” he greets, glaring at me then his posture loosens. “Gabrielle, hello. Yes, actually, I’d rather take this call in private. I’ll transfer you to my line.”
Gabrielle? She calls here sometimes for him if he doesn’t answer his cell. I’ve never asked who she is. I don’t need to know. I’d rather not know of his bevy of beauties who drop to their knees at his beck and call.
He presses the transfer button, leaving it blinking before placing the phone back on the receiver.
“Have a good evening, Piper. Remember… I expect everything to be set before I arrive.”
I salute, like the brat I am. “Yes, sir.”
That seems to make a smile curl onto his lips; at least, I think that’s a smile.
Huh. Who knew The Asshole had it in him.
***
“Are you hungry? I can have Oliver whip you something up real fast. Anything you want,” my mother says, as she takes a seat across from me at the corner booth.
I finish counting out the cash from the till and make note of it on my laptop before tucking it into a deposit bag.
“We have been closed for almost an hour. You think Oliver and Benjamin wouldn’t have a cow if I asked them to dirty up that kitchen?”
“I’m the boss here, Piper. They do as I say,” she jokes with a grin.
“Ain’t that the truth?” I pile my hair into a bun on top of my head. “I’m good, Ma. I stole a few squares of lasagna and put it in a to-go box already. I couldn’t resist.”
Kingston’s Italian Eatery has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Hell, almost every birthday party of my whole life has been held in here.
My father, a second-generation Italian immigrant, set his sights on opening this place when he was sixteen years old. He worked his ass off, and finally, at the age of twenty-five, he did it.
I spent every evening and every weekend here growing up. Serving, helping in the kitchen, cleaning, anything that was needed, my mother, and my twin brothers Benjamin and Oliver, and myself were right here in the trenches.
And we never complained.
We had the type of family I only saw in sitcoms. None of my other friends at school had parents who were still married, let alone ran a business together.
I never saw them fight. I never saw an ounce of frustration.
They were skilled at hiding it… until my father passed away when I was twenty, then the debt, the hard times, the struggles, all of it, came bursting into the limelight.