Page 14 of Dominant

Chapter 3

Bosshole

Jordan

I started work after the holidays, on the first day back after the new year. I walked into Abbott Holdings wide-eyed and hopeful.

It was so surreal. I’d been looking for a job for months, watching my debt climb as I struggled more every day to make ends meet. Every expense became a bigger obstacle, thrusting me inexorably towards poverty and destitution, when suddenly, out of nowhere, Alexander Abbott just appeared and offered me a job on a whim.

It was my first real, paid job as an accountant, although I had no doubt I could do the work as I’d been managing every aspect of Chateau Andilet’s financials for the past two years.

Jennifer had told me that my experience at Chateau Andilet would look good on my resume, and I’d believed her - but everyone I’d interviewed with had immediately written it off as a volunteer job and disregarded it. With no actual, paid experience as an accountant, no one was willing to hire me. Alexander was the first person to recognize the immense amount of work that went into accounting for a business the size of Chateau Andilet.

The salary his assistant Marianne had drawn up in the contract was very generous. I’d gushed, “Looks great!” before she arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me, reminding me that I was supposed to negotiate. Still feeling like I was in some alternate reality, I’d said meekly, “Would you consider raising the salary by $3,000, considering I have so much experience with the Chateau Andilet account already?”

“Sure,” she’d said indifferently, and drawn up a new contract.

Just like that.

I tugged at the ill-fitting pencil skirt I was wearing as I waited at the reception desk for Marianne to come get me. For as long as I’d had grown-up bills to pay, I’d been earning a living waiting tables or slinging drinks, and it seemed like my entire wardrobe was composed of ripped jeans and too-tight shirts. I didn’t have anything appropriate for an office, and I’d had to borrow the skirt, and a mismatched blazer, from my roommate, Stephanie.

The offices were in a reclaimed factory right in the heart of downtown. High, lofted ceilings and exposed bricks framed huge floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything looked posh and beautiful - including the staff. The receptionist had the full-lipped, heavy-lidded look of a Guess jeans model. Marianne, harder-looking but no less attractive, looked like a dominatrix. She strode purposefully into the reception area, her six-inch heels rapping a sharp, staccato rhythm against the hard floor, and gave me a slightly indifferent greeting. Tiny in stature, with an incredible body shown off to its best advantage in a tight, strappy black dress, she barely came up to my shoulders in her heels, yet seemed to have the hair of a much larger woman; it rippled down her back in long, thick curls.

“The washroom’s down the hall there,” she pointed out, as she led me towards my desk, walking two steps ahead of me. “And parking’s in the basement. Do you need an assigned spot?”

I pulled at my skirt again, which was twisting around my legs as I walked. “Uh… not right away. I think I’ll just be taking the bus.”

I was at least a couple of paycheques away from being able to get the clamps off my wheels and pay my roommate the back rent I owed her, and then my first priority would be buying some office-appropriate clothing that fit.

“Fine,” said Marianne. We turned a corner and reached a lovely workstation set up against a floor-to-ceiling window. Although the office was open concept, it was so spacious that the workstations had privacy because of how far apart everyone was. Mine was completely private, wedged between an exposed brick wall and the outer wall of one of the offices. I took a step forward and looked at the view. I could sit right in front of that huge window and see the whole city at my feet.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed.

Marianne crooked a smile, her sharp eyes crinkling perceptively. “You’ll like it here,” she predicted. “Alexander can be a tough boss sometimes, but he’s a kind person, and he’s fair. Just remember that.”

Before I could ask what she meant, an athletic-looking man in his late thirties rounded the corner. He was dressed casually in jeans and a vintage Nintendo t-shirt, and he greeted me with a wide, easy grin.

He was cute, with broad shoulders and messy blond hair, and his tanned face and arms gave him an outdoorsy vibe. He seemed so much like a ski instructor I was almost surprised he didn’t have tan lines around his eyes.

“I’m Mark,” he said, extending a broad, firm hand and clasping mine tightly.

“Mark Gibson is the Director of Operations,” said Marianne, “and your boss. The Accounting team reports into Operations.”

Mark flashed perfect white teeth at me. “You’re the whole Accounting team for now,” he added. “We’ve been outsourcing, but it will be good to bring it in-house. I look forward to working with you.”

Marianne informed me that I had an appointment for lunch with Mark on my calendar, and then they left me to settle into my desk, chatting warmly as they walked away down the hall. I swiveled twice in my new chair and took a long, deep breath.

I had a job. I had a real, high-paying job.

Before lunch, I had one task on my to-do list. Call the other partners of Chateau Andilet - my parents - to let them know about the staffing change to the Accounting team.

It wasn’t practical, but I always called my dad’s number when I had to speak to my parents. Jennifer managed everything in their lives, including his family relationships,but when it came time to pick up the phone I always used the same reasoning: he was my actual parent, and she wasn’t. He didn’t always answer, which was slightly gutting because I knew that, as A types, they were both constantly glued to their phones. At least Jennifer could be counted on to answer. But still, I perpetually tried him first.

This time he did pick up. “Oh, why, hello there!” he answered in an amiable tone, one meant to assure me that he knew exactly who I was, and, possibly, that I didn’t call enough. A World’s Greatest Dad kind of tone.

“Dad? It’s Jordan.” I said, just in case he actually didn’t know. “Are you with Jennifer? I’m calling to tell you about my new job.”

“A job? That’s great, honey.” He sounded genuinely pleased. “She says she has a job now,” he repeated to someone else. I felt a flicker of annoyance. I’d always had a job,the key word here was new.

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