Page 7 of Jack Frost, CEO

I turn around and am greeted by a tall, slender redhead dressed from head to toe in designer labels with a pair of red-bottom shoes. I’m instantly pissed. I know a queen bee when I see one, and this particular one is a capital B.

“Oi, sorry, mate. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I try to play up the clueless foreigner act. Which typically defuses most tense situations.

“Oh, fuck off, Lucy. The job was never yours, and you know it. Don’t try to pin the fact you didn’t get a job you thought you deserved on Maisie. No one ever said it was yours.” Stella comes up behind the girl and knocks on her shoulder.

“Watch it, Stella. That job was mine. I deserved it!”

I’m surprised Lucy doesn’t stamp her foot to accompany her tantrum.

“Puh-lease, Lucy. You are barely qualified for the job you have. Besides, we know the only position you want is on your knees in front of Mr. Foster.”

Lucy screeches, and the chatter in the canteen lowers drastically as she lunges at Stella. I step forward with my arm raised to shove her off when a booming voice rings out.

“That. Is. ENOUGH!” Jack bellows, and the resulting silence is deafening.

Chapter 6

Jack

The elevator doors open enough for me to see a skinny redhead let out a god-awful screech. And lunge. Toward Maisie.

Not on my fucking watch.

I’m livid as I step off the elevator, moving between the three women. Stella, the raven-haired girl with a wicked sense of humor, stands next to Maisie, while the screeching redhead stands across from them looking like she’s sucked a lemon.

“What is the meaning of this?” When no one moves to speak, I turn to Maisie. “Miss Mitchell?”

“Well, sir, it would seem that Lucy has taken offense to my position as your assistant. She was under the impression that she deserved the job.” Maisie refuses to look at me, and I dislike that.

“Is that so?” I murmur, glancing at the woman in question. I don’t remember seeing her CV, and I would have, as we always try to promote from inside first. “Let’s all go talk to Martha then, shall we?”

Lucy pales, and I smirk while gesturing a hand toward the elevator doors. All three women silently follow me inside. Maisie’s finger hesitates over the buttons. Stella steps in and handles the situation. Truth is, I couldn’t care less who gets us there as long as Maisie’s safe. We arrive at Martha’s office, where we find her texting furiously on her phone.

She glances up, her irritation evident by the way her mouth draws down. “Ah, there you are. My office, ladies. Now.”

All three women follow behind her like meek schoolgirls while I pull up the rear. I’ve known Martha most of my life, and I can’t say I’ve ever seen her overtly upset by an employee’s actions. I know I’m sheltered from most aspects of human resources, but Martha keeps me in the loop when necessary.

“Now. Speak.” Martha sets her phone down on her desk, piercing each girl with a pointed glare.

All three girls start talking at once, and I whistle loudly. “Maisie. You first.” My voice is quiet in the resulting silence.

“I just finished lunch with Stella and was returning to your office to prepare for the two o’clock meeting,” Maisie explains.

“Which we are now late for,” I interject.

Maisie nods in acknowledgment before she continues. “I pressed the button for the lift when this woman…” She points at the redhead. “…came up behind me and accused me of taking her job. Stella rushed over to see what was going on. Words were exchanged and Lucy tried to strike Stella in retaliation. Then Mr. Foster showed up and, well, here we are.” She shrugs and falls silent again.

“Is that true, Miss Masterson?” Martha taps her pen on the desk, where she is taking notes, as her glare lands on Lucy.

“That position was supposed to be mine!”

I wince at the shrillness of her voice.

“Miss Masterson, as you were previously informed when you applied for the assistant position, you lacked several major requirements for the job posting. You were made aware of these deficiencies and removed from the candidate pool. The position was never yours. Therefore, no job has been stolen from you, and if you truly believed that was the case, you should have come to me. We do not confront our coworkers in the canteen, and we simply do not attempt to assault them!”

Martha is standing at this point, her jaw set hard while the rest of her appears to vibrate with her anger. Then she smooths imaginary wrinkles from her skirt as she tugs the hem down.

“Miss Mitchell, Miss Jarvis, you may return to your stations. Have a seat, Miss Masterson.” The Martha in front of me is one I haven’t seen very often. And, frankly, she’s terrifying.

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