Page 15 of Obsession

Panic fills me as this whole thing is making me uncomfortable. “You said I wasn’t fired.”

“You’re not,” he replies calmly.

He reaches across his desk and picks up a file, opening it. It gives me the time to take a really long look at him. Describing this man as handsome is an injustice. In his slate grey suit, which is probably worth ten times my yearly salary, he has this distinguished yet dangerous air about him. He’s tall and fit, and while his strongly sculpted face is expressionless most of the time, I’ve noticed that his eyes are the key to figuring out his mood.

“If you’re done gawking at me, you can take a seat,” Mr. Middleton gestures towards one of the empty chairs across from his desk.

“I wasn’t–“ I try defending myself, but he just watches me with raised brows.

“Are you going to sit down, or should I pick you up and carry you over here as well?”

His threat has the intended effect, and I hurry to sit across from him.

I catch a glimpse of the file he’s holding and realize that it belongs to me. He has my employee file open in front ofhim. Most people would read the information on their computer screens; interestingly, he’s printed it out.

“Where have you worked before here?” he asks, leaning back in his chair and studying me.

“Um,” I try to gather my thoughts, but it’s a little difficult to focus on anything when he watches me with that intense gaze of his. My lower abdomen tightens when he holds my eyes, and I sink my teeth into my lower lip, trying to snap out of it. Lusting after this psychopath isn’t what I should be doing right now.

“I worked–It was a bakery. I’ve worked as a barista at a coffee shop and as an assistant manager at a bakery.”

“Why didn’t you include those positions on your resume?”

Because they fired me from both places.

I try not to grimace. “I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Is that so?”

I feel like I’ve been called into the principal’s office.

I squirm in my seat and for some reason, I get the feeling that Mr. Middleton is enjoying my discomfort as if he almost “gets off” on it.

“Have you considered a managerial position?”

“Excuse me?” I blink at him.

He sets down the file and studies me. “To be more precise, your current manager’s position.”

I stare at him in stunned silence.

My brain begins to work at some point, and I say, sounding stupid to even my own ears, “But I’m a bartender.”

“I’m aware of that.” Mr. Middleton gives me a steady look. “But starting tomorrow, I want you to start training another employee to take your position. I want you to become the floor manager.”

“But that’s Steve’s job.”

“And now it will be yours.”

“That’s a full-time position,” I say in a panicked voice. “I can’t work full time. I have to go to college as well.”

“I’ll make it a part-time position for you,” Mr. Middleton says, unbothered. “It’ll be a trial position for three months, so you know.”

I hesitate, “I don’t think-“

“The pay is double what you’re earning now.”

Double the pay?

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