Page 23 of Obsession

The words before and after register for me as well, but imagining Megan, fiery, smart-mouthed Megan, having her self-respect stripped from her at any age makes me grind my jaw for some reason.

It’s an unsettling image.

It’s the cook who notices me first, and I can see the shock on his face as he recognizes me. At one time, I thought my identity was a complete secret from all that work here, but I guess I’m not surprised that he knows. He’s been working here for a couple of years now. He’d be an idiot not to have figured it out by now.

However, when Megan looks over to see me standing there, I can see a wave of nausea covering her face.

“What? Why are you here? This isn’t your office.”

Like most of our interactions, the inappropriate words just burst out of her, but I don’t respond. I have to get my temper under control. I cannot believe what I just heard, and it’s in my DNA to want to do something about it, mainly because it’s...her.

The cook slinks off, leaving her alone with me. He knows his place, which is probably why he’s been working here so long.

“I was updating the shifts,” she says, her voice cautious. “Billy needs some extra work.”

When I say nothing, she looks alarmed. “If I did something wrong, just tell me. Don’t just stand there glaring like you want to reprimand me.”

It’s the abrupt response that drags me back to reality. Megan has respect for process but not for authority, and that shit isn’t going to fly.

I force my voice to be normal. “You keep forgetting that I’m your employer.”

“No, I don’t. How can I? You and your minions remind me everywhere I turn.”

I ignore her rebuttal and focus my attention on her clothes. It’s the easiest thing to focus on since I don’t want to address the real issue. She’s not dressed like she normally would be for work. She’s a laid-back kind of girl who tends to wear jeans that fit her ass like a glove and slightly distressed tees. Tonight, though, her outfit is more like a sexy secretary. She’s wearing a fitted collared top and pencil skirt and has on much more makeup than I’ve ever seen her wear. It doesn’t seem like a look she would put together. It’s as if someone dressed her up like their own personal Barbie doll.

“I told you to wear something appropriate for your new position.”

She looks down at her blue button-up blouse and black pencil skirt.

“What’s wrong with this? It’s professional.”

I walk over to her and reach out to touch the fabric of her blouse. “It’s too tight, and it’s tacky.”

When her eyes widen, I wonder if she’s going to have a snarky comeback, but she snaps her mouth shut and glares at me.

At least she’s learning.

“Why didn’t you buy something new and branded?”

An outfit more befitting of you.

“Because designer brands cost money,” she says slowly as if talking to a five-year-old.

I should be offended.

“And I don’t have money,” she continues.

She’s enunciating each word down to the syllable.

Brat.

The urge to pull her over my knee is overwhelming, and I have to curl my fist and remind myself that she’s only a college kid who works for me. I need to be careful.

“Tomorrow afternoon you’re going shopping. There’s a look I want Blue Whiskey management to have, and you don’t have it.”

“Uh, there’s a Blue Whiskey look?” Her eyes turn wide as saucers, and she sputters. “What does that even mean? Half the clientele here are drunks, and the other half are criminals. It’s not like they’re going to check the collar of my shirt for the brand name. All they want is the alcohol and the shitty bar food.”

I’m still disturbed by her earlier childhood revelation, and when she defies me so openly, I step towards her, my voice prickly. “I think I’ve made myself clear. I’ll see you tomorrow at the club in the afternoon.”

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