Page 2 of The Boss I Can't Stand
But then he shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it on the counter like he owned the place before he said, “It’s roasting in here. You should get that fixed.”
The spell immediately broke with his condescending tone.Thank you, Captain Obvious.I summoned the last threads of my patience and through a strained voice said, “We’re closing in five minutes. How can I?—”
He held his hand up, cutting me off, following that up with a smug, plastic, megawatt grin. “I’m just browsing.”
“There isn’t really time to browse,” I said, pointing at the clock on the wall. “There’s only five?—”
“Minutes. Yeah, I got that. I can tell the time.”
Wow, rude! I forced my best customer service smile. “Then please enjoy your time here at?—”
He’d turned away before I’d even finished my sentence, disappearing between a row of fabric bolts.
Whatever. It was fine. The customer was always right. At least until closing. I sucked in a calming breath and tried not to side-eye the clock as it counted down…four minutes…three…two…one.
Okay. This man was now standing between me and my ice cream. I started after him right as I heard his phone ring.
“No, we’re not rescheduling!” he growled at whatever poor soul had called him. “If they can’t do the interview tomorrow, they can consider themselves out of the running.”
Jerk alert.
Mr. Armani appeared from the end of the aisle, scowling, with his phone pressed to his ear. Who the hell was this guy and why did he seem familiar?
“Hey!” I called out to him, tapping my wrist like I wore a watch. “It’s closing time!” He turned toward another display. Did he just deliberately ignore me? I gaped after him. “Um, hello? We’re closing.”
Nothing. Not even a glance in my direction.
I set off after Sir Ignores-a-Lot and spotted him running his hand down a bolt of fabric. He was still on the phone.
“Tell them I’m not interested, Brenna. End of story.”
I winced at his tone. “Sir?” I called. “The store is now closed. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
He walked away, leaving me standing there. I followed him as the heat of frustration surged through me.
I turned the corner. He was already halfway down the next aisle. “Hey, buddy!” I snapped. He stuffed the phone between his ear and his shoulder to examine the silk more closely. He made a face, looking displeased, then walked away. Again!
What was it going to take to get his attention? “Fire!” I yelled out. “You need to evacuate immediately.” He didn’t so much as look up.
If I was stuck here, and he wasn’t going to listen to anything I said anyway, I might as well have some fun with it. “I think the fire came from an alien laser beam,” I announced. “You know, from the alien spaceship out in the parking lot. Look! They landed on your car. Or did you order the flying saucer hood ornament?”
Nothing. Hmm, maybe something more off-the-wall would get his attention?
“There’s an army of squirrels marching toward the store with peanut cannons. They’re demanding I surrender you so they can slow-roast you over a low flame for their annual cookout.” Really? “They say that in return, they’ll give me a lifetime supply of almonds. Feels like I’m getting the better end of the deal—do you know how expensive almonds are these days?”
Finally the guy hung up the phone. He whirled toward me, jaw twitching, staring me down as if I was the biggest inconvenience in the room. “I can hear you just fine, though I don’t know why you’re hovering over me if part of the store actually is on fire. The aliens aren’t a hood ornament, they’re a cleaning crew who’ve promised to give my car a shine that is out of this world.” He was on a roll.
“Of course I don’t know how expensive almonds are—I have people who take care of that for me—but I still think the squirrels are lowballing you. Never take a first offer. And, yes,” he growled, “before you askyet again, I’m obviously looking for something, hence the fact I’m in this store in the first place.”
My face flushed. I could feel the traitorous heat even as frustration beat at my temple. I never imagined he was payingthatmuch attention to what I was saying.
“And yes, I understand you’re closing. You’ve said so, multiple times.”
“Correction,” I said, holding my hand up to cut him off the way he had earlier. “We’re now closed. Something you should know if you can, in fact, tell time.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is this what you consider customer service? Did you ever think perhaps I’d be out of here quicker if you weren’t wasting my time with your nagging?”
“Did you not hear what I said?” Enough was enough. The customer was no longer right. “The store is closed, which means you’re nolonger my customer, so you’re not entitled to anything but my aggravation.”
