Page 1 of Big Boss
1
Erica
I don’t haveany time to waste, and this man holding my coffee is disrupting my schedule.
Every hourof this entire day is planned, right down to the most optimum time to get a cup of coffee in the little shop in the building’s lobby—9:42, sandwiched precisely between my first and second interviews.
I like having a schedule.It makes me feel like I’m in control. There’s nothing worse than the unexpected, not when I can plan around it.
And while Iam very much not in control of most of what is happening today, I can definitely do something about this extremely hot but also possibly mentally unstable guy who is clutching my precious Americano triple shot and hauling ass toward the exit.
Oh no.Not today, Mister Hot Guy in a Suit.
I lookaround the bustling coffee shop to see if there’s someone I can ask for help, but it’s crowded and noisy and I’m unlikely to be able to make myself heard before that man flees the scene.
The only optionis to make a move myself. For the sake of the schedule.
An appropriate level of caffeine consumption can prevent murder. I know it’s certainly saved more than a few people from me over the years.
But first,I have to figure out how to get through the newest chapter in the absolute dumpster fire of this day: Hot Guy Problems.
“Hey. Hey, you,”I say, louder, and reach out to tap him on his shoulder. “You’ve got something I need.”
He’s got a thick,solid wall of man shoulder, by the way. If you were wondering about his shoulders.
Which I obviously wasn’t becausethis particular man brazenly stole my coffee and that’s definitely the only reason I even noticed him, so I am one hundred percent not checking him out. Pinky promise.
He turnsto face me then takes his hand and lifts mine up and away from him like it grosses him out. The sneer on his face confirms that it does, and with one last, disdainful curl of his lip, he pivots and struts off, actually shouldering my body out of the way as he goes.
Guess he’s not socharming when he gets busted taking a girl’s coffee.
That look he gave me.Like I’m a stinky bug or something on the bottom of his shiny leather shoe instead of the woman in the epic sunflower dress whose coffee he so obviously stole.
The first intervieweractually yelled at me for wearing this gorgeous dress, printed all over with large neon-yellow sunflowers, even though everybody knows yellow is a cheerful color. It’s my favorite dress and it makes me happy whenever I put it on, so it should bring me good luck, right? And who doesn’t love sunflowers?
Apparently,Ms. Bethany Boggs of Boggs & Boggs Unlimited. But if she’s the type of person who yells at me simply because of what I’m wearing to meet her, I definitely wouldn’t make it more than five minutes as her assistant.
But that’s fine.Everything’s fine.
I havefour more interviews today in this giant mega office building that houses the best gallery houses in the city and I’m confident at least one of them will want to hire me. Probably. If I don’t fall asleep because my coffee was kidnapped.
So,I do what any completely reasonable, under-caffeinated woman on a tight schedule would: I follow him out of the shop and across the lobby then quickly duck into the elevator right after him. All to demand my coffee back. And, maybe I am powerwalking a little bit or something.
Nobody’s chasinga hot man in a suit into an elevator. That would be completely irrational, wouldn’t it?
Because while Imay have to undergo several more migraine-inducing interviews full of awkward pauses and forced small talk and smiling that hurts my entire head, I’m not going to do it without caffeine.
I have a plan,and my plan is not going to be derailed by some man who thinks he’s so important that he doesn’t even bother checking whose name is on the cup he picks up.
Menlike him can’t be bothered with paying attention to details. This guy just heard triple shot and grabbed, like he was the only person whose life required that much caffeine today.
And now he’staking away precious minutes I need for beverage consumption and forcing me to chase him down to the elevator like I’m some sort of vigilante espresso enforcer. A coffee constabulary even. The Americano Avenger.
Well,sorry to disappoint, but I’m just a regular, potentially really weird person. Specifically, I’m the type of person who is trying to get a job in the art world so I can pay back my student loans and head to business school on the timeline that I’ve had mapped out in my mind for over a decade.
I’mthe only person from my class who has a one-year, three-year, and ten-year plan drafted at graduation. Heck, mine even had spreadsheets.
I’mon a schedule for this entire phase of my life. And thanks to having to follow this caffeine kidnapper to the farthest bank of elevators, I now have less than seventeen minutes before I need to be on the thirty-ninth floor, instead of the twenty-three and a half minutes that I was counting on.
