Page 12 of Big Boss
I frown at her again. “I don’t look like I’m going to a funeral. I look like I’m going to work.”
“That makes two of us.” I snort, and she holds out her hand to me, wriggling her fingers. Then she points at the jumble of papers I’m clutching, and I shove them at her.
“Did you want these sorted by sender, topic, date? Something else?”
“Yes. I sent you an email about this, but I really need all of my emails printed out and organized as thoroughly as possible, by sender but also topic. It’s the only way for me to make it through the mess I’m supposed to read through every day.”
“Well, if you get behind, I can always just sit with you and read them to you while you do whatever big important stuff it is you think you’re supposed to be doing.”
I pause, perking up at the idea. “Would you? That would actually be super helpful. Why don’t you print out today’s emails and then come back and you can read them to me.”
She smiles at me, and it almost makes her look happy. “I’m going to get another coffee first. I’ll bring you a real one this time. Then let’s do this.”
See? We’re going to be perfect together.
5
Erica
“What is wrong with you?”It’s probably not the right way to talk to my new boss, but this is bad. Really, really bad.
He takes off his glasses and rubs his hand across his forehead then turns his attention to me. “What’s got your feathers ruffled this time? Run out of coffee already?”
I shake my head vigorously and waggle an entire sheaf of paper at him. “This. What is this?”
He stretches out in his chair and kicks up his feet on top of his fancy mega-desk. “My emails, right? Let’s get started.”
I can feel my blood heating, perilously close to coming to an actual boil because What. The. Actual. Fuck.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. First of all, you should be aware that in this country alone, approximately sixty-eight million trees are turned into paper each year. And only fifty-three percent of the paper used is then recycled, and you personally are contributing heavily to this waste.”
I drop the mountain of printed out emails on his desk with a vicious thump. “These are emails, Mister Tate. E is for electronic. As in no paper. No need to print all of them out. Some of these senders seem like they’d rather send it in with a lipstick print on the envelope.”
His lips purse and his brows furrow, and I can feel the palms of my hands tickle with apprehension. “I can’t help what people send me. Don’t make it seem like I’m the one engineering this lewd email ring.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t see you actively discouraging the would-be members of the naughty email club. And also, have you seen the kind of smut you’re having me print off for you?”
He flashes me a wolfish smile. “I make it a policy to read every piece of my fan mail. Personally.” Ugh, his entire tone of voice makes every word he says sound so obscene.
Also, why is this man messing around and saying it’s just fan mail? Because I swear everything I saw looked like offers to send nudes or hook up.
“I’m not sure it counts as personally reading it if I’m the one doing the actual reading. Also, if you really want me to recite these out loud to you, you’d better pay me a lot more than whatever it is you’re paying me. This is some seriously dirty stuff.”
“Oh,” he says, then straightens up in his seat and pins me with a dangerous set of sex-eyes. “Well, I guess you don’t have to readallmy emails. We both know you’re a nice girl, Erica. So very innocent.”
“These emails aren’t about whether I’m innocent. These women are emailing you about their undergarments. How they want you to take them off. What the undergarments look like, sometimes even with pictures.” My face flames at this horrifically awkward conversation, but it only makes him take it one step further.
“Probably it’s too embarrassing for you to say the word panties out loud, right?”
Ugh, this man. I put my hands on my hips. “Panties, panties, panties.” I huff the words out and roll my eyes, just in case he missed how annoying he’s being right now.
“It’s like music to my ears,” he singsongs like the pig he is.
“You’re disgusting. I’m going to make a recording of me saying ‘panties’ if that’s what you need, but don’t drag me down into your smutty email ring again, okay?”
He shrugs. “Look Erica, I don’t have any control over what people email to me. Let it go. Oh, and you might want to be aware that I’ve gotten packages with actual panties in them before, so watch out for that too.”
I recoil from his words. “What kind of women are you hanging out with?”
