Page 15 of Big Boss
I slide out from behind the desk and not-accidentally shoulder-check her on my way to the elevator. I press the call button, and then head back to my desk, hips swaying. “It’s past time for you to go. Because believe me, I will call building security and have you escorted out if I need to.”
For a moment, the wanna-be pageant queen looks like she’s going to come running over here and beat my face in. But instead, she takes one last look at the throng of reporters and stomps over to the elevator. She leaves without another word, knowing that whatever she had to say would have definitely ended up being spun in a way that wouldn’t favor her.
And if there’s one thing I hate more than some crazy woman who wants to stir up crap for my boss with the press, it’s a coward.
Once she’s left in this decidedly anti-climactic way, I invite the reporters to also exit the building and they all hustle off the floor without further ado. I check the time and head back into Tate’s office. I need to warn him about the media circus and make sure he leaves on time to make his lunch appointment at that Cuban place that he’s going to without me.
Jerk.
I knock and then let myself in, because the odds of him actually hearing me knock are probably zero due to him being on the other side of that acre of desk.
He looks up when I enter, and then stands up. “Erica, is Bella here yet? It’s almost time for us to go.”
Bella? Why is that particular name on my mind?
Oh.
Oh crap.
Bella. As in extra vowels, giant hairdo, pretty face, wanna-be famewhore Bella LeGrande. The woman I just publicly humiliated and kicked out of the lobby. Well, that’s got to be some sort of record. Only I could end up getting fired on my very first full day of work.
Well, better to suck it up and spill to him now. He’s going to find out soon, and I owe it to him to tell him myself.
My hands start their nervous little pattern again, tugging and pulling at my clothes. “You’re going to want to sit down for this conversation.” I take a deep breath, then start.
6
Tate
“This is a complete disaster.”Jackson’s chiding voice should stir some sort of reaction in me, but it doesn’t. I’m past having feelings at this point.
“Who cares?” I shrug the weight of his dire pronouncement off like they don’t weigh me down at all. Like the feeling of his disappointment doesn’t make it worse, and it was already bad.
So bad.
Jackson makes a noise that is clearly derogatory in nature. He’s probably about ready to quit on me. Well, fine. I’m about ready to quit on me too.
My entire public image is an extended dirty joke. My own father thinks I’m a nothing more than an opportunity for him to get more time in the press by affiliation with my notoriety, and I guess now he’s right.
Jackson finally heaves out a breath and starts talking again. Like he’s going to come up with a plan to fix this somehow. “Maybe we can call her people. Have a do over. She seemed more than okay with the arrangement, and now that you’ve fired your stupid assistant—”
I groan loudly, effectively cutting off the rest of the diatribe.
“Tate.”
I shake my head back and forth like a wounded animal, even though he can’t see me.
“Tate.” His voice echoes through the office. “Please tell me you fired your fucking assistant after she blew up the entire arrangement that I worked ever so carefully to set up to save your public bacon.”
I flip off the phone. I know he still can’t see me, but it makes me feel better. “No, Jackson. I did not fire Erica. I hadn’t actually told her about meeting with Miss LeGrande, so what happened wasn’t her fault.”
Jackson groans again, sounding for all the world like he’s carrying the entire weight of my career on his shoulders. “No. You know what? You’re right. Thisisall your fault. You were the one who insisted on hiring someone who doesn’t know anything about the music business or anybody in it, so there is absolutely zero reason for her to understand who was standing in your office, waiting around to save whatever is left of your reputation.”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe I don’t need saving.” But even to my ears, I sound defeated. Like a quitter. And that’s the one kind of person I can’t stand being, thanks to all the fruitless efforts I’ve made to please dear old dad over the years.
Jackson clucks at me like a disapproving mother. “Get over your pity party and let’s think about what’s next. Because if you don’t work quickly to clear up your image, First Notes won’t ever be anything more than an idea on a piece of paper.”
I rub my hand through the mess of my hair as if I can scrub the words away. “I heard you loud and clear the last time we had this conversation. You remember. Yesterday.”
