Page 3 of Heartless Boss
It’s funny to watch them banter like brothers. They have this whole weird bromance thing going on, but I have no idea how long they’ve known each other. I don’t remember Darien being one of Gunner’s friends back in college.
Darien’s eyes bounce between Gunner and me. Gunner shakes his head as if they’re having a silent conversation with each other.
What is happening here?
“She doesn’t,” Darien says.
“Sure,” Gunner says sarcastically. “Let’s get this over with.” He takes the chewed-on pen with the Underwood Banking logo from behind his ear and twirls it between his fingers. “Got any updates on American Banking?”
They bought the bank two years ago. Apparently, John, the previous owner, was dying, and the business was sinking, so he wanted to save it.
“The finances are a disaster; the previous CFO was embezzling money, so I had his ass thrown in jail. We have to take out thirty mil of our own to fund it.”
Darien shrugs like thirty million is nothing. I guess if you’re the CEO of one of the top banks in America, money like that is chump change. Both men are richer than Bill Gates and Warren Buffett combined, and if they wanted to, they could buy several countries. They’re business partners, but Darien owns D&D and Gunner owns Underwood Banking, which also makes them competitors.
Gunner turns toward me and says, “Email Mason and tell him to transfer fifteen million to American Banking.”
I do what he says.
They ramble on about business, and it all sounds like a foreign language. When the meeting is over, I place my laptop into its case and head back to my office. Throughout the remainder of the day, I color-code Gunner’s calendar.
After I’m done, I refill his coffee, organize his file cabinet, and schedule conference calls with Mason.
At the end of the day, I feel like a Dementor zapped my energy from me and I want nothing more than to go home and lie down.
I grab my purse, sling it over my shoulder, head to his office, and poke my head inside. “I’m leaving.”
His eyes are glued to the monitor as he types on the computer. “When you get home, check your email—you have to scan my PowerPoint notes for the conference meeting tomorrow.”
As I stroll to the private elevators, I ask myself if this is what my life has come to, working at a job I hate. Every time I think about the future, it isn’t rainbows and sunshine—it’s gloomy and doomy. I’m stuck at a dead end.
Chapter Two
Gunner
It’s too early in the morning for this shit.
I lay my head on the black lounge chair, watching as the ceiling fan circles slowly. The A/C pumps out cool air, and Hannah’s pen scratching against the pad, the sound makes me cringe. My overpriced and underqualified psychiatrist. My head pounds so fucking much I can’t think straight. I should have never gone out last night and gotten wasted. Should have taken my ass straight home.
“Did you complete last week’s assignment and score yourself a date?” Hannah asks. Her voice is like running fucking fingernails on a chalkboard. Cringe worthy and loud.
Hangovers are a motherfucker.
I crane my neck to look at her. She perches in the chair across from me, removing a piece of gum from a wrapper, pops it in her mouth and chews. Hannah is rocking the Sybill Trelawney style. Her bifocal glasses are so thick she can see Mars, and her skin tone is the same color as milk. Her frizzy, black dreadlocks are pulled into a ponytail, and she dresses like she’s from the seventies.
She wears a yellow blouse with matching dress pants, and she’s a germaphobe, which is why she has on latex gloves.
She’s as appealing to me as wanting to shove a knife up my ass.
“No.” My tone is flat.
The good doc wants me to step out my comfort zone, date, and get over my fear of connecting with women on an emotional level.
The last time I took a woman out on a proper date it was a fucking disaster. Two years ago, I took long-legs Abigail to the Gala, and she annoyed the fuck out of me to the point I wanted to shove a spike through my eye. She ended up calling me nonstop after the date, asked me to meet her parents, and lived in a delusional world where we were in a relationship. And when I shot her down, she went apeshit on me—busted my car windows and spray-painted “asshole” on the door. Then there was big-titty Paige. I took her out to eat and bought her designer clothes. Then she told me she loved me, so naturally, I stopped calling and texting her.
I spend a few Benjamins on a woman, and all of a sudden they’re planning our wedding. If they knew what kind of monster I am they wouldn’t toss the “L” word around so quickly. So I gave up on dating.
I’m sick to death of paying for a psychiatrist just to be told I need to date.
