Page 1 of Rude Boss 2

Chapter 1

Essex

What are the elements that makea man fall in love?Is it instant physical attraction? Commonality? A mental connection? A sense of worth and appreciation whenever he’s near the person or is it something intangible? Something that can’t be measured? With Quintessa, I’ve felt all these things. Even though I lacked self-esteem back then, I took comfort in knowing she accepted me for who I was, and it all culminated in that kiss we shared yesterday.

Today, she’s not here. I know that for a fact because I sat outside of the building waiting for her, hoping we could talk about the kiss before either of us entered the building. A kiss like the one we shared needed to be talked about, and though I was the aggressor in the situation, I still want to know what she thought about it. Her moans told me she liked it, I think, but she doesn’t like me so, there’s that.

I lean back in my chair. She’s not here, so we can’t talk. I’m not hopeful she’ll return.

That feeling of not knowing her status has me mentally incapacitated. As it stands, I have a lot going on in my personal life already. My mother passed, I’m in the middle of taking on a top-level, high-dollar client and now the woman I adore is somewhere stewing, probably hating my very existence. Several times this morning, I thought about leaving the office to go by her apartment. I’m sure she doesn’t want to see me, but that hasn’t stopped me before. But this time…

This is different. Quintessa needs a break, so I’m forced to give her that. Maybe it’s a good thing, because when I lay eyes on her again, who knows what may happen this time? I’ve already gotten that initial taste of her lips, and while it was satisfying, it was just a sample. I’m a full entrée kind of guy. Samples only tease me. I need to be satisfied. By her.

Ms. Davison rings my line, breaking into my thoughts. I press the intercom button. “What is it?”

“Your father is on the line, sir. Should I put him through? He said it was urgent.”

A heavy sigh leaves my lips. More problems…

My father has been tight-lipped with me since I returned to work, so no, I’m not looking forward to this conversation.

“Sir?”

“Yeah, put it through.”

When she connects the call, I say, “Hey, Dad. Why don’t you call me direct? You have my direct number, don’t you?”

“Your direct number? I can’t keep track of myownnumber and you expect me to know all of yours?”

All of yours…

“I only have two numbers—my cell phone and my office.”

“Yeah, and the main office number and then you got your housekeeper answering your home phone. Forgot about that, didn’t you? Besides, don’t you think I have enough going on? In caseyoudidn’t realize this, my wife—yourmother—died on Monday.”

“How could I not realize that?”

“Then where are you? I’m looking around this house, and I don’t see you unless the mighty Essex DePaul has the capability to disappear and has been here this whole time without my knowledge.”

“Dad, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I haven’t seen you since Tuesday, Stewart. People are constantly stopping by, offering their condolences, asking where you are and how you’re doing. They’re over here concerned about you and you’re over there at your fancy company, living your best life, returning to work like everything is back to normal. Like your mother didn’t mean a thing to you.”

“You know that’s now true.”

He tsks. “All I know is, actions speak louder than words. Your being back at work is a slap in the face, not only to me but to our entire family.”

“What family? I don’t know those people. All they ever did was make fat jokes about me and tried to make it sound cute.”

“That’s just what families do.”

“Oh, right, because there’s no better way to show someone how much you care about them than joking about their weight.”

“Whatever the case, you didn’t have to change your name and become this—thispersonwho doesn’t care about a thing but himself and his money. I didn’t raise you like this and your mother certainly didn’t. I tried to have your back. When your mother brought it up about how you tossed your birth name aside, I tried to explain to her how you were being this character the world wanted. You were a performer. The man who negotiated deals. But no, I was wrong and as usual, she was right. She was always right about you. You’re not a performer. Youarethis person. Stewart Dennis, Jr.—myson—wouldn’t be at work right now, carrying on with business as usual. He would be here with his grieving father because he knows…” his voice cracks. He continues, “He knows that woman was my world!”

He sniffles, trying to get himself together. I sit here and think…how did my mother’s death become about me being who I am? To say this to him right now would be inappropriate, I know, because he’s torn up and rightly so, but people grieve in their own ways and he needs to understand that. Sitting around reminiscing isn’t for me. I have to stay busy. I try to explain this to him, but he cuts me off and says, “I hope you make it to the funeral on Saturday,” then hangs up.

I do think he’s unfairly taking out his frustration on me and if I need to be a punching bag for him to heal, then so be it. I’ve done everything to make sure my parents had everything they needed to be happy. I wasn’t selfish so as to only take care of myself when I got all these millions. I took care of them, too. To claim I only care about myself and my money is not accurate, and he needs to know that.

I whip out my cell phone to call him back when Ms. Davison peeps inside my office and says, “The associates for your 10:30 have arrived.”

“I’ll be right there, and Ms. Davison.”

“Yes?”

“Knock and wait for me to acknowledge that it’s okay for you to enter. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. My apologies.” She closed the door and here I am reeling, thinking about what my father has said while attempting to get into work mode. With that on my mind and Quintessa, it probably wasn’t a good idea for me to be here today.

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