Page 12 of My Forbidden Boss

He shrugged and crossed his legs defiantly, resting his chin atop a steeple of contemplative fingers as he twirled his other palm in an artful pirouette, indicating that I should mimic the same motion with my body.

I spun around and stopped abruptly when I faced him, swirling the silky dress around my legs with its continued furl of momentum.

“Hmmm… No, I think not. It’s too safe, almost saintly.”

“I like this one!” I crossed my arms, but Brandon was insistent.

He shook his head, flicking his wrist to send me back to try on the next outfit in line. “I like it, too. Save it for when you’re going through menopause or for when you want to start collecting porcelain figurines. Your cats will certainly love it, of that I assure you.”

I squinted, confused, but was too distracted by his analysis to protest any further. I stepped through the threshold, back into my bedroom, but kept talking with my voice raised enough for him to hear me through the door left slightly open.

“I’m allergic to cats. And this isn’t the first day of high school, you know. I already got the job… all I have to do now is show up.”

“Yes, you have the position and its corresponding salary, but what about the people you will be working around? The only time that you will have me to back you up in there is when you need to know how much money you can spend. That won’t happen until you’re weeks, maybe even months, into proposals and market analyses. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it will be you versus everyone else. I’m not saying that you have anything to worry about, though. Most of the people are fine. It’s just like any other office. But, just like any other office, it’s only a matter of time before some kind of politics or drama comes into play. All that I’m saying is that you want to put your best foot forward. Since you can’t change your feet, let’s worry about your shoes and everything else that’ll make a difference.”

“What does that have to do with my first day? I mean, why can’t I just wear the clothes that these people will see me wearing every other workday?”

I heard Brandon sigh emphatically from the other room as I slipped into the selected clothes on the next hanger. “Because, darling, your first day is not just another workday. Is it?”

I slipped the blouse over my head and tried to smooth out its creases, working at the little wrinkles folded into the loose fabric from the move. “No… I suppose not.”

“Precisely. If you dress like an old lady, it’ll be twice as hard for anyone to see how vibrant, bright, and quick-witted you are. If you come in looking like a slut, it will be months before anybody considers that you might have gotten the job for some reason other than how perfect your poppy little titties are.”

I leaned my head through the doorway, stumbling as I continued trying to get my feet into the pair of heels he had selected. “Hey! Since when do these qualify as little?!”

I grasped my chest, emphasizing the moderate robustness of my breasts through the blouse’s wide collar. I turned sideways in the door frame and looked down, feeling sure there was no further need for me to defend my point. “What about this one?”

Brandon seemed to wave away any chance that he had misspoken. “As I said, you don’t want to look too slutty.”

I scoffed. “Are you kidding?”

He shook his head, conveying something close to pity. “You walk in like that, and all of the women will hate you. All of the men will be happy to be working near you. Hell, they’ll even pretend to listen while you debate your positions – which one of you deserves to be on top and who has to do all of the work serving under the other. Don’t look at me like that! Everything in life is sexual, whether you acknowledge it or not. Besides, Tisha, look down. You already look like you are half undressed.”

I sighed and sunk onto the couch next to him. Brandon patted my knee sympathetically but otherwise didn’t make any move to respond to my complaints.

“You were the one who picked these out… You do remember that, don’t you?”

He shrugged and got up, heading into the room. “This is why you always rehearse before you start selling tickets. You never open the show for anyone to see until you are sure that you have something that you want them to see. Don’t worry, I am sure that there is something in here that we can make work.”

I stayed on the couch, knowing that I would be instructed to move when it was time.

“I can’t believe that I actually made it through all of those boxes. The idea that I would pretty much be totally moved in a week ago… I just would not have believed it. Period.”

There was no response from Brandon, who was still in my room, so I leaned back on the couch, tilting my neck back and letting my eyes close as I continued to relax and ramble.

“The beginning was the worst, though. I was in a hopeless state before you came over to introduce yourself after that first week. Honestly, I wish you had done it sooner. It all started with unloading the stupid truck. Once I finally had all of my things safely inside, it took a whole other day to drive back and forth to return that giant hollow cube on wheels, towing my poor little car along for the ride so I could get back home. The closest location able to accept the truck is only sixty miles away, but it’s a nonstop rollercoaster all the way there, and I don’t think I got above thirty-five miles per hour except for maybe one or two of the longer downhills.”

Still, there was no answer from Brandon. The possibility that he wasn’t listening never occurred to me.

“I finally made it back around sunset and had barely shoved my trash bags full of clothes off the unmade mattress on the floor before I was landing face first, fast asleep. Not another thought crossed my mind. I woke up a few hours later, groggy and sore, but my body was no longer questioning whether we were clocking out for good. It was still dark, and I knew that I would be better off finding some sort of blanket and pillow, then right away, collapsing back into bed. Unfortunately, I was awake enough to feel excited, so another round of sleep wasn’t going to be an option, no matter how hard I tried.”

I stretched my shoulders, rolling my head back and forth over the sofa’s soft cushion as I recalled.

“I felt inspired and reached first for one box, then another. By the time dawn began gleaming through the eastern windows, I was beginning to understand the real obstacle behind unpacking with any sense of elegance when space was limited. By noon, I had only opened two more boxes. As the western window blinds the previous owner had left behind lost their glow from the setting sun, one dusty plastic slat at a time, and night once again claimed the house’s interior, I was just standing there, staring at a house full of boxes. There was no room anywhere where I could even, semi-comfortably, go through them. As I scanned first one room, then the next, I realized more devastatingly that there also wasn’t really anywhere that I could put unpacked things, even when I did manage to get them out of their containers.”

Finally, Brandon’s voice drifted distantly through the doorway. “Yeah, I remember. It was still like that when I came over that first time. You invited me inside, and I was like… ‘Where do you want me to stand?’”

“I know that I spent at least one more day just staring, feeling the weight of what would have to be done to get everything sorted through and where it was supposed to end up.”

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