Page 11 of Mr. Big Shot

Well isn’t that just great. He already knew what I was going to do the second I walked out of his office, and he’s calling my bluff. Stick it out or run and tell Daddy.

I’ll be damned if I call my dad now. Whether or not it was by mistake, I’m on Hudson’s team, and I’m not giving him the satisfaction of calling mercy.

This situation is nothing I haven’t dealt with before. He’s just another bully, no more menacing than all the rest I’ve had to contend with my whole life. It’s only hard to stand confidently before him today because I’m still getting used to his presence, I suppose. He’s intimidating, I’ll give him that—what with the broad shoulders and sculpted jawline—but I’ll get used to those cut cheekbones in no time. Those piercing brown eyes won’t even affect me by next week, just watch.

When I smile, it’s so genuine and real I feel a little flutter of satisfaction in the pit of my stomach.

“It’s an honor and a privilege to work with you, sir. I’m happy to do any extra tasks you require of me, and I promise, I won’t let you down.”

There it is—the saccharine words he never thought he’d hear from my lips during this meeting. Even better, they end up sounding like a big Eff you.

His gaze hardens as I turn for the door, dismissing myself. I’m about to reach for the handle when he speaks, stalling me for a moment.

“Why are you here, Scarlett?”

I wasn’t expecting his question, which means, for a moment, I’m almost caught off guard enough to give him the truth: to work hard and take my rightful place in this company, just like my brothers.

But under these circumstances, he doesn’t deserve to know the truth. So instead I look back at him over my shoulder, dropping the nice act completely.

“That’s none of your business.”

And then I wrench that door open and leave because some of us have extra work to do.

Chapter Five

Scarlett

It’s nearing lunchtime and I’m still jittery from my encounter with Hudson. Though to be fair, it could just be general first-day nerves. It might not even have anything to do with Mr. Tall Dark and Deadly.

I’ve had a busy morning. Once I joined Sophie and Kendra, Sophie introduced us around the floor so we could meet the other junior and senior associates, people we’ll be working with on a daily basis. Our tour culminated at our office. Yes…OUR office.

Kendra asked about it before I could.

“Surely there’s enough space in this huge building for everyone to get their own office? When I was here last summer, new associates didn’t have to share.”

Sophie smiled grimly. “It’s intentional. It’s not about the space, actually. I think there’s a memo about it waiting for you all in your inbox.”

There was. I read it.

Basically, they’re trying to foster a more collaborative work environment, especially among new hires who are just getting their feet wet in a professional setting. They feel like this will cut down on depression and anxiety in first-year associates, which like, okay thank you for taking my mental health into consideration, but could we possibly go back to the drawing board because this is my literal nightmare!

In the office, there are two desks facing each other. Kendra took the larger one—the one that was obviously here before they converted the space to accommodate two attorneys. My desk is made from flimsy particle board (at best) and shoved in the corner as an afterthought.

There was no discussion about who would go where. After Sophie left, Kendra plopped her bag on the larger desk and immediately went around to open her brand-new work-issued laptop. We each got one.

“This is ridiculous that they have us both in here,” she bit out in anger.

“I agree.”

But no more conversation came from that little bonding experience. We’ve been sitting in ominous silence ever since while we configure our computers and get through a few HR modules. We’ve left the door open intentionally. Our office is right by the break room, which seems to get a lot of foot traffic. Closing the door would reduce the noise, but then…we’d really be stuck in here together, and I definitely don’t want that. Kendra almost scares me more than Hudson if I’m being honest.

I’m just completing one of my HR modules, eager to cross it off my to-do list, when I hear a familiar booming laugh out in the hall and my heart simultaneously soars and sinks.

My dad—God love him—is about to make my life ten times worse. His timing is impeccably bad. Though Kendra and I have been mostly silent for the last few hours, it seemed like here within the last few minutes, things were starting to thaw between us as evidenced by the fact that when I sneezed a moment ago, we exchanged your classic “Bless you” and “Thanks”—which seemed really promising.

I was wondering when this was going to happen. I imagined a million different scenarios in which my dad could simultaneously celebrate, humiliate, and torture me all in the name of familial love. Examples include but are not limited to this set of things he’s already proven capable of doing in the past:

On my first date to the movies as a fourteen-year-old, when the boy (and his mom) came to pick me up, my dad made us pose for a fifteen-minute photoshoot for a commemorative scrapbook he’d completed by the time I got home at 9:00 p.m.

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