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My Boss - ebook
'My Boss' is the bestselling romantic comedy that will set your senses on fire. Sharp comebacks, intense emotions, enemies turning into lovers, and on top of that - the sunshine meets grumpiness trope. It'll melt your heart and have you laughing until you cry!
It is said that clothes do not make the man, yet many women in my department have a different opinion. They think my boss looks like a hunk right out of a steamy dream. He's disturbingly handsome and infuriatingly intelligent, and he always shows up to the office in an impeccably tailored suit, tie, and million-dollar watch. The perfect boss, straight from the Businessman magazine cover.
Unfortunately, these are only appearances. On my first day on the job, I realized he was a cold jerk with a calculator in place of his heart. After a week, it turned out that he was also a ruthless boss-o-bot, demanding, pedantic, and stiff as a broomstick!
I can't stand him! Or my job, for that matter! Every day, I grit my teeth and do what I'm paid to do – analyses, charts, and summaries. And what I'm not paid for: working overtime and cursing out my supervisor.
But I have a plan. I will hang around in this corporate business for just a few more months, put aside the money to start my own business, and then leave.
And I never want to see my boss again!
However, one icy cold and very unenchanting Christmas Eve, I discover a different side to him and must reevaluate everything I thought I knew. The only question is, did I do the right thing?
Ta publikacja spełnia wymagania dostępności zgodnie z dyrektywą EAA.
| Kategoria: | Romance |
| Język: | Angielski |
| Zabezpieczenie: |
Watermark
|
| ISBN: | 978-83-971455-0-4 |
| Rozmiar pliku: | 783 KB |
FRAGMENT KSIĄŻKI
“MS. MARIA GABARA?”
I lift my head and encounter a pair of gray eyes—their cold stare measures me up and down. From the few wrinkles on his forehead and the stern expression on his face, I judge him to be around forty. A strong jaw, clean-shaven, neatly combed hair, hard gaze, firmly closed lips. Even though he stands a few feet away from me, I can smell his masculine fragrance—classic, powerful and elegant—the kind that makes my lower abdomen tingle.
I slide my eyes over the impeccably tailored gray suit that fits perfectly on his sturdy frame. No crease, no folds, no mismatch. Flawless—as if straight from the showroom. And to top it off, a white shirt, cufflinks, a stylish watch (an antique if my eyes are correct), a faultless black tie knot, tailored pants with a crisp crease, and shiny shoes. The guy is tall as an oak in a century-old forest, and even though I’m not short, I have to tilt my head to look into his eyes. There’s an air of distance and gravitas emanating from them, so that it’s almost intimidating to speak up. I guess that this is my new boss. He looks like a boss—he stands out from the crowd.
“That’s right. Mr. Jan Engler?”
All I hear is a grunt.
Well, I guess it was a ‘yes’.
“Very nice to meet you.” I extend my hand, but he doesn’t even look at it.
“You are to be at the office every morning at eight on the dot and not a minute later,” he declares firmly, adjusts his tie, and then walks away, apparently considering our conversation concluded.
No good morning, welcome to our company, here is your desk, here is your computer, have a nice job, kiss my ass…
What a jerk. Why the hell did he come up with such a ‘greeting’ when I wasn’t even a minute late today? After all, I was in the office by five to eight! Which is quite an achievement for me, given that I’m more of a night owl than an early bird.
A wonderful start to the day and the end of the year. Not only am I stressed about the career changes, but I apparently jumped from the frying pan into the fire. In my previous job in a small consulting firm, I was a finance clerk with no chance of a promotion or a raise. The boss was polite and tried to be nice (or at least gave the appearance of it). Here, on the other hand, at the start I got a 1,700 PLN raise, an independent position as a senior specialist and a medical care package. And everything would have been fucking perfect if it weren’t for the fact that right from the start, the boss treated me like I was just a lace on his elegant shoes. Supposedly necessary, but until it’s untied, no one pays any attention to it.
OK, no stress, no need to dramatize. Maybe he just had a bad hair day. It happens to everyone, and it’s just a shame that I was the target. I can only hope that my boss will not turn out to be a total boor.
But he turns out to be one. And on the first day. There is a reason why it is said that you can’t judge a book by its cover. My boss may attract attention with his gorgeous appearance, but his manner is off-putting. No introduction to work, zero explanations of what, where, how and when. Instead, dozens of messages in the mailbox and one sentence in the last eleven hours (yep, the prick immediately roped me into overtime!).
“I sent you an e-mail. It’s urgent.” His voice is gruff when he passes my desk. The jerk doesn’t even stop. He heads with a springy step toward the elevator, spreading an annoyingly masculine smell around. I want to ignore him, but I can’t. I involuntarily feel a strange arousal, and I’m mad at myself. Because firstly: older men don’t turn me on, and my boss is about ten years older than me. Secondly: I can’t stand such stiffs. Thirdly: he’s my supervisor, and it’s my first day at the company.
The sound of an incoming message rings in my ears. I open the mailbox.
Great, damn, it’s here. A dry-as-a-bone e-mail. Another one! Well, I won’t be able to get through all those attachments by my vacation.
Screw it. I need a break.
I head to the social room. I try to walk confidently, passing by new coworkers who are so absorbed in their work at the computers that they don’t pay attention to me. And it’s a good thing, too, because my gait is not exactly poised. I’m not used to a pencil skirt, jacket and stilettos. However, I had to make a good first impression and fit in with the company’s dress code, which I was told about during a conversation with an HR person. She made it clear to me that business attire was mandatory in the office, then handed me a bundle of cards with the rules and regulations, which I was supposed to sign along with the contract. I’ll be honest with you: I didn’t read what I signed. For how was I supposed to do that when the woman was sitting across from me, poking me with an impatient gaze saying, “Well, sign it already and get it over with; I still have a pile of work to do today.”
So, trying to look intelligent, I skimmed the text, as they do in legal shows, and with a sweeping motion, I scrawled my signature, hoping that I hadn’t just donated a kidney for a transplant. I may be great at counting, but reading is something I much prefer to do with novels than contracts.
“Excellent. Welcome aboard,” I heard as soon as I put down my pen.
“That’s all? It was fast.”
“Fast?” The HR woman looked at me, surprised. “But you went through a five-step recruitment process.”
Fact. They did put me through the wringer a bit.
“Well, yes, but I just did some tests, and the interview with you…”
“Did you expect anything more?”
“No, no. I just thought I was still waiting to talk to her—to my supervisor.”
“Him,” corrected the woman. “Mr. Engler does not conduct hiring interviews. He relies entirely on our department for recruitment. You passed very well the four initial stages of selection, for which I was responsible. I recommended you and sent to your superior the test results, and based on those, he made the decision to hire you as a senior finance specialist.”
“Test results? What about my experience, competences, personality… He doesn’t care about them?”
“He prefers facts, concrete data and figures. Assessing soft skills is our job. Do you have any more questions?”
Yes, how many coffee and cigarette breaks was I entitled to during the day?
*
When I cross the threshold of the social room, my gaze is immediately drawn to the coffee machine, where two girls are standing. I recognize them by sight; they have desks at the other end of the open space.
“Oh, hi, it’s your first day, right?” A short brunette with a round face presses a button on the machine. “I’m Agata. I’ve been under the rule of Stiff Jan for half a year.”
“Who?” I raise my eyebrows, at which the girls snort, laughing.
“Engler,” explains the other, also brunette, but slightly older, taller and slimmer. “I’m Olga. I’ve been working here for three years.”
She extends her hand to me.
“Maria,” I reply with a handshake. “Three years is quite a while.”
“Long enough to get used to. Congratulations on your position. You will now be the boss’s second-in-command. You must be really good since he chose you.”
“He chose the results of my test, not me. And somehow, I don’t seem to be his right hand. He doesn’t speak to me at all, just clogs up my inbox with e-mails every half hour.”
The girls glance at each other.
“Jan is peculiar; you will get used to it,” states Olga. “Previously, your position was taken by Jerzy. He was damn good, the boss relied on him a lot.”
“Then why is he no longer there?”
“He had a heart attack. He is now on disability.”
A heart attack? Well, it’s getting better and better. So now I wonder how long I’ll last here since my predecessor ended up on disability.
“He was well into his fifties and had been in treatment for a long time. Some atrial fibrillation or something,” reassures Olga. “Jan may be demanding, antisocial, and difficult to talk to, but at least he is easy on the eyes. Such a sight at work is pure pleasure.” She takes a sip of coffee, smirking slightly.
“Oh yes, it’s like a steamy wet dream,” Agata echoes her.
Pardon me, what? Okay, the guy may be handsome, but he doesn’t have an ounce of sex appeal. At first glance, you can see that he’s a passionless drone. I can bet my life—that sex with him is as passionate as watching the TV series Father Matthew, and the only subject who derives any pleasure from physical intercourse with Jan is the ugly pole hidden in his pants.
However, I’m not going to share my thoughts with my newly met coworkers. I don’t know them, I don’t know if they are checking me out by any chance. I’m not going to gossip about my supervisor on the very first day.
“Is there a chance that this e-mail bombardment will finally calm down?” —changing the subject.
“You’ll get used to it.” This sounds vague. “You have to look at the positives: good salary, benefits, benefits, good salary. Did I mention a good salary and benefits?”
“They must be damn good if you say so,” I conclude.
“Gym passes, pool passes, medical care, discretionary bonuses, team-building trips, subsidized lunches, low-interest loans, furloughs, layettes for newborns, vouchers, and Christmas packages for kids… Do you have kids?” Olga’s gaze focuses on my hand.
“Nope, still single.”
“Then take advantage of it while you can. After giving birth, I finally stopped feeling tired when the little one turned five. Take my word for it, taking care of a child is a completely different kind of fatigue: more tedious and infuriating. For the past two years, I had some peace and quiet until my son went to school, and I went along with him, as it were. His homework would drive me to neurosis.” She sighs heavily. “Okay, time to get back to work. Can you handle the coffee machine?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“If you need anything, let me know.”
“Actually… Where is the smoking room?”
The girls exchange glances.
“Didn’t you read the regulations?” asks Agata.
“Er… I did. But I was under stress. You know, signing a contract, paperwork… I must have missed something. Should I have been aware of something?”
“The company has an active health promotion policy,” explains Olga. “Anyway, you’ll see for yourself when you get the monthly newsletter. Healthy nutrition, active lifestyle, free from addictions, et cetera. You understand a healthy employee is a less expensive employee. If you want to grab a quick smoke, do it best in back of the building so that no one can see you.”
Just perfect.
I lift my head and encounter a pair of gray eyes—their cold stare measures me up and down. From the few wrinkles on his forehead and the stern expression on his face, I judge him to be around forty. A strong jaw, clean-shaven, neatly combed hair, hard gaze, firmly closed lips. Even though he stands a few feet away from me, I can smell his masculine fragrance—classic, powerful and elegant—the kind that makes my lower abdomen tingle.
I slide my eyes over the impeccably tailored gray suit that fits perfectly on his sturdy frame. No crease, no folds, no mismatch. Flawless—as if straight from the showroom. And to top it off, a white shirt, cufflinks, a stylish watch (an antique if my eyes are correct), a faultless black tie knot, tailored pants with a crisp crease, and shiny shoes. The guy is tall as an oak in a century-old forest, and even though I’m not short, I have to tilt my head to look into his eyes. There’s an air of distance and gravitas emanating from them, so that it’s almost intimidating to speak up. I guess that this is my new boss. He looks like a boss—he stands out from the crowd.
“That’s right. Mr. Jan Engler?”
All I hear is a grunt.
Well, I guess it was a ‘yes’.
“Very nice to meet you.” I extend my hand, but he doesn’t even look at it.
“You are to be at the office every morning at eight on the dot and not a minute later,” he declares firmly, adjusts his tie, and then walks away, apparently considering our conversation concluded.
No good morning, welcome to our company, here is your desk, here is your computer, have a nice job, kiss my ass…
What a jerk. Why the hell did he come up with such a ‘greeting’ when I wasn’t even a minute late today? After all, I was in the office by five to eight! Which is quite an achievement for me, given that I’m more of a night owl than an early bird.
A wonderful start to the day and the end of the year. Not only am I stressed about the career changes, but I apparently jumped from the frying pan into the fire. In my previous job in a small consulting firm, I was a finance clerk with no chance of a promotion or a raise. The boss was polite and tried to be nice (or at least gave the appearance of it). Here, on the other hand, at the start I got a 1,700 PLN raise, an independent position as a senior specialist and a medical care package. And everything would have been fucking perfect if it weren’t for the fact that right from the start, the boss treated me like I was just a lace on his elegant shoes. Supposedly necessary, but until it’s untied, no one pays any attention to it.
OK, no stress, no need to dramatize. Maybe he just had a bad hair day. It happens to everyone, and it’s just a shame that I was the target. I can only hope that my boss will not turn out to be a total boor.
But he turns out to be one. And on the first day. There is a reason why it is said that you can’t judge a book by its cover. My boss may attract attention with his gorgeous appearance, but his manner is off-putting. No introduction to work, zero explanations of what, where, how and when. Instead, dozens of messages in the mailbox and one sentence in the last eleven hours (yep, the prick immediately roped me into overtime!).
“I sent you an e-mail. It’s urgent.” His voice is gruff when he passes my desk. The jerk doesn’t even stop. He heads with a springy step toward the elevator, spreading an annoyingly masculine smell around. I want to ignore him, but I can’t. I involuntarily feel a strange arousal, and I’m mad at myself. Because firstly: older men don’t turn me on, and my boss is about ten years older than me. Secondly: I can’t stand such stiffs. Thirdly: he’s my supervisor, and it’s my first day at the company.
The sound of an incoming message rings in my ears. I open the mailbox.
Great, damn, it’s here. A dry-as-a-bone e-mail. Another one! Well, I won’t be able to get through all those attachments by my vacation.
Screw it. I need a break.
I head to the social room. I try to walk confidently, passing by new coworkers who are so absorbed in their work at the computers that they don’t pay attention to me. And it’s a good thing, too, because my gait is not exactly poised. I’m not used to a pencil skirt, jacket and stilettos. However, I had to make a good first impression and fit in with the company’s dress code, which I was told about during a conversation with an HR person. She made it clear to me that business attire was mandatory in the office, then handed me a bundle of cards with the rules and regulations, which I was supposed to sign along with the contract. I’ll be honest with you: I didn’t read what I signed. For how was I supposed to do that when the woman was sitting across from me, poking me with an impatient gaze saying, “Well, sign it already and get it over with; I still have a pile of work to do today.”
So, trying to look intelligent, I skimmed the text, as they do in legal shows, and with a sweeping motion, I scrawled my signature, hoping that I hadn’t just donated a kidney for a transplant. I may be great at counting, but reading is something I much prefer to do with novels than contracts.
“Excellent. Welcome aboard,” I heard as soon as I put down my pen.
“That’s all? It was fast.”
“Fast?” The HR woman looked at me, surprised. “But you went through a five-step recruitment process.”
Fact. They did put me through the wringer a bit.
“Well, yes, but I just did some tests, and the interview with you…”
“Did you expect anything more?”
“No, no. I just thought I was still waiting to talk to her—to my supervisor.”
“Him,” corrected the woman. “Mr. Engler does not conduct hiring interviews. He relies entirely on our department for recruitment. You passed very well the four initial stages of selection, for which I was responsible. I recommended you and sent to your superior the test results, and based on those, he made the decision to hire you as a senior finance specialist.”
“Test results? What about my experience, competences, personality… He doesn’t care about them?”
“He prefers facts, concrete data and figures. Assessing soft skills is our job. Do you have any more questions?”
Yes, how many coffee and cigarette breaks was I entitled to during the day?
*
When I cross the threshold of the social room, my gaze is immediately drawn to the coffee machine, where two girls are standing. I recognize them by sight; they have desks at the other end of the open space.
“Oh, hi, it’s your first day, right?” A short brunette with a round face presses a button on the machine. “I’m Agata. I’ve been under the rule of Stiff Jan for half a year.”
“Who?” I raise my eyebrows, at which the girls snort, laughing.
“Engler,” explains the other, also brunette, but slightly older, taller and slimmer. “I’m Olga. I’ve been working here for three years.”
She extends her hand to me.
“Maria,” I reply with a handshake. “Three years is quite a while.”
“Long enough to get used to. Congratulations on your position. You will now be the boss’s second-in-command. You must be really good since he chose you.”
“He chose the results of my test, not me. And somehow, I don’t seem to be his right hand. He doesn’t speak to me at all, just clogs up my inbox with e-mails every half hour.”
The girls glance at each other.
“Jan is peculiar; you will get used to it,” states Olga. “Previously, your position was taken by Jerzy. He was damn good, the boss relied on him a lot.”
“Then why is he no longer there?”
“He had a heart attack. He is now on disability.”
A heart attack? Well, it’s getting better and better. So now I wonder how long I’ll last here since my predecessor ended up on disability.
“He was well into his fifties and had been in treatment for a long time. Some atrial fibrillation or something,” reassures Olga. “Jan may be demanding, antisocial, and difficult to talk to, but at least he is easy on the eyes. Such a sight at work is pure pleasure.” She takes a sip of coffee, smirking slightly.
“Oh yes, it’s like a steamy wet dream,” Agata echoes her.
Pardon me, what? Okay, the guy may be handsome, but he doesn’t have an ounce of sex appeal. At first glance, you can see that he’s a passionless drone. I can bet my life—that sex with him is as passionate as watching the TV series Father Matthew, and the only subject who derives any pleasure from physical intercourse with Jan is the ugly pole hidden in his pants.
However, I’m not going to share my thoughts with my newly met coworkers. I don’t know them, I don’t know if they are checking me out by any chance. I’m not going to gossip about my supervisor on the very first day.
“Is there a chance that this e-mail bombardment will finally calm down?” —changing the subject.
“You’ll get used to it.” This sounds vague. “You have to look at the positives: good salary, benefits, benefits, good salary. Did I mention a good salary and benefits?”
“They must be damn good if you say so,” I conclude.
“Gym passes, pool passes, medical care, discretionary bonuses, team-building trips, subsidized lunches, low-interest loans, furloughs, layettes for newborns, vouchers, and Christmas packages for kids… Do you have kids?” Olga’s gaze focuses on my hand.
“Nope, still single.”
“Then take advantage of it while you can. After giving birth, I finally stopped feeling tired when the little one turned five. Take my word for it, taking care of a child is a completely different kind of fatigue: more tedious and infuriating. For the past two years, I had some peace and quiet until my son went to school, and I went along with him, as it were. His homework would drive me to neurosis.” She sighs heavily. “Okay, time to get back to work. Can you handle the coffee machine?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“If you need anything, let me know.”
“Actually… Where is the smoking room?”
The girls exchange glances.
“Didn’t you read the regulations?” asks Agata.
“Er… I did. But I was under stress. You know, signing a contract, paperwork… I must have missed something. Should I have been aware of something?”
“The company has an active health promotion policy,” explains Olga. “Anyway, you’ll see for yourself when you get the monthly newsletter. Healthy nutrition, active lifestyle, free from addictions, et cetera. You understand a healthy employee is a less expensive employee. If you want to grab a quick smoke, do it best in back of the building so that no one can see you.”
Just perfect.
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