RRC - My Boss Read online

  “Oh,” Avery gasped, taking a step back as she bumped straight into the same wall. “Sorry about that; I just—” She chuckled awkwardly, feeling her face begin to flame, as she turned back around to the “wall” with her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It took her all of two seconds to realize that it was not, in fact, a wall that Avery had walked into, but rather a large man with broad shoulders and muscles that were barely constrained by his obviously expensive and well-tailored suit. Avery swallowed thickly at the sight of him.

  The man, while tall and intimidating, was—without a doubt—one of the most handsome men Avery had ever laid eyes on. He had piercing blue eyes and dark brown hair that was perfectly mussed and just tickled the top edge of his plain, black-framed glasses. His jawline was sharp and clean-shaven, but Avery could see just the faintest pink scar near the center of his chin; it was shaped like an X. She wondered if there were more scars like that, scattered all over his body—like a treasure map of sorts.

  The very thought forced a shiver to climb up Avery’s spine and caused a bloom of heat that stretched from her collarbone to the tips of her ears. She cleared her throat and offered him a friendly smile. “Sorry about that,” she said, pressing the paper and pen against her chest. “I didn’t see you there.”

  The man gave her a charming, lopsided grin and shrugged one muscular shoulder. “No worries,” he replied. “I guess I really shouldn’t be standing so close to the door, but, um …” he motioned to the line stretched out in front of them and shrugged again.

  “Right,” Avery chuckled. “The lines are ridiculous this early in the morning.”

  “Well, everybody’s got somewhere to go, I guess,” he said. “But maybe they should come up with a better system. There’s, like, one barista working today.”

  “Seriously?” Avery asked, turning her attention to the espresso bar, where one young woman was running around, steaming milk and pouring shots and spraying whipped cream and just doing her best as she attempted to fill every single order that came her way. Avery frowned and turned back to the man. “Will you excuse me a moment?”

  “Sure,” he said, watching with interest as Avery wormed her way to the counter, leaning over to gain the attention of one of the cashiers. He watched as they spoke. He watched as one of the cashiers frantically explained something to her that made his shoulders droop and the way Avery’s eyes widened in surprise at whatever it was he’d just said. Then he watched with barely restrained amusement as Avery stepped around the counter and joined the overworked barista near the machines, tying an apron around her waist and putting her hair up. The barista immediately started to yell at her, but didn’t once pause in her movements as she made drink after drink. The man watched as Avery listened patiently and politely, before speaking. Then he watched as the barista seemed to give up and allowed Avery to start helping.

  It was quite the sight, he thought to himself, to see somebody just step up and start helping. He wondered if Avery would be expecting any kind of payment for this or if she was really doing it out of charity. Either way, he’d never seen anything quite like it. The cashiers were yelling at her, too, but obviously neither was concerned enough to stop taking orders and the man found himself inching towards the front of the line as the small café began to empty, one person at a time.

  When it was finally his turn, the cashiers practically turned ghostly white, staring up at him with wide eyes, before glancing over at the woman who’d just taken it upon herself to start making drinks in a place where they all knew she was not on the payroll.

  “Sir,” Cashier #1 said. “Sir, we can explain.”

  “Save it,” he said, holding up one meaty hand to stall whatever words were about to come tumbling from their mouths. “When she’s done here, send her over to my table. I suppose we should talk.” The cashiers both nodded, sharing a nervous glance with one another. “And I’ll take my usual. Get something for her, as well. On me.” He placed a large bill on the counter and stepped away without waiting for his change.

  Avery had just finished pouring a cappuccino when one of the cashiers stepped in to relieve her. “Thanks for all your help,” he said, “but we’ve got it covered from here. Go ahead and make yourself a drink, on the house.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Avery began to protest, reaching into her pocket for her coffee stash.

  “It’s not a problem,” the cashier insisted. “Your drink has already been paid for.”

  “Really?” Avery asked, placing her money back into her pocket. “By whom?”

  The cashier nodded toward the back corner of the café, where two easy chairs sat, a coffee table between them. The area had always been empty, even when the café was full of students and businessmen; a large “RESERVED” sign stretched across the table, from the arm of one chair to the arm of the other. Was he the one who perpetually reserved that table?

  The man seemed to sense their eyes on him and glanced up, giving her that same lopsided grin as before. Avery smiled back, briefly, then turned to the cashier. “Who is he?” she asked, thinking he must be some very important New York politician or local celebrity to have that kind of pull. After all, who reserves a table that they rarely use?

  “Joel Harper,” the barista whispered in her ear. “His mother owns this café.”

  “Well, technically,” the cashier added. “It’s his cafe now, since Mrs. Harper retired. But he rarely comes in here anymore.”

  “How come?” Avery asked, glancing back at the man, who was now staring at something on his phone. His thumb swiped over the screen and she watched his chest move as he sighed.

  “Too busy with his own company, probably,” the cashier said as he grabbed a cup and read the side. “And all those women.”

  “All which women?” Avery asked, glancing back to the workers.

  “The ones he shows up here with every Sunday morning,” the barista informed her. “Wanna drink?”

  “Sure,” Avery replied. “Caramel mocha?”

  “Coming right up, doll.”

  “Thanks. He brings women here on Sunday? Why Sunday?”

  “Because they’re usually out all Friday night and in bed for most of Saturday,” the cashier said as he steamed some milk for his latte. “So he brings them here for their coffee. On their way to church, no doubt.”

  Avery was about to ask about what kind of church somebody like Joel Harper would take his “lady friends”, but realized in time that he was being sarcastic. “How many women does he usually have with him?”

  “Usually just one at a time,” the cashier said, placing a top on his cup. “Vanilla latte for Kate! But I’ve seen him with two.”

  “Sometimes three,” the barista added, drizzling the caramel atop Avery’s drink, before placing a top on it. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Avery,” the young woman replied. “Avery James.”

  “Pretty name,” the barista responded as she scribbled it onto the cup. “Well, Avery James, come back anytime you want and I’m sure you’ll be receiving plenty more drinks on the house.”

  “I doubt it,” Avery replied, inhaling the scent of her mocha deeply.

  “Why do you say that?” the cashier asked.

  “Just watch,” Avery said, taking her drink and tucking her newspaper and pen under her arm as she made her way to the door. “Thanks for the coffee,” she called over her shoulder, offering them a sweet smile and a small nod, before turning her gaze toward Joel Harper, who watched her with furrowed eyebrows.

  Schooling her features, Avery locked eyes with him as she took a long sip of her hot drink and stepped out onto the sidewalk, turning away from him and walking straight back to her hotel.

  Chapter Three

  She was going to have to find another café. That was the first thought that crossed Avery’s mind as she made her way back to her hotel room. Despite how good the coffee was at Harper’s, there was no way she could go back there, lest she see him again. A
nd she was in no mood to be charmed into dating some playboy billionaire. Not when she was trying to jumpstart her own career.

  As she stepped into the lobby of her building, she was greeted by the doorman. “Good morning, Miss James; back so soon?”

  “Good morning, Abe,” Avery replied. “And yes, the café was packed this morning; I couldn’t find a seat.”

  “Just one of those days, eh?” the man chuckled, his deep voice reverberating through her. Abe was her favorite of the three or four doormen she’d met in the last two weeks. He was always there in the morning when she went out for coffee, and he had taken the time to learn both her name and schedule. Usually, she was back sometime after noon, after she’d grabbed a hot dog or slice of pizza for lunch (always something under five dollars, to save money for dinner), and he’d just be getting off his shift. Even if he was back in his street clothes by then, Abe would still pause to open the door for her. And she would thank him.

  Their relationship was friendly.

  Avery nodded as she paused next to him, allowing the next guest to step ahead of her. “Good morning, Mrs. Anderson,” Abe greeted. She didn’t even acknowledge him, but that friendly smile never left Abe’s face.

  “Actually,” Avery said as he shut the door again, “I think the owner of the café might have been flirting with me.”

  “What makes you say that?” Abe asked, with a small chuckle.

  “He bought me coffee,” Avery informed the man, “and he wanted to talk to me.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “Nothing,” Avery said, taking another long sip. “I didn’t speak to him.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, he’s kind of a playboy, for starters,” Avery said. “His workers told me that he shows up with a new girl on his arm every single Sunday. Sometimes, more than one.”

  “Well, that’s certainly not the kind of man you want to get involved with then, is it?” Abe chuckled, opening the door for a middle-aged man, who held the hands of two tiny, blonde-haired girls. They chorused “thank you” at him and he smiled in return.

  “Exactly,” she said, taking another sip.

  “But I hope you at least thanked him for buying you that coffee; least you can do when somebody gives you something is to thank them for their generosity.”

  “Of course I did,” Avery lied. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t?”

  “Not a very good one, I’m afraid,” Abe said. “I’m glad. I always knew you were a good girl.” Avery felt guilt churning in her stomach, but tried to ignore it in favor of offering Abe another grin as she made her way inside, thanking him when he held the door open for her. “Have a nice day, Miss James,” he called after her.

  “You too, Abe,” she called back, then took another sip of her mocha. For some reason, it tasted twice as bitter as it had just moments ago.

  *****

  The jobs were scarce that morning, Avery found as she circled one after the other in the newspaper, while some old fifties sitcom played on the television in front of her. She was only half-watching and had lost interest in the storyline a long time ago, far too preoccupied with the inky paper in front of her. She’d already applied to many of these jobs and the majority had rejected her for being “overqualified”, which was business speak for “we don’t want to pay you what you actually deserve to be paid.” She crossed them off.

  In Greenfield, it had never been this hard to get a job. Most people worked on their parents’ farms or in their shops in town. Avery’s first job had been at the town’s only ice cream shop and had lasted from late spring to early autumn, when the weather permitted it. After that, it changed to a hot cocoa stand and Avery had given up the position to somebody more willing to brave the Illinois chill to serve the hot drink to the dozen or so regular customers willing to brave it for the hot drink. Avery just stayed home and studied all winter.

  While at school, Avery had landed herself a position at the campus bookstore, where she stocked, scanned, and sold textbooks and pieces of classical literature in four-hour shifts. For three years, she’d balanced the position with her studies and almost non-existent social life. Obviously, she’d done well as she still graduated with honors and had even been promoted to manager in her last semester. It was the highest position she’d held in any job. After college, she went straight to work at the grocery store and kept her eye out for anything bigger on the horizon.

  Present day, she wasn’t picky about where she would have to work for the time-being (though she would prefer a place where she could rise in the ranks) and had even circled several listings in the paper that had little to nothing to do with business or technology to begin with.

  The first was a position at a bakery. It was entry-level, so Avery assumed she’d be tasked with measuring flour and sugar and probably working the cash register. Maybe she’d come in during the off-hours to help and learn how to bake cookies and cakes from scratch. It’d be an interesting position, she thought, but could wreak havoc on her already plump figure.

  The next circled position was for data entry.

  Avery pictured herself wearing a simple white blouse and black skirt to work every morning, just to sit at a computer and type numbers into an Excel spreadsheet. The work would be repetitive and probably a bit boring, but the benefits were great. She marked it down as a “maybe”.

  Next was an ad for a cab company.

  The requirements were scant; all she needed was a license, certification, and a general knowledge of the city’s layout—or a working GPS. She would have to pay to rent the cab per day and cover her own gas and meals, but could keep everything otherwise. But, there were no healthcare benefits, nor was there a retirement plan.

  She immediately crossed “cab driver” off.

  That just left two listings: Manager at a pharmacy in Queens and line cook at a burger place in Flatbush. Neither was particularly attractive to Avery.

  Still, they stayed circled on the paper as Avery allowed herself to fall back on the bed. Job searches, no matter where she was, were always frustrating; either for lack of options or lack of callbacks for second interviews. Avery was seconds away from just giving up and buying a ticket back home to Greenfield.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Room service!”

  Avery sighed. “Come in!”

  The door opened and a waiter pushed in a cart with a silver tray atop it.

  “Cheeseburger Deluxe with a Coke,” he announced, stepping into the room. “Miss James, I presume?”

  “That presumption is correct.”

  “I’m Ernie.” She could surmise that from the name tag that hung, crookedly, on his lapel. “Here’s ya food, Ma’am; would you like it on the bed or at the desk?”

  “The bed, please.” While it probably would have been easier to eat her burger at the desk, Avery didn’t feel much like moving from where she was currently sitting. Ernie wheeled the cart to the foot of the bed and lifted the cylindrical cover from the platter, revealing a burger and french fries that looked like they’d been taken straight off a diner menu; they were still steaming. There was also a glass half-filled with ice and a can of Coke right next to it. It all looked very appetizing. “Thanks,” she said, extracting a five from the pocket of her jeans and handing it over for his tip.

  “Thank you,” he replied with a grin as he tucked the bill into his coat pocket. He was about to make his way out when suddenly his eyes seemed to catch something and he tilted his head to the side, staring at the newspaper open on Avery’s bed. “You know,” he said, gaining her attention, “you could probably find a lot more of those online.”

  “What?” Avery asked, pulling the tab on her soda can. “Newspapers?”

  “Nah,” Ernie chuckled. “Job listings. Most companies don’t even use the papers anymore; everybody’s goin’ digital.”

  “Really?” she asked with interest as she poured the liquid into her glass. S
he’d always known about online job searches, but had never had a computer or the time to search through them. Not that she really needed to. In Greenfield, she’d found out about job openings by word of mouth. At Northwestern, there was a bulletin board in the student lounge. She’d thought, upon arriving in New York, that the paper she’d chosen was widespread enough to be a reasonable choice for a job search. It seemed not. “Do you know the names of any websites?”

  “Sure do!” Ernie said, pulling out an order pad. He wrote down a few words in chicken scratch and ripped the page from the pad, handing it over. “I got this job from the second one and my other two from the last, but I heard great things about the other two. I don’t got a college degree or much experience, but I’ve been working here for over six months now so I can’t really complain. I’m hoping to work my way up. My next promotion’ll be doorman and then I’ll be able to join a union!” He looked proud of that fact and far be it from Avery to destroy the kind of happiness that came from a job well done and the prospect of future successes.

  “Thanks,” Avery said, tossing the paper next to her on the bed. “I’ll be sure to look at them later on.”

  “You do that and you’ll have a job in no time, I guarantee it!” Ernie insisted, with a dimpled grin. He was about Avery’s age, if not younger, and his eyes were a shimmery kind of blue that would have fit on a movie screen if it weren’t for the…everything else about him. He wasn’t ugly, but he certainly wasn’t movie star handsome, Avery thought. She gave him a nod that was at the same time a dismissal and he easily took the hint, turning to make his way toward the door. “Enjoy your meal.”