Know Liza’s family in “The Boss’ Desire.”
Enjoy an excerpt from - The Boss’ Desire
I mind my speed because the roads are icy. I’m late for work. Last night, I attended a going-away party for my boss, Liza Patrick-Sharp. Today is the first day of her new life. Liza is nine months pregnant, and now that she’s off on maternity leave, she’s chosen to relinquish her job for a career as a full-time mom. My new boss is Nolan Patrick, Liza’s brother. She hasn’t shared many details about him, other than that he has a serious demeanor and the two of them are pretty close. Nolan has run the Chicago office for the last five years, and the rumor from that office is that Nolan Patrick is thirty-one years old and has been divorced for about a year. They also say he’s a no-nonsense kind of guy, but other than that, he’s fairly nice.
I make a left turn into the parking lot and pull into the first spot I see. I’m fifteen minutes late.
I grab my coat and purse, curse under my breath, and rush out the car to power walk toward the building. My loosely wrapped scarf isn’t doing a good job of keeping the cold wind from moving down my blouse, and I’m virtually an ice statue when I make it inside. Surprisingly, hardly anyone is here. I tug my scarf loose and debate whether or not it’s warm enough to take off my coat. On days like this, the building doesn’t warm up until noon. I grunt, frustrated. I want to take off my coat, but I also want to stay warm. I flip a coin in my mind. Heads, I keep it on. Tails, I take it off. The imaginary coin goes up and hits the floor. I don’t even have to visualize where it ended up.
I keep my coat on, muster up some courage, and walk to Liza’s old office. My heart is beating so fast, and nervousness makes my skin run hot. When I picture Nolan Patrick, I see an anal-retentive bureaucrat afflicted with premature balding. He’ll probably drive me like a slave, but I’m here to do my job, even if that means working my fingers to the bone.
The door is closed, but I knock gently. After waiting for several seconds, I carefully turn the knob and peek inside. The office is empty. I sigh in relief and rush to the break room to make a fresh pot of coffee before Nolan Patrick arrives. I open the cabinet where the coffee is stored.
“Morning, Abby.”
I jump, startled, and look behind me. “Morning, Misty.” I didn’t mean to say that in such a deadpan tone. I’m just freaking out because it seems we’re out of coffee.
She looks at me disapprovingly. “Nice coat.”
I roll my eyes at the siren-red dress she’s wearing. “You do know it’s snowing outside?”
Misty leans against the doorjamb and smirks. “Jealous?”
I squat to search for coffee in the bottom cabinet. “No, just worried you’re going to freeze your butt off.”
“And I’m worried that you look like a snowman in that coat. It’s okay to sex it up once every blue moon.”
I sigh out of frustration. “That doesn’t make any sense, Misty, and where’s the damn coffee!”
She flexes her eyebrows. “So Nolan’s going to be here today.”
Hence the red dress. I slam the cabinet door. “What happened to all the coffee that was in here yesterday?”
She pulls her long blond hair across her shoulder and pets the strands. “Calm yourself, Abby. Just walk to Starbucks and pick up a few bags. Isn’t beverage service scheduled to restock this afternoon?”
She knows the schedule because she flirts with the restock guy every time he shows up. I take a deep breath to get a grip. This morning has been such a rollercoaster. I actually woke up on time but I laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Liza wouldn’t be in the office this morning, and that just made me sad. My life has been so focused on juggling her affairs that I’m not sure what my purpose is at work anymore. Now I’m here and only a good cry sparked by frustration would make me feel better at this point. And why did Misty wear a red dress for Nolan? She’s met him. The two times he came to the Minneapolis office I’ve either been out for lunch or home sick. So I asked her a week ago if she could give me any information about him. She just gave me an indifferent shrug and said, “He’s an okay guy.”
I whip past Misty. “Okay. Going to Starbucks to get coffee. Can I get you anything?” I ask before I can take it back.
“Umm,” she says, faking having to think about her answer. “Caramel latte, skim milk, extra hot.” She smiles. I wait to see if Misty will give me money, but she enhances her smile and says, “I’ll be at my desk.”
She walks right past me. She never pays for the coffee I buy for her. I keep buying her coffee because deep down, I want her to shock the hell out of me by giving me money and proving that she doesn’t always think the world revolves around her. The dwindling time is beating down on me, so I grab my purse and head out without asking her for a dime.
Starbucks is just a block away; I can see the entrance from here. It’s so close, but in this weather, it might as well be a mile away. The icy wind cuts through my coat like a blade. Not even power walking and being nervous is enough to warm me.
I’m shivering like a cold bird when I make it inside the coffee shop. Every morning this place is packed but not today. There’s something strange to the emptiness, but my thoughts are too full. I have to rush back to the office and have the coffee brewed and a list of action items ready before my new boss arrives. I stand in front of a shelf of different kinds of coffee, wondering what Nolan Patrick would like. It’s an impossible question to answer since I’ve never even laid eyes on the man. I make an executive decision and grab two bags of the House Blend, caffeinated and decaffeinated. I waltz right up to the register and pay for them and order a caramel latte with skim milk. Every second that I wait for Misty’s specialty coffee feels like an eternity. I take my cell phone out of my pocket and flip it open. My phone is an older model, which gives it limited ability but I am able to check the local news report on it. Nothing much is going on this early in the morning, other than reports on how bad the weather is supposed to get later today. I should probably go home, but I have so much I want to do before Nolan Patrick arrives—if he even shows up.
“Abby,” the barista calls from behind the espresso machine.
I stuff my phone back into my pocket and scurry to the counter. I’m so relieved to have the drink in my hand that I spin on my heels, ready to get the heck out of here as fast as I can, but my hand that’s holding the coffee slams into what feels like a brick wall. Hot liquid pours everywhere: down my hand, down the front of someone’s camel-colored wool jacket, all over my boots, and all over the floor.