“It’s John Grisham, that shouldn’t even be a question,” I said. “Although, in a perfect world I’d say no. But only because his next book is far more commercial and I think we could do a lot more for that one.”
His lips briefly curved up into a smile, but he didn’t let it remain. “Which romance novel would you like to recommend?”
“One second...” I flipped through another page of my notes. “Castrating Her Boss.”
“Excuse me?” His eyes met mine. “What book did you just say?”
“Casting Her Boss.”
Her narrowed his eyes at me before writing down my suggestion. “Anything in particular that stood out? Favorite parts?”
“Probably when the asshole boss redeems himself and stops treating the heroine like shit...” I muttered under my breath, but then I cleared my throat. “The realism was great. The heroine was a movie director and I learned a lot about Hollywood while reading.”
“What about your Young Adult selection?” He continued to go through all twelve genres I’d been assigned to read—asking follow-up questions here or there, but as usual, he never let our conversation go off topic or get remotely personal.
When we finished the book recommendations, we transitioned into the month’s e-book revenue and promotional adjustments, and by the time he decided that I was “free to go” it was nine o’ clock.
Nine. O. Clock.
“Mr. Leighton?” I said as I slipped into my coat.
He didn’t answer. He was still writing, looking down at his paper.
“Mr. Leighton?” I repeated with a little more bite in my voice, enough that made him finally look up at me.
“Yes?”
I hesitated, hating the fact that something as simple as his eyes meeting mine was enough to make my panties wet.
“This is the fifteenth Friday in a row that you’ve kept me past six.
“No, this is the fifteenth Friday in a row that the work has kept you past six. If you completed more of it throughout the week, then maybe you’d be able to leave earlier.”
“Regardless,” I said, keeping my voice firm. “I’m going to need to leave at six o’clock on Fridays like everyone else here so I can enjoy a full weekend. If I’m not out of here by six, I’m going to deduct time from my Monday arrival and start time.”
He set his pen down and leaned back in his chair. “Come again?”
“Like today.” I picked up my purse and slung it over my shoulder. “Today I’m leaving at nine o’clock which is three hours past acceptable per section 83B in the company handbook. So, on Monday, I’ll be arriving three hours past my normal time at around eleven o’clock. I will also—”
“You’re going to arrive here at eight o’clock.” He cut me off, his voice deeper than usual. “And you’re going to stay in these Friday meetings until we get the work done because that’s what you get paid very generously to do.”
“No, I’m not.” I wasn’t backing down. “I’ll see you at eleven o’clock on Monday, Mr. Leighton.”
“Be sure to bring a pen to sign off on your write-up papers because first of all,” he said, looking me up and down. “You’re not like everyone else here...You’re salaried, not hourly. And per your contract and section 89B in the company handbook, Friday meetings can go as late as eleven o’clock depending on the season, so technically, I’ve been doing you a favor since the day you started here.” He paused. “You’re welcome.”
“Furthermore,” he said, “if you want to talk about following rules to the letter, we can easily discuss how you’ve been using my credit card to buy things for yourself. Things like overpriced gifts and breakfasts at Dean & DeLuca, unnecessary office supplies from the most expensive stores on Fifth Avenue, and a bunch of other personal things I don’t recall ever authorizing. I believe any other boss would say that that’s technically stealing, and that’s an immediate ground for termination is it not?”
He slowly stood up and walked over to me, making my heart race a mile a minute. “We could also get really technical and discuss how you use your assigned town-car to drive you around to all types f non-work related places on the weekend with your best friend. Amy is her name, correct?”
My cheeks had never been so hot, and I struggled to say a single word. Before I could come up with a rebuttal, he stepped so close our chest were touching. Then he slipped his hand into my coat pocket and pulled out my cell phone, hitting stop on my “record conversation” app—clearly realizing I was hoping to catch his asshole ways on tape for future use.
Smiling, he returned the phone to me. “See you Monday, Miss London. Eight o’clock.”
***
Two hours later...
“So, let me get this straight.” Amy poured me a glass of wine in her condo later that night. “He literally just emailed you and told you that he changed his mind and you need to come into work at six o’clock in the morning on Monday? And you think it’s because you complained about leaving late today?”
“That’s definitely why.” I tossed back the wine in one gulp. “It’s like he purposely pushes back at me or does things to get under my skin because he feels like it. He knows exactly how to piss me off, and I still can’t read into him for some reason. I don’t understand why.”