My Favorite Boss

Chapter 1

Chapter One

BANE

T he knock I had been waiting for happened. I recognized it since I knew it well.

Rap, rap. Pause. Rap, rap.

I delayed responding for a moment, just to annoy the person on the other side of the door. Before they could knock again, I called out, “Come in.”

The door opened, and Laura walked in, a stack of files in her arms. She sat across from me, not waiting for an invitation. When she spoke, her voice was purposely restrained, hiding the fact that she, no doubt, would like to ream me a new one but, as head of HR, knew she could not. Still, there was an undertone to her voice—one of barely concealed impatience.

I had to let her have it.

“Alexander,” she began.

“Laura,” I replied, not looking up from the rows of numbers on the page in front of me.

“We need to have a discussion.” She paused. “Now.”

When I didn’t respond, she reached across the desk, closing the file folder in front of me. “And I need your complete attention.”

With a sigh, I sat back, pulling off my glasses and rubbing my eyes. “I already know why you’re here, Laura. Save your voice, and we can move on.”

“That was your sixth assistant in two months, Alexander. Sixth.”

“She was horrible. She couldn’t assist me getting out of a wet paper bag.”

Laura rolled her eyes.

“You need to send me someone better.”

“I’ve sent you the best candidates we’ve had. You’ve found fault with every single person.” She opened a file folder. “Constantly late, bad attitude, can’t handle direction… Smiles too much.” She looked up. “Shall I go on? The faults you find are so minuscule, it’s ridiculous. You barely give people a chance to settle in, and you fire them. Do you see a pattern here?” She removed her glasses, glaring at me.

“Yes. You send me the wrong people. HR is obviously falling down on the job. I gave you my list of requirements.”

She regarded me, her voice becoming pointedly annoyed. “No. You are the pattern. Your list is ridiculous. No one is going to work the hours you want, be at your beck and call, run around after you, and never talk back. Nor will they have the education level you desire, be able to travel at a moment’s notice, and—” she referred to the list “—make a mean sandwich.” She shook her head with a sigh. “You’re hiring an assistant, Alex. Not a gofer.”

“Sally did all those things and more.”

“Sally knew you and could handle you. Plus, she was fifty-six and knew how to put you in your place. You frighten all these young women and men we send to help you. You never give them a chance.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “And it is not HR’s fault. The common denominator for failure here is you.”

“Ha,” I snorted. “I could do better.”

“I thought you’d say that.” She handed me the stack of files she’d been carrying.

“What are these?”

“Four of the top applicants for the job. You interview them.”

I accepted the folders, pursing my lips. “If you think this is a challenge, you’re wrong. I’ll find the right candidate.” I leaned back. “What do I get if I’m right?”

“You interview, you hire, and they last more than six weeks? I’ll admit the fault was ours.”

I scoffed. “Prepare to apologize.” I grinned, winking at her. “I expect quite the show.”

Laura laughed, standing. “When this doesn’t work, then I get the apology. I think an office memo stating that your arrogance and ego were the problem all along will suffice. That, plus you buy lunch for the entire HR department. Our choice.”

I chuckled. I liked Laura, and I enjoyed our little sparring matches.

“To make it fair, I need to see a list of other candidates.”

“Fine. There were only six others who qualified for the position. I’ll send them over.”

“Great. Now, out of my office. I have an assistant to hire.”

She left, and I went back to the spreadsheet I’d been working on. The budget was tight on this project, and I wanted to make sure nothing was overlooked. I would get to the assistant thing later.

How hard could it be?

A short while later, another woman from HR dropped off more files. She paused as she was leaving. “Oh, Mr. Bane,” she said, sounding nervous.

“Yes?”

“Laura told me to mention that the interviews were already scheduled—she had me contact the other candidates as well. I got hold of all of them but one. You’ll have to make that phone call.”

“Fine.”

“For late Friday afternoon, between two and six.”

I gaped at her. “What?”

That was tomorrow. And I had planned on taking the afternoon off. I was certain I had mentioned that to Laura last week. She was doing this to knock me off my game. I waved my hand, dismissing her.

“No problem.”

She grinned, obviously in on the little wager. “Have a good afternoon.”

The door closed behind her, and I groaned. I was going to have to put in some work if I wanted to be prepared for tomorrow. I was going to ace this interview process and have the best assistant in the company.

I was looking forward to the groveling after.

I reached for the files and began my work.

Given the number of candidates, I divided the folders into two piles—the strongest contenders and the runners-up. Reading through résumés, I made notes, checked references, nodding over some of the comments. When I finished, I had the three top choices, and the rest were graded as to how compatible they seemed. A lot was expected from my assistant—I knew that. I worked hard and anticipated them to do the same. My office needed someone smart, able to think on their feet. I didn’t expect them to know how to use CAD—a computer-aided design software—but a general understanding was a bonus. At present, I already had assistants to work with me on the landscape designs when needed. The person I hired was required to run my office and calendar and keep me on track. I needed them to understand the basics of what we did. To go over numbers and budgets. Schedule meetings, bring clients up-to-date, handle small problems, keep up with emails and calls.

And yes, make me a sandwich and coffee when I requested it. The occasional personal errand.

And I expected them to be polite, quiet, and stay out of my way.

And I always got what I wanted.

Friday afternoon, I stared at the dwindling list on my desk.

Who the hell knew how hard it was to find an assistant? At times, I felt as if I were the one being interviewed—and found lacking.

One woman laughed when I went through the list of duties I expected. She took my list, read it, picked up a pen, and stroked off over half the items on it. Then informed me her expected salary was twice what was on offer.

And she had been my fourth choice.

My first and third had been such terrible interviews, I knew there was no point in trying to offer them a job. My second choice never showed. Number six was married with three kids and spent most of the interview explaining she didn’t do overtime, no travel, and needed a lot of time off for kid appointments and personal days if they were sick.

“Which is often,” she said with a shrug. “But I can work from home.”

I managed to get her out of my office without insulting her.

I had two names left on the list. I glanced at the clock, grimacing. I had a feeling number nine was a no-show as well. It was well past his appointed time, and he hadn’t shown up or called. That left a Magnolia Myers. I picked up her résumé, refreshing my memory. She’d been a personal assistant for an account manager who retired four months ago. She’d been working part time ever since with an agency. She had the qualifications I was looking for, but it was the personal letter of reference that gave me pause. Although glowing, the words spunky, eager to help and learn, and always smiling gave me pause. I didn’t want spunky and smiling. I wanted quiet and industrious.

But I was almost out of options.

When five forty-five came and went, I sighed. Obviously, Ms. Myers had changed her mind as well. I laughed dryly as I picked up my coat. I was going to have to admit defeat to Laura on Monday and eat crow.

I pushed the button for the elevator, switching off the overhead lights and waiting in the hallway. Realizing I’d forgotten my phone, I hurried back, swiping it off my desk and rushing back as the elevator dinged in the hall. I caught my foot on the edge of a display case as I hurried toward the door, anxious to put this day behind me.

But someone was dashing across the outside reception room at the same time I lurched sideways. We crashed together, my arms automatically grabbing at the person who hit me. We went down to the hard floor, a mass of sprawled arms and legs. I managed to be the one who hit first, a small, warm body landing on top of me. A loud exhale of air escaped me in the form of a grunt, and the person on top of me gasped, a soft, surprised sound, letting me know the stranger was female. The lights around me had gone out for some reason, and for a moment, I was frozen.

It felt like an eternity in which nothing happened, even though I knew it was only a few seconds. Thirty, tops. I was in shock, holding a sweet-smelling woman who seemed content to stay where she was. I lifted my head, realizing the reason that the dim light had disappeared was the heavy fall of hair that covered my head. I reached up to swipe it aside, forcing away the impulse to bury my face into the thick tresses and sniff them. That silly impulse made me angry.

“What the fuck?” I growled.

The woman lifted her head, her hair falling back. I stared into the darkest eyes I’d ever seen. They were round with shock, yet I saw amusement lurking in their depths. A smile played on her full lips.

“Hi.”

Her voice did something to me. It was breathy and soft. Sweet, yet sultry. I liked it.

“Hello.”

“I’m here for the five forty-five interview.” She looked sheepish. “I planned on bowling you over, but not like this.”

My lips twitched. “You’re late.”

“I missed my bus, and then I broke my heel running to get here,” she babbled, still lying on my chest. “The guy downstairs refused to let me come up, saying the office closed at six. But I waited until he answered the phone and was distracted, and I ran up the steps,” she said, sounding breathless.

And much too sexy to be this close.

“Ten floors,” she added.

“You’re still late.”

“You have to let me interview. Please. Ask your boss nicely.”

I glared at her. “I am the boss.”

“Oh,” she whispered, her eyes even rounder. “Well, shit .”