3. Natalie #2
“See? That’s stalker behavior!” I let out a rage-y noise, not caring that the people passing by turned to look at me. “Oh my God, you are the literal worst! I’m glad you fired me, because there is no way I’d ever want to work for someone as annoying as you! You don’t deserve me.”
“You might be right,” he admitted, looking like it pained him to say it.
I snapped my mouth shut. “Excuse me?”
He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a tattered blue spiral sketchbook.
My sketchbook. My heart dropped to my feet.
Not only did it contain my pie-in-the-sky design concepts, I also used it for my to-do lists (oh my God, did he see that I needed to restock my tampon supply?), snippets of songs that inspired me, random doodles (yes, there were a few nudes), and most embarrassing, occasional journal entries.
Like last night. That mess would eventually get a page or two dedicated to it, but after killing the better part of a bottle of wine with Stephanie, I hadn’t felt up to writing anything last night, so I hadn’t even noticed it was gone.
Stupid, stupid. I’d been in such a rush to get out the door of the shop last night, I’d left it behind without even noticing.
“What are you doing with that?” I asked, moving closer to snatch it away from him.
James pulled it just out of reach, like he was playing with a puppy. “So it is yours.”
“Yeah, that’s everything I’ve been working on for the past year.” I held my hand out to him. “Longer, even. And it’s private. Not to mention, it’s none of your business, No-Longer-My-Bossman. Give it.”
“Careless, to leave something so precious just lying about,” he replied, flipping the cover back. “But that seems to be your M.O., yes? Careless, impulsive, reactionary, and to top it off, a mouth that doesn’t know when to remain shut.”
His eyes dropped to my lips and lingered for a second longer than necessary.
I couldn’t catch my breath, because what was essentially my diary was cracked open in his massive hands.
I wanted to jump out of my skin as he skimmed the first few pages.
No one got to look at my sketches until I felt like they were ready, and even though these were getting close, I still felt like I needed time to perfect them.
But if I was honest with myself, I never felt like they were truly ready.
That not-so-little voice of doubt was always right there, telling me that I’d never be good enough.
And James Branson looking at my work was the equivalent of him looking through my dirty laundry basket.
I felt exposed, like his hands were sifting through my lacy thongs.
I braced myself for the insults he was about to hurl my way.
“But,” he added, his tone shifting, “I was wrong to say last night that you don’t have talent. These are good.” He paused on a sketch of a gown that happened to be my favorite, then met my gaze. “Really good. I would like to buy these designs from you.”
I cleared my throat, unable to find words for a second. How was it possible that the man who’d done nothing but insult me since I’d met him was actually saying something nice?
“Hello?” James frowned and waved his hand in front of my face. “Do you need an etiquette lesson? I just told you that I’d like to buy your work. One typically replies with something like ‘Yes, thank you.’”
He sounded so condescending, like he was talking to a child, and it set me off, compliment or not.
“Why should I thank you for a statement of fact? I know I’m talented,” I snarked back at him.
He shook his head and chuckled. “And no shortage of confidence, clearly.”
“Whatever,” I said. “I’m not interested in selling my designs. I want a job where I can create and grow, not just hand over my work.”
I took a step closer to James and held my hand out.
“I’m thinking…no.” He brought my notebook to his chest and folded his arms over it.
“But you can’t…that’s my property! I’m going to report…” I sputtered in shock, panic rising in my chest. Maybe it actually did belong to him since I’d occasionally stolen a few minutes at work to adjust a sketch or two?
“Miss Reynolds, would you please pipe down and listen to me for a moment?” He waited for me to stop freaking out and face him. “I’m trying to move Branson Designs in a new direction, and based on your sketches I think you might be the way to make it happen.”
All I cared about was getting my precious sketchbook back now, so whatever he was saying to me wasn’t registering.
Could I grab the thing from his hands and take off running?
The sidewalk was slowly filling with people who just finished up their graveyard shifts, or were clocking in for a long day ahead, which meant I could blend in within a block or two.
Maybe his gigantic-ness would slow him down?
My brain spun out in dirt bike circles as I imagined trying to recreate my work if the asshole decided to keep it.
No, that would be impossible. Catastrophic.
I felt a little lightheaded and couldn’t focus, because damn he seemed to be taking forever to get to his point.
“Miss Reynolds, I’d like to offer you a promotion—out of the shop and into the design studio.”
My jaw fell open. That I heard.
“You mean you’re un-firing me?”
He tilted his head and squinted at me. “I don’t recall ever saying that you were fired. That was all you. In fact, you seemed quite eager to see yourself let go.”
“But…” I pointed to my key card on the ground a few feet behind me. “It doesn’t work.”
He pulled his out of his jacket pocket. “Mine doesn’t either. Company-wide systems glitch. It’ll be fixed in an hour. If you’d given me a minute to explain, we could’ve avoided much of the confusion, as well as you telling me how much you despise me.”
I felt my cheeks go hot.
“So, let’s try this again,” James said, still clutching my notebook to his chest.
I blinked a few times, trying hard to follow him because nothing was making sense right now. I mean, Bossman was right, I had just told him that I despised him. Maybe this was another way for him to fuck with me? Say he wanted to promote me, then laugh at me when I actually believed the offer?
“Miss Reynolds,” James continued, still staring at me in that unblinkingly intense way. I forced myself to stare back with an unreadable poker face. “Can you put your hatred aside and consider discussing a new position working alongside me?”
He drummed his fingers on my precious notebook while he waited for me to respond.
Something toggled in my chest, and it felt a lot like hope. Maybe he wasn’t playing with me, and he was about to give me the break I was so desperate for?
I was about to work up the courage to say yes when he continued.
“One condition, though.”
“And that is…?” I replied slowly, not even hiding my suspicion.
He pulled a key ring out of his pocket and headed for the front doors. “Don’t you ever, ever sing in my presence again. Got it?”
He unlocked the door and slipped inside in one smooth motion, leaving me stewing on the sidewalk with the knowledge that while I would happily take the position, I would never not despise this man.