Taming the Playboy Boss

Ch. 3: Boss

"Do you approve?" he asks with a hint of amusement in his voice. There is a glint in his steel-blue eyes when my head swings back and meets his gaze head on.

"Yes, I do. It's very nice," I respond honestly.

He nods and taps a couple of keys on a keyboard I can't see and turns his attention towards the large computer monitor in front of him. "Your resume says you worked as an office manager at Glasgow's Auto shop." He snickers. "Kind of ironic, don't you think?"

I know he's referring to the state of my car, but I keep my face neutral.

"So, you're familiar with," he continues, and lists a whole slew of programs he expects me to know. Some of them I do know, but there are ones I've never even heard of, and my back is starting to sweat.

I'd hoped I'd get a chance to familiarize myself with their system before I got quizzed on it.

I was the office manager at Glasgow's but it was over ten years ago, not that my resume says that. I was in charge of the financials, including the payroll and taxes, but I was also the secretary, the cleaning lady, and the assistant to the owner, since he was the only other person who worked there. But my resume doesn't say that either. It's more vague and hints to Glasgow's being a much larger operation than it was. The owner has since passed away and the business no longer exists.

I only listed my waitressing job as a side note since it has nothing to do with the kind of job I was searching for, but that was where I spent the last few years of my life. Waiting on people who exited the Interstate in search of a quick meal at the nearest diner before they got back on the road towards their destinations.

But I square my shoulders and nod at Preston. "I'll manage," I say and force a smile. I don't know if it's true, but there is no way I will admit that.

He cocks his head to the side and studies me. It feels intimate and a bit unnerving. Preston Cartwright is young, the youngest of the sons, in his late twenties, if my guess is right. But the way he appraises me shows he knows more than what I expected from someone his age. It's both irritating and impressive, and I realize he's not a man that should be underestimated.

"I'm sure Barbara already told you what your responsibilities will be," he states, and I nod. "Lydia primarily handles my father's work, and Alana has Andrew and Hayes. You will assist me and Easton."

I nod again even though Barbara did not specifically share that piece of information.

"There's additional support staff on the third floor," he continues, and I nod because I was l already advised of that when I interviewed. They handle more of the general tasks, while my primary job, he explains, will be to balance Preston's and Easton's schedules.

I search my memories for what Fiona told me about the Cartwright sons. If I remember correctly, Easton is the second oldest, about my age, and the CMO.

"Easton is not here today."

"Okay."

"Alana will help you get all set up. Then I need you to pick up my dry cleaning, schedule the barber for Friday afternoon, reschedule the meeting with Mr. Demer for Wednesday instead of Thursday, and make a reservation for four at Lucena's for lunch tomorrow. Make sure Easton is available."

"Okay."

He cocks an eyebrow. "You'll remember all that?"

I look down at my hands, which are folded in my lap. I have no pen or anything to take notes with and my phone is in my bag in the closet. The coffee incident must have thrown me off, but then again, I expected this to be a rather informal introduction meeting, but I guess that is not Preston Cartwright's style.