Teaching The Boss

Chapter Four

April stumbled out of bed and blinked at the bright light that streamed through the windows. What time was it? Didn't matter. She was unemployed now.

Well, it was Saturday, so it didn't matter anyway, but her mind was still stuck on the idea of being unemployed. She hadn't been on the job hunt in ages. Interviewing trends had probably changed a lot in the last decade.

Of course, by now she'd replayed the previous night in her mind thousands of times. In hindsight, she could've reacted better. If she'd given him a chance to fire her, she might've actually gotten severance pay.

He hadn't actually fired her. But he told Oksana he would. Well, he didn't say he wasn't going to fire her. How on earth had Oksana built up so much hatred toward April in five days?

The sudden buzzing of her intercom pulled her from her thoughts. Was that Sam? Her heart leapt at the thought of him begging for forgiveness. Offering her a raise and extra perks if she would come back.

As much as she liked the idea of Sam groveling at her feet, she sobered as she remembered the still fresh wound of his betrayal. Even if he offered her a way to stay in the city she loved and work at a company she'd put so much time into, how could she forgive him that quickly?

It might not even be Sam at the door. Knowing her luck at the moment, it was some delivery or salesperson who hit every button just to get inside.

April smacked her hand over her intercom speaker button. "What?" she asked, her tone as unenthusiastic as she felt.

"Ms. Morgan?"

April's heart sunk. The voice was deep and male, but definitely not Sam. "This is her."

"I was hoping we could have a word. If you prefer, we can go out to lunch."

April cast a dubious glance at the window. Could it really be lunchtime already? No matter what time it was, her eyes were red from crying and her face was smeared with yesterday's makeup. It would take her at least a half hour to get presentable. "Who is this?"

"My name is Donald Hunt."

A few long seconds of silence ticked by as April stared in horror at the cream-colored intercom. "The Donald Hunt?"

"Ms. Morgan, I don't want to sound rude, but I'd prefer to finish this conversation face to face. Would you mind inviting me up?"

Donald Hunt was asking to come up to her apartment? Cleanliness wise, the studio was okay, but she couldn't possibly let one of the richest men in New York into her five-hundred-square-foot home. His bathroom was probably bigger than her entire place. "Umm, I'm not really up for company." Did she really just turn Donald Hunt away?

"I assure you I won't pass any judgment. I do have some pressing matters I'd like to discuss."

If he insisted, who was she to say no? Sam would be furious when he found out about this, but that would be his problem. Actually, he would probably be interested in what his father was doing at her apartment and then get furious.

And there she went again, basing her decisions off of what Sam would want. That was old April. This was new, reckless April. "Come on up." She hit the button to unlock the front door.

She was on the sixth floor and at the end of the hall, so if she was lucky, she'd have two to three minutes before he was at her unit. Running past the kitchen area, April opened the one door in the apartment to get into her bathroom. She took a good ten seconds to take in her frazzled appearance and make a game plan. She flipped on the hot water dial and grabbed a brush. Her dark hair was a frizzy mess, but it was quick enough to run a brush through her naturally straight, chestnut locks and pull it back into a tight ponytail.