Chapter 3

Blake leads me back to his office. Along the way the two of us are stopped quite a few times by employees simply wanting to introduce themselves to their new, prestigious CEO. What. A. Joke. Blake has no qualms with taking his time while these people gush over their excitement to work for him. In fact, while they feed him their lines of shit, he actually smiles.

He won't have to worry about me rubbing my nose up his butt crack. Not a chance.

By the time we finally reach his office, Blake pulls out a key from his pocket and unlocks the door.

"After you," he says evenly.

I step inside. The motion-censored lights flicker to life, and I plop myself into the seat furthest away from Blake's monstrous wooden desk. He closes the door behind us and takes a seat in his plush leather chair. Then he leans back, studying me.

"Why are you working here, Mr. Greene?"

"For the stale coffee in the break room. It's free, you know."

Blake looks away from me with a sigh. He straightens his tie and then brings his fingertips together in front of his lips. There's a faint hum that I notice as silence settles throughout the office. While Blake quietly sits in his fancy chair, I crane my neck to look for the source of the sound. My eyes scan over a large filing cabinet. A book shelf as wide as it is tall sits right next to it, and that's when I notice a flat screen TV mounted onto the wall.

Wow. That's new.

I was in my old boss's office only once. I certainly would've noticed if a TV was in here. I'm about to ask him why the hell he needs a TV, but then the buzzing noise gets louder.

"What is that noise?" I ask, irritated.

Blake shifts his eyes toward me. "My humidifier."

I snort. "A humidifier? Seriously?"

Blake gestures around the vents attached to the floor of his office.

"I had the carpenters rip up a few tiles in order to attach it to the air supply. Whenever the heat or AC kicks in, the air is automatically being moistened and purified."

What a vag.

"Sounds excessive to me."

Blake pulls himself closer to his desk. He quickly types his password into the computer, turning his focus to the screen.

"What might be excessive to you is live-saving to me," he says under his breath.

"How so?"

"I had nearly debilitating asthma as a child. Luckily it's tapered off over the years, but every once in a while I have a bad attack. Being in an environment where the air is cleaner and easier to breathe prevents them."

I sink a little lower into my chair. The feeling of guilt is not one I'm used to or enjoy feeling. When a wave of this emotion moves through my senses, I grit my teeth and try all I can to get it to go away.

"And the TV?" I snap. "Is that to help prevent your asthma attacks as well?"

Blake's gaze flickers to me. His expression is stone-cold and he snatches a remote from inside his top desk drawer. His jabs his thumb into the 'On' button and nods his head to the TV.

Dozens of square images pop up everywhere on the screen. Each one displays a still camera view of a different area of the store. My eyes freeze on one of the boxes. It's near the back of the store, perfectly aligned with the rain coat rack I was working on days ago.

No wonder Blake found me so easily. He was watching me on screen before he sought me out. As if reading my thoughts, Blake turns off the TV. He sets the remote back inside his drawer and closes it with a loud thwak.

"I like to know what my employees are doing," Blake explains. "And I like to know how they act even when I'm not around..."

His voice tapers off. With slow but sure movements, he collects a stack of papers that clearly were assembled prior to my arrival. He reaches out to hand them to me, and I reluctantly leave my seat to grab them from him.

I flip through the first few pages and frown. I've seen it before. It's a hiring packet. In fact, I filled out all these same papers when I was first hired here over two years ago.

"Uh...what's this?"

Blake leans back in his chair again and studies me over with speculation.

"You are one of my only staff members who acts exactly the same in front of me as you do in front of customers and your fellow employees."

"Thanks."

Blake shakes his head. "No. That wasn't a compliment."

Asshole.

"That quality proves worthless and undesirable in the customer service arena," he continues. "However, there are jobs where a quality like that could be seen as useful. And because I pride myself in being a tolerant, patient man, I'm choosing to see it with this quality of yours in a positive light rather than a negative one."

I stare at him wordlessly. He pauses and raises his brow.

"This would be where you insert some manners."

"For what?"

Blake purses his lips. "Most managers would have fired you for that little stunt you pulled a few days ago, Mr. Greene. I, on the other hand, chose to see it as an opportunity – an opportunity to shift your job duties to better fit your rather garish personality traits."

"So...I'm not getting fired?"

There's genuine concern in my voice, and it's enough to make Blake's expression soften.

"No, Callum. That is, not unless you decline the new offer I intend to give you."

He nods to the papers clasped in between my fingers. I glance down at them again. I flip through each one until I come to the offer letter. My name is printed in bold across the top of the page, along with a fairly handsome raise and a new title.

"Administrative Specialist?"

Blake shrugs. "I'm still playing with the title. That seems to be the best fit though in order to encompass the broad range of your job duties."

"What the hell is it?"

"Essentially I'll be taking you off the floor. Instead you'll be helping me behind the scenes. I need you to take my calls, handle my schedule, arrange for my meetings, plan events when they're required....things of that nature."

I smack my lips in disgust. "I'd be your assistant? That does not sound like a job for me. I would make an even worse assistant than I already do selling lumber to a bunch of old geezers."

"That's not true," Blake disagrees. "See, here's how I view it. That quality we were discussing before - it's not good in a customer service setting. However, it is a good quality when it comes to me finding someone I can trust."

"How do you figure?"

"Although you're not good at what you do now, you're honest, Callum. You're honest and you're not afraid to stick up for what you want and what you believe in. Granted, your discipline to the job can be refined quite a bit...but I'm sure I can help with this. Anyway, these qualities are the ones I need for this position."

"Listen, Blake – "

"Mr. Benson."

"What?"

"I'd prefer you refer to me as Mr. Benson, Callum. I am both your elder and your superior in a work environment."

I snort. "What are you – like 21?"

"29," he corrects me icily.

"Fine. Mr. Benson. It's not that I wouldn't like the raise, but I'm telling you right now – I don't want this job. From the sounds of it, I'll be playing the role of 'work wife slash secretary' to you day in and day out. I can only imagine how much time I'll have to spend taking orders from you and following you around like a puppy dog."

An image takes shape in my head. I picture myself following behind Blake with a clipboard and pen, asking him if there's anything he needs me to do for him. The mere thought is so repulsive it makes me shudder.

"It's just not in my nature," I mutter through clenched teeth.

Blake is quiet for a moment. He grabs for one of the blue pens in his cup holder and twirls it around his first two fingers. It's an action that makes him seem young and playful. He clicks the end of the pen and holds it out to me.

"Whether it's in your nature or not, Callum, the facts don't change. You're not good at the duties you've been assigned for your current job. You would, however, be an asset to me in this role. So the choice is yours. You can walk out of here – jobless - or begin to fill out the needed paperwork for your new position."

Blake smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes, and it makes me so fuckin' irritated I want to punch him in the face. If I didn't have to pay for school, my car, my cell phone...you get the picture..., I'd walk out of here this very second. That'd show him.

I slide my tongue over my teeth.

Unfortunately, there's no way I can make this new kind of dough anywhere else with just a high school diploma. Hell, if I can stick it out working here for just the summer I'll have enough saved up to pay for my first semester of school and get a place of my own.

Besides, if I went home and told my mom I walked out on an opportunity like this, she'd slap me into next Tuesday.

My teeth grind together. I'm about to sign over my dignity. I'm about to agree to becoming this guy's personal bitch for months on end. I hold my hand out and Blake sets the pen into my waiting palm with a knowing grin.

He clears his throat softly. "Good choice."