The Office Slave #2: The Boss (9 page)

Gill picked up the red pen lying in front of
her and, as she reached across the table to drop it back in the
cup, she accidentally knocked her mug and spilled a few drops of
coffee on the newspaper. She snatched some tissues from the box on
the side table and blotted up the blobs of dark liquid.

"How do you know if you don't—"

"Stop pushing. Why would you push your only
daughter off on some stranger, anyway?"

"Jeremy's not a stranger."

"He is to me," Gillian shrilled.

"Okay, Gill. Calm down. Look, let's forget
all this nonsense for now. We haven't seen each other for a while.
Why don't you come downtown and we'll have lunch?"

"I don't have time, Mom. I have a lesson
starting at one. I could come over tonight, though."

"Why don't you come for an early lunch,
then?" Her voice switched back to that reasonable, persuasive tone
she did so well. "If you got here around eleven thirty, we could be
finished in time."

Why did Gill have the feeling Mom was up to
something? "I don't know." She glanced at her watch. Ten thirty.
"It'll be pretty tight."

"Look, I have to go now. I'm due at a meeting
in five minutes. Meet me at eleven-thirty. Please?"

It had been over a week since they'd gotten
together. Gill had canceled their dinner last Tuesday because she'd
had to work late. She sighed. "Okay, Mom."

"Thanks, honey. And, Gill ... wear something
nice, will you? Not the usual leather jacket and jeans. I like you
to look presentable when you come to my office."

Gill started having second thoughts.

"And not too flashy. Your black suit with a
nice white blouse would be appropriate."

"Mom—"

"Good-bye, dear. Got to go."

Mom hung up before Gill could finish her
protest. How could someone Gill loved so much be so annoying? She
called work to check her afternoon schedule, then went to shower
and dress—in her scarlet suit—with a nice white blouse.

* * * *

Gill arrived at her mother's office building
at quarter after eleven, checked in at reception in the lobby, and
grabbed the first free elevator up. She patted her hair—coiled at
the back of her head and held by a gold barrette—checking for loose
tendrils. This hairdo, her only other concession to her mother's
request to dress conservatively, caused a tugging weight at the
back of her head, giving her a headache. Maybe she ought to take it
down, she thought, just as the elevator doors swished open. Too
late.

"Gillian. There you are." Gillian's mother
stood waiting on the eighth floor and climbed aboard. "I've got to
drop off some papers in the executive office before we go."

She pushed the button for the twenty-second
floor.

"Can't you do that when we get back?" Gill
didn't want to be late. The doors closed and the elevator proceeded
upwards.

"It'll only take a minute, honey."

She eyed Gill's outfit critically, but said
nothing. They rode in silence all the way to the top. Gill tugged
at the hem of her blazer. She tried to push aside the feelings of
inadequacy that accompanied the thought of visiting the office of a
rich man like Farraday. She would not be intimidated.

When they stepped off the elevator, Gill
glanced around, feeling a little overwhelmed despite her resolve.
Large potted palms stood between each elevator column and a plush
sage green carpet covered the floor. A svelte blonde woman sat
behind a cream colored desk with the slightest tinting of rose in
the wood grain. She glanced up at their arrival and smiled.

"Hi, Claire. How are you?"

"Fine, Rita. I've got something for Jeremy."
She waved the manila folder in her hand. "Is he here?" She glanced
around expectantly.

"No, he's moving into his apartment today.
You know him. He won't leave it to movers. He has to have a hand in
it himself."

He doesn't trust them, you mean,
Gill
thought. Typical rich-man attitude.

"It's too bad you hadn't stopped by ten
minutes earlier," the woman went on. "He was here to pick up some
papers he wants to review over the weekend." She took the envelope
from Mom and glanced at the label. "Does he need this in a rush? I
could courier it to him."

While Mom and Farraday's secretary discussed
the details of shipping documents, Gill wandered to the sitting
area just past the reception desk. Floor to ceiling windows spanned
one side of the area and two inviting off-white leather couches sat
in a cozy arrangement around a square glass coffee table, set to
take advantage of the view. Gill stared at the city laid out below
them, Dow's Lake glittering in the afternoon sunlight.

The white glint of an aircraft in the clear
depths of the sky caught her attention.

Oh, drat! She hadn't verified that Puff, her
favorite aircraft, would be ready for her one o'clock lesson. She'd
booked Puff last week, but the plane had gone in for regular
maintenance yesterday and they'd hit a few snags.

Gill opened her purse to grab her cell phone,
but it wasn't there. She must have left it charging at home.

She glanced around for a phone and, when she
didn't see one, strode back to the secretary's desk. "I need to
make a quick call."

The woman waved at the phone on her desk. "Go
ahead." She clicked the button beside the label 'Line 2' and pushed
the phone toward the edge of the desk, holding out the receiver.
Gill stepped closer and took it, then dialed the number for the
airport.

"Hi, Suzie? It's Gill." She turned away from
Mom and the secretary so her voice wouldn't interfere with their
conversation, then leaned back against the edge of the desk.

"Hi, Gill. What's up?"

"I'm not sure if I have an aircraft for my
one o'clock lesson."

"You're booked with George, right?" Suzie
asked and Gill murmured an affirmative response. "Let me
check."

Gill heard the clicking of keys and knew
Suzie was glancing through the appointments on the computer.

"Puff is penciled in here."

"I know, but she was still being serviced
last I heard."

"Oh, right, that leaky oil thing. Hang
on."

Gill heard Suzie shout to someone in the
background and a moment later she came back on the line. "No
problem. She's all set."

"Thanks, Suzie. See you at one."

Gill hung up the phone, and turned to see a
gray-haired man in a navy suit get off the elevator. She stood up
and tugged the hem of her blazer to straighten any wrinkles that
had formed, then brushed down the sides. His keen blue eyes skimmed
her suit from collar to hem and his mouth puckered into a
frown.

"Mr. Farraday." The secretary stood up with
Mother's envelope and a couple of file folders in her hand. "I have
a few errands to run before this afternoon's meeting."

The man nodded and the woman hurried away.
His gaze settled on Mother.

"Claire," he said. "Is this a new employee
for me to meet?"

"No, Mr. Farraday. This is my daughter,
Gillian."

His gaze intensified as it shifted back to
Gill and she quelled an overwhelming urge to fold her hands in
front of her and drop her gaze to the ground. Instead, she hiked up
her shoulders and met his frank scrutiny head on.

"So, you finally got her in here, did you?
Well, come on, young lady. Let's have a little chat."

Her back stiffened. Mom may have to answer to
this man, but Gill didn't. "No, I'm sorry, Mr. Farraday," Gill
responded. "Mom and I were just off to lunch and I really don't
have time—"

"Nonsense." He grasped Gill's elbow and led
her toward his office door.

Gill narrowed her eyes as she glanced back at
Mom, silently demanding she get her out of this situation. Mom sent
back a pleading look. That look that begged her not to make
trouble. That look Gill knew she could not ignore. After all, Mom
had trained her over twenty-eight years. Gill sighed, knowing she'd
been bamboozled. Had Mom planned this all along? Or was she just
taking advantage of opportune timing?

Gill tugged her arm free and followed
Farraday through the office door hating the position Mother had
forced on her. The inside of the executive office, even more plush
than the reception area, was as intimidating as it was impressive.
Gillian hated blatant displays of wealth and, even knowing that a
company must have an office that reflects a positive financial
position, the luxurious trappings made her uncomfortable. More
floor to ceiling windows made up one wall of Mr. Farraday's office,
sending dazzling sunlight into the room, bouncing off the highly
polished surface of his glossy mahogany desk.

Mom walked past the dark green leather chairs
surrounding a square cherry wood coffee table towards the desk
where Farraday sat watching them with sharp blue eyes.

"Sit down," Mr. Farraday said, indicating the
chairs opposite him

Mom sat down, tugging Gill into the seat
beside her.

"So, Claire, this is the daughter you've told
me so much about." Farraday circled around her, inspecting every
detail of her appearance, from the upswept coil of her dark,
chestnut hair, down the trim lines of her fitted, red linen suit,
to the tips of her matching red pumps. "She certainly is as pretty
as you claimed. I wondered, knowing that through a mother's
eye...."

Gill felt her cheeks flame. The off-hand
compliment, meant more as an appraisal of an asset, set her teeth
grating. She kept her mouth clamped shut, reminding herself this
was her mother's employer and that she didn't want to get her
mother in trouble. It took a great deal of convincing.

"I know what you mean, Mr. Farraday." Mom
beamed, as though the compliment had been directed at herself. "And
she's very clever, too. She has a university degree."

His eyebrows arched. "In what? Home
Economics?"

Gill seethed even more.

"Now, really, Mr. Farraday," Mom countered.
"You know women do more than stay at home and take care of the
house nowadays. Look at me."

Gill groaned inwardly. Her mother worked in
personnel, an area where women were well accepted. Gill would bet
there weren't any women on the technical side of Mr. Farraday's
business.

"Let the girl talk for herself, Claire. Well,
Gillian?"

"I have a degree in Mathematics with an
Engineering option."

"Eh?" His keen gray eyes narrowed, skepticism
oozing from him.

"Mechanical Engineering," Gill clarified.

This man reminded her of her stepfather. Eric
had ridiculed her efforts in school. To the point of making her
believe she'd never amount to anything. He'd always made her feel
like an incompetent fool. But despite that, she'd made it through
university—in a man's field no less—and her dream career was within
grasp.

"So, you're an engineer?"

"No. Not exactly...."

"You earned a degree and then didn't use it?"
He narrowed his eyes. "I've heard of women who go to university to
earn their MRS."

In other words, to find a husband. Gill stood
up and sucked in a large gulp of air, ready to spill a torrent of
angry words in response, but her mother grabbed her arm and pulled
her back into her chair.

"Gill's not like that. She's the type of
person who likes to be well prepared for anything she undertakes.
She wants to be a commercial pilot. And if that doesn't work out,
her qualifications will help her pursue other things."

Farraday shook his head. "None of that really
matters. She won't need a career if she marries my son. Being smart
is good, though. Jeremy doesn't like the dumb blond type."

Her stomach clenched in a tight, hard knot.
If I marry his son? Does he think I'm here because of that
stupid ad?
This time when Gill shot to her feet, she stepped
out of Mom's reach. "What do you mean
if I—
?"

Farraday fixed her with a sharp stare. "Well,
you don't automatically get the position, you know. I want to make
sure you're appropriate before presenting you to him."

Presenting me to him?
Good heavens. It
sounded like she was to be some kind of gift. "Well, you can
just—"

"Gillian, please." Her mother's words cut
across what would have been a very rude retort. Mom might be soft
spoken, but she could find volume when the situation demanded it.
At her do-as-I-say-or-I'll-strangle-you look, Gillian glared at
her.

If this man says one more offensive
thing—

"Speaking of appropriateness," Farraday
started, now seated at his desk. "My son is looking for a woman who
can, shall we say, wear white to the wedding. I was very pleased to
hear that my son holds such virtue in high esteem."

Yeah, right. As if he's followed those
axioms himself.
The words scuttled through Gill's mind but she
successfully kept them to herself. Barely.

Mr. Farraday folded his hands on his desk and
stared straight into Gill's eyes, assessing. "I assume you meet the
requirements?"

Gill stiffened her spine and drew in a deep
breath ready to sputter out some cutting remark.

"Yes, she does," Mom interjected.

"And why is that?"

Gill blinked, thrown off by his audacity. "I
beg your pardon?"

"It seems very odd to me that such an
attractive girl hasn't hopped into the sack with someone, given the
morals of today's young people. Is there something wrong with
you?"

Wrong with me? WRONG WITH ME?
This man
who was looking for a virgin wife for his son by interviewing women
in his business office was asking if there was anything wrong with
her
?

"That does it!" Gill retorted. "I don't have
to put up with this." She turned on her heel and stomped toward the
door.

"Gill, wait!" Her mother's words chased after
her as she stormed past the secretary in the outer office and on
past the elevators to the stairs. She shoved the door open and
raced down the steps, not giving her mother time to catch up with
her—and make her feel guilty.