BERSAMANYA

“Kelsey, don’t forget Mr. Craft takes his coffee black.”

I offered a pleasant nod toward the intern who’s been here for only six weeks. She threw a wink and tossed her pin straight blonde hair my way, then swayed her nearly six-foot perfect frame toward the conference room.

My smile quickly flipped to a frown, holding in my eye roll to the best of my ability. I had been in this reception chair for almost two years, way longer than I’d planned. Knowing how my thick-head of a boss takes his coffee was a given.

Another few interns my age pranced after her, their clothing precise and professional to fit their well-kept bodies. My brand new shift dress didn’t quite have the same effect when walking past any warm blooded males like theirs did. 

Maybe I was stuck behind the reception desk because my confidence wasn’t like theirs, or because Mr. Craft had a particular eye for his interns.

Who all happened to be tall, thin, and beautiful.

I was lucky to be chosen for the program at the most successful marketing firm in Cleveland. My test scores proved my worth, along with my killer final project. I’d pitched an idea on how to market a running shoe at an affordable cost to multiple stereotypes. Let’s just say I did such a good job that employees had a hefty bonus from the surplus of sales.

While everyone else in the room was impressed, my boss, Mr. Craft, stayed straight faced, the same tense jaw and scowl firmly in place as always. I’d only amused him enough to be hired in as his personal assistant, not as one of the marketing coordinators.

I wasn’t offended, but according to my new coworkers, it was rare for Craft to hire any interns into the company after they’d served their time, and I was fortunate to have the job he gave me.

I assumed I’d be hired within a year. One of those, put up with the grunt work and it’ll pay off gigs. Yet still I sit, getting glares from Mr. Craft every morning, being ridiculed because I didn’t complete tasks to his satisfaction. He was arrogant; always pointing out that my ideas weren’t substantial enough.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he weren’t so attractive. Talk about being tongue tied because of beauty. It’s one thing to hate an asshole who’s older than dirt and not attractive, but the man had a perfectly sculpted face, and deliciously blue eyes that would draw you into hypnosis. He couldn’t be much over thirty; an unlikely age for a man in such a high career place. My panties were damp after he’d walk into the room, but then he would open his mouth, and all inappropriate thoughts and fantasies would vanish in an instant.

You’re two minutes late, Ms. Neely. I suggest you set your alarm earlier next time. Your coffee making skills don’t match your resume. If I wanted to be a diabetic, I’d have you get me a bacon cheeseburger for breakfast. Ms. Neely, the last I knew, paper clips were made in different sizes, I’d appreciate you attempting to learn which size is appropriate for what amount of papers.

He had an opinion for everything, and the way his mouth curled before he’d put in his two cents, made my thighs tremble. His lack of empathy and self-righteousness annoyed me as much as it turned me on.

So for now I sit, making copies, getting coffee, and keeping his schedule. My parents think I’m crazy and should use my brain and transfer to another company where I’d actually be of use.

If the end of the year strolled around and I was still getting dirty looks and snide comments, I’d be long gone. Having Craft Marketing on my resume would guarantee me a job anywhere I wanted, and I was willing to put up with his bullshit if it meant I’d be able to advance myself.

“Did you see the new batch?” Mindy, the secretary to Mr. Craft’s partner asked with a sneer.

“Yes, they sure seem perky,” I muttered, grabbing Mr. Craft’s one and only black coffee mug and headed to the work room. I had ten minutes before he arrived, leaving me time to make a fresh pot that would be at the correct temperature to his pleasing.

“Perky is right. I don’t understand how these chicks can afford boob jobs fresh out of college.”

I laughed, opening the door to the lounge. “They all come from money, or they worked extra hard in college for them.”

Mindy rose a brow. “You mean working the sidewalks?”

I shrugged my shoulders, pulling out Mr. Craft’s personal coffee tin. He didn’t like to share, and had fired a poor intern who’d mistakenly made some for herself. I wasn’t lying when I said he was an asshole. “Never said that.”

She fluffed her curly strawberry-blonde hair in the mirror next to a motivational poster. She was more gorgeous than the interns, only a few years older, but you would never had known unless you got a glimpse of her driver’s license.

She turned and eyed me up and down. “That’s a new dress, isn’t it? You look awesome in blue, Kelsey. You should wear it more often.” 

“Thanks,” I beamed and smoothed over the new Caribbean blue shift dress. I’d bought it on a clearance rack at a high end boutique a few blocks down. It helped the rich color of my eyes pop out with a thin line of eyeliner and a heavy swipe of mascara. 

“You know, I think Mr. Craft only uses interns to sleep with them,” She huffed.

Holding my hand over my chest, I defended myself. “I didn’t sleep with him when I was an intern.”

Her mouth broadened into a huge smile. “Me either, which is why we both have jobs.”

My shoulders sagged in realization. She was spot on, and I should have been proud of myself, but instead, a heavy pit sank to the bottom of my stomach. Why wouldn’t I qualify?

Mindy marched over to me, grabbing my shoulders. “No, no, no, don’t go there in your head. I’ve seen that, ‘you don’t add up to people’s standards,’ worried face before. You’re beautiful. Twenty times more appealing than any of those girls. He chose you because you’re brilliant.”

I forced a grin, then sidestepped from her to pour water into the coffee maker. “If I’m so brilliant then why am I still an assistant and not a coordinator?”

She waved her hand at me. “Because he doesn’t want to lose a good thing. Your time to shine will come, whether it’s for Craft or somewhere else. I know I won’t wait around forever for Sneed to promote me. I’m not going to be keeping his schedule the rest of my life.”

Timothy, from accounting, breezed into the lounge. “Are you plotting to take over the world?” 

Mindy straightened her posture and gave him a huge smile. “Only for the day.” She’d deny to the end of time that she didn’t have a crush on the lanky, redheaded and pale skinned accountant. I knew the truth, though. She’d confessed one night when we’d gone out for drinks.

“Mindy is next in line for a promotion,” I nodded toward Mindy.

Timothy smiled in her direction, adjusting his glasses in the process. “That’s great. You deserve it.” He proceeded to the cupboard, pulling out two pieces of bread, then a jar of jelly. 

I always thought it was odd he made and ate his breakfast at work. Mindy watched him as he pulled out the toaster and popped the bread into the slits. 

“Hey Kelsey, I’m sorry the accounts from last month didn’t get to you until this morning. I finished them late last night. I know how Craft can be when his reports aren’t in on time.” 

I waved my hand toward him. “Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t have gotten to them until this afternoon anyway.”

Timothy’s shoulders relaxed, a smile of relief spreading across his lips. 

“Yeah, Craft seems to be touchy about his account slips. Gary is more flexible with those things. Honestly, I don’t even think he goes over them,” Mindy shrugged.

“Gary has always been kind and understanding if I’m ever behind,” Timothy added.

I nodded in agreement. “And he’s nice to both of you. Craft is such a pompous asshole.”

Timothy grimaced while Mindy snorted. “That’s the truth. Remember when some moron left a box in the middle of the hallway and you tripped, sending papers flying all over the floor?”

“Did you really?” Timothy asked.

My cheeks heated with embarrassment. How could I forget? It was only my first week, and Mr. Craft was ten feet away from me, watching in glance view as I slow-mode in my head that unforgettable moment. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been wearing a skirt that day. Even if it would have been a tighter fitting dress, maybe it wouldn’t have hiked over my hips to show my barely there underwear. Normally I knew better and would wear undies that covered my ass cheeks, but I was in desperate need of a laundromat and didn’t have time, leaving me to wear a skimpy pair of white lace panties. You can imagine the mortification I felt when Craft’s eyes left his phone to glance at my ass, then continued to walk by without debating to help me. I gave my new boss a free show.