Chapter One (1)
Chapter One Rhiannon I’ll prove him wrong. That’s the mantra that gets me out of bed at the crack of dawn every Friday, ensuring I'm at work before eight. It’s also the driving force behind my determination to keep going, even when I've been surviving on only four hours of sleep a night for nearly three months now. Some may suggest, "Why don't you speak up to your boss?" I'd rather jump out of a plane. Those words slipped out of my boss's mouth right before he offered me the job. He probably doesn't realize I overheard him. Or maybe he did and hoped I would reject the offer out of pride and seek employment elsewhere. But I accepted the job. If he wanted me to decline, he shouldn't have dangled such a tempting signing salary and bonus in front of me. Both of which I desperately need to pay off my student loan. Yet those words linger. They resurface whenever I feel like slowing down or taking a break, acting as a psychic prod that pushes me to work even harder. I'm not one to quit. Darren didn't raise a timid flower who withers at every criticism or doubt. I fight for what I want, and I will leave my critics and doubters in the dust. I will prove to my insufferable boss, Daniel Hall, that hiring me was the best decision he's ever made before my two years at the firm are up. And he will beg me to stay when I hand in my resignation. I might even consider staying—for a split second—if he offers to pay off my student loan. My college degree and MBA combined cost me nearly half a million dollars, and since my family isn't swimming in money, most of it was financed through loans. Darren offered to take some out in his name, but I declined. He's done enough already. Regardless, even if Daniel were to make such an offer, my answer would remain a resounding no unless he can do better. Maybe he could promise to buy my father the dream home he's always wanted in Florida. I've calculated the numbers and determined that I can afford it, if everything goes according to plan. But having Daniel purchase it would be so much more meaningful. What if he begged on his knees? Now that's an amusing image! In reality, that egotistical man wouldn't humble himself for anyone. However, the idea does have a certain sexual undertone. All because the man is ridiculously attractive. It's as if God ran out of decent personalities and decided to compensate by giving him a striking face. But still, looks aside, without an unimaginable offer, my answer will remain a firm and resolute no. By seven forty-five a.m., I find myself in the lobby, waiting for an elevator to take me to my office. The bosshole expects the finalized updates to the financial model we need for Monday by two o'clock, and I still have three hours of work left on Excel. Assuming I can focus through the fog in my head. The caffeine jolt from my morning coffee is dissipating like a thimble of salt in the vast Pacific Ocean. I'm already in need of another boost. Once I submit the model, I have an exciting—and secret—lunch meeting lined up. I've been preparing for it diligently over the past five days, hoping it will go well. I even dressed in my power outfit, complete with some new confidence-boosting underwear. After the model and interview are out of the way, I won't have any pressing tasks—a true miracle. And if the day continues to unfold miraculously, I plan to head home by five and catch up on sleep. I would do anything for a solid eight hours of rest. –Darren: Happy Friday, princess! A smile tugs at my lips as I read the cheery text. Darren sends me one three mornings a week. Sometimes more, depending on his mood. A selfie pops up on my screen. He takes one every time he texts me because he despises using face emojis to convey how we're doing. "What do those yellow cartoon faces even mean? Nothing! They're impersonal and soulless. Phones have front-facing cameras for a reason." And he's right. I love receiving his morning selfies. It reassures me that he's doing well out in Vegas. I glance at the screen again. No sign of any back pain bothering him. No sign of the new apprentice at the shop driving him crazy. Just a wide grin and twinkling blue eyes that crinkle slightly with each smile. His face is adorned with laugh lines, evidence of a life well-lived. He could have become bitter and selfish after Mom left me in his care and abandoned us following a fling that resulted in an unplanned pregnancy. She claimed she couldn't handle a crying baby and a man who couldn't provide the "good" life she felt entitled to. I don't know what more she expected from an infant barely two months old or from an enlisted marine in his late twenties who was doing his best to support an unexpected family. But she left us behind. And he did everything in his power to raise me—going so far as to leave his military career—and show me how much he loves me. Sending him morning selfies a few times a week? It's a small, small repayment for all he's done and sacrificed for me. –Me: Looking fantastic, Darren! Here's me this morning! I quickly snap a photo, making sure to wear a happy smile so he knows I'm doing well. Thankfully, the lighting is favorable, and my makeup hides the dark circles caused by sleep deprivation. Concealing those circles was one of the first things I mastered when I started working in finance. As an added bonus, the sleek GrantEm Capital logo is visible in the background. That should make Darren extra proud. He takes pride in the fact that his little girl, without any tutoring or standardized test prep courses, achieved a perfect SAT score and became the first in our family to attend college. And not just any college, but Harvard. My towering father, whom I never saw shed a tear until then, cried when I received my acceptance letter and at my graduation. He threw a celebration when I started working at Goldman Sachs, and he shed more tears when I obtained an MBA from Wharton. And he jumped for joy when I announced I would be working for Daniel Hall at GrantEm Capital in Los Angeles. Not because he knows how significant Daniel Hall is—he doesn't—but because he was thrilled I would be closer to home.
Chapter One (2)
I send the photo. –Darren: Are you already at work? It's barely eight. I'm here to prove Daniel Hall wrong. Besides, he's a nightmare to work for. But I don't text that. Instead, I choose a non-alarming response. –Me: Got here early to beat the traffic. The morning rush in L.A. is brutal. –Darren: So does that mean you get to leave early too? To avoid the rush hour? Hahaha. He's so sweet for asking. Although he was thrilled when I started my finance career at Goldman, he was disappointed when he realized how many hours I would be working. He thought I should quit and find a place where people appreciated me more. So I explained that leaving before the two-year mark would label me as a quitter who couldn't handle it. That would make it nearly impossible for me to get hired in finance again. It's just the way things work in this industry, and I can't risk burning bridges when I have no idea what the future holds. But the possibility of being seen as someone who couldn't persevere was enough to make my dad angry—"How dare they! You have more determination than any of those elitist East Coast punks!"—and he stopped complaining about my long hours. Instead, he switched to "Nobody out there works as hard as you do" in that sweet, encouraging tone of his that always motivates me to do better. Unfortunately, the dreaded two-year mark applies at GrantEm as well. Why? The signing bonus. GrantEm Capital offered me more than double the signing bonus of other firms. But that kind of money comes with a condition: stay for two years or give it back, prorated. What nobody told me was that this gave Daniel Hall complete control to make my life a living hell for his sadistic pleasure. Almost every Excel model and memo I submit has to be redone. Almost every evening and weekend plan gets changed or canceled. And sleep? Ha ha. It's a joke. But I grit my teeth and endure it because I refuse to give back a single penny. Not after all the mistreatment I've endured. Only eight more weeks. Then I'll finally be free of Daniel Hall and this indentured servitude. –Me: I hope so. I pray Daniel doesn't ask me to stay late and work on the Excel model due at two today. He has an uncanny knack for finding something for me to do just when I'm about to leave. And it seems like every task he assigns me in those moments always takes at least three hours. What an asshole. The elevator dings; the doors slide open. –Me: Gotta go. Love you! I add plenty of kisses and hearts, then put my phone away as I step into the waiting car. As it ascends, another text arrives on my phone. I glance down with a smile. Probably Darren thinking of one last thing to say. My good mood vanishes. –Daniel: Which is better? Diamonds or pearls? He's attached two images. The first is of diamond chandelier earrings that twinkle like stars against a navy velvet backdrop. The second shows pearl drop earrings adorned with four pearls each. The ones at the very bottom appear to be as big as my thumbnails. Holy cow. Elegant and expensive. His current girlfriend of the month would love both. I've seen her picture, not because I was searching for it, but because Darren sent it to me a couple of weeks ago, asking, "Is this your boss?" The photo displayed Daniel smiling with a pretty redhead at some gala. Darren was impressed that Daniel made it onto the gossip sites, since none of my bosses at Goldman Sachs ever did. I didn't have the heart to tell him that Daniel Hall is seen with different women on his arm all the time. No need to burst Darren's bubble. I try to conjure a more vivid image of the woman, but I'm too sleep-deprived. Besides, why does it matter? Diamonds and pearls are both timeless. –Me: Either would be great. –Daniel: That's not an answer. I asked which is better. Yeah, and I told you they're equally fine. But he won't stop until I pick one. And if I choose the one he doesn't like, he'll ask me to defend my choice. Argh. Why doesn't he bother his assistant instead? Marjorie is one of the best-dressed women in the office, and not utilizing her for something like this is a waste of her talent. She wouldn't mind either, because she loves shopping. According to her, humanity created civilization specifically for shopping. When Daniel first started texting me for jewelry or fashion advice—within a month of my arrival at GrantEm—I subtly asked Marjorie if he did the same with her. Maybe he was using me as a second opinion. But nope. Marjorie has never been asked. Just me. Aren't I special, hahaha. When I requested that he stop asking me, he said he couldn't. Apparently, I have excellent taste and he values my input. This is what happens when a man with terrible fashion sense is the decision-maker. I wear business casual clothes I buy on clearance racks. My accessories are made with cubic zirconia or cheap semi-precious stones. The whole point of my wardrobe is to be functional and attractive on a budget. So, on top of working over a hundred hours a week, I also have to help Daniel pick out gifts. The next two months can't come fast enough. –Me: What's the occasion? –Daniel: No occasion. Just something I'm considering. I give my phone a skeptical side-eye. My boss isn't one to do things without reason. He believes in efficiency and proficiency. He probably just doesn't want to tell me what it's about. For all I know, it could be an I'm-sorry-I-messed-up peace offering. Or maybe he's doing this to annoy me enough that I quit now, so he can claw back some of my signing bonus. Who knows what diabolical thoughts float around in his mind? –Me: Diamonds. Three... Two... One... –Daniel: Why? Argh! The inevitable question! It's like death and taxes. Like Thanos. I should've picked the damn pearls. But I can't take it back now. The one time I tried, he bombarded me with so many questions that I felt compelled to create a PowerPoint presentation.
Chapter One (3)
–Me: They appear more luxurious. They hold more significance. The redhead exuded an air of elegance fit for diamonds. –Daniel: That seems like a frivolous reason. Superficial, I think to myself. –Me: Cheap items are priced low for a reason. –Daniel: Imagine you're spending your own money. Oh, come on. I wouldn't waste my hard-earned cash on those things. I'd use it to make an extra payment on my student loan or save for a down payment on Darren's future house in Florida. But I can't express to my boss that I'd rather invest in practicality than romance. Besides, his dates probably aren't burdened with debt. –Me: The diamonds. They shine brighter. –Daniel: So, the sparkle wins? –Me: Yes. Can I leave now? I silently add. –Daniel: Thanks. :) Goodness, look at that smiley face. It's more destructive than a nuclear bomb. Articles about terrible bosses always mention the ones who constantly criticize and never show gratitude. Clearly, the authors of those articles haven't encountered Daniel Hall. He tosses his smiling "thanks" around like grenades, preemptively striking. And it's diabolical. There's no way to complain about his behavior after receiving such a seemingly friendly "thanks." He is a boss from hell for the modern era. None of that classic pathological shouting. With everyone carrying cell phones ready to record every move, eager to share bad behavior on social media for public shaming, a modern boss from hell can pretend to be a decent human while making your life miserable. And it's the worst. You can't file a complaint with HR for abusive behavior or language. If he tells you at four thirty p.m. that you have to redo all your work because he isn't satisfied—never mind that his dissatisfaction stems from nonsensical reasons—then it's your failure, not his. If he calls you at eight thirty in the evening while you're on a date, asking you to come in because he suddenly dislikes some variable you used in your latest financial projections, that, too, is a sign of your inadequacy. I drop my phone into my purse. The elevator stops on my floor, and the doors open wide, resembling the gaping maw of a monster hungry for innocent souls. Taking a deep breath, I stride purposefully toward my desk. I'm the first one in the office today. As I power up my laptop, my eyes land on the standing desktop calendar. Five red circles surround today's date, with a prominent star above, reminding me of my immensely important lunch meeting with Crew Moore from the Moore Group. My heart flutters with excitement, performing a little dance. The Moore Group is a highly respected private equity firm in Arlington, Virginia. A month ago, I discreetly handed my resume to a few trusted headhunters, requesting their confidentiality—something they promised to uphold, knowing it wouldn't bode well for me if my boss found out I was searching for a new position. Within a week, the Moore Group contacted me for a Zoom interview. And now, they want to fly me out to Virginia for an in-person meeting. I wish I could take the time off, but Daniel would never approve it, especially on such short notice. I could consider taking a sick day, but last month, a guy from another venture capital firm called in sick and got caught at the airport because someone took a selfie and posted it on Instagram. A coworker from his firm recognized him, and he was promptly fired, becoming the subject of gossip and ridicule. So, one of the Moore Group's junior partners will interview me during his business trip to L.A. this week. He mentioned the possibility of a lunch interview after his final meeting. I have high hopes. The hours are generally better in private equity, and if I'm offered a position, the salary will be higher. One step closer to paying off my student loan and buying Darren his dream home. How sweet! Another text message arrives. I immediately check it, hoping it's from the Moore Group regarding the interview. But it's from Cyrus, who seems to be up early this morning. He usually sleeps until nine. –Cyrus: Hey, babe, are you ready? –Me: I just got to work. Ready for what? –Cyrus: Our six-month anniversary trip! My mind feels like it's been hit by a bomb. –Me: What are you talking about? –Cyrus: I told you to mark your calendar! And put a heart around it. I pause for a moment, then realize he's right. He asked me to do it last month, so I circled the date on the wall calendar in my apartment. No heart, though. That would've felt embarrassing and insincere—I don't quite feel like Cyrus is worth a heart... yet. But what does that have to do with this extravagant trip? –Me: You never mentioned a trip! You know I hate surprises. I made that explicitly clear when we started dating. I had just ended things with my previous boyfriend a week prior and specifically told Cyrus that I dislike unpredictability or having my plans disrupted. It was something we both agreed upon. –Cyrus: I did tell you! I told you to check my Pulse feed! A sinking feeling starts to settle in. He did mention it, but never explained why. Since I don't have time to browse through funny videos or memes, I didn't bother checking. I have too much on my plate right now. –Me: You shared our trip on social media without telling me directly? I stare at my phone, speechless. Who shares plans like this? He knows I don't have time to check my Pulse account! I only joined because he insisted that I become part of "civil society" and connect with "people of the world." He fails to understand that unless being connected to all of humanity grants me an extra half hour of sleep each night, I have no interest. –Cyrus: I wanted to do something creative. And I wanted everyone to know how special you are. My God, Rhiannon, the post about our plans got over three thousand likes! As if that matters! Part of me wants to tell him that I can't go. I'm annoyed by the way he went about it. But another part of me whispers that at least he's trying to be the kind of boyfriend who remembers important dates. I just wish those dates didn't include a six-month anniversary. Who celebrates half a year?
Chapter One (4)
-Cyrus: It seems like people are really into the idea of a fun weekend getaway in a cabin in Tahoe. I made sure to fill up my gas tank and gather all the necessary supplies for hiking and cooking over a campfire. Hiking and campfire cooking? Those activities sound more like chores, especially considering the grueling twenty-hour round trip between L.A. and Lake Tahoe. We had discussed our preferred ways of relaxation once, and I clearly stated that I prefer activities that don't require physical exertion. He should have taken that as a hint that hiking is not my idea of fun. If only he had consulted me before booking this trip and announcing it to everyone through Pulse. I would have suggested a weekend package at a nearby ocean-view hotel, where we could enjoy couples massages and room service. His lack of planning and communication skills are truly testing my patience. Even Daniel has never pulled something like this. -Cyrus: All you need to do is be outside your office building by six today. -Me: What do you mean? I don't have any clothes to wear for two days at the office. I need to pack first. -Cyrus: Just go home and grab a few things. I can pick you up from your place. It's not a big deal. I rest my forehead on my palm, feeling the frustration building up. Hasn't he realized by now that he can't spring something like this on me without any notice? Although I was hopeful that Daniel might let me leave the office at a decent hour, I'm now filled with pessimism. Daniel always seems to know when I have social plans, and his default response is to ruin my evening. -Me: I'll do my best, but I can't make any promises. My boss could dump work on me at any moment. You know how he is. -Cyrus: It's Friday! And not just any Friday, but a special one. Our six-month anniversary means something. He bombards me with an endless stream of emojis, which do nothing to convince me and only make me want to respond with an equal number of angry ones. -Me: Do people really celebrate six-month anniversaries? -Cyrus: Absolutely! It's the thing to do these days. My gut tells me that's highly unlikely. But what do I know about current dating trends? I barely have time to breathe, let alone keep up with them. -Me: Okay. I'll try, emphasis on TRY, to make this trip happen. But no guarantees. -Cyrus: Awesome! Everyone will be soooo jealous when we share our trip on social media! More irritatingly cheerful emojis flood my screen. I shake my head at how ahead of himself he is getting. He seems to have a certain vision for our relationship and its milestones, but I'm beginning to realize that our visions don't align as well as he thinks. Posting about my life and making others envious has never been a priority for me. Nevertheless, I did say I would try, so that's exactly what I'll do. One small silver lining: I can probably catch some sleep in the car while he drives us to Tahoe. To ensure I don't forget about this spontaneous trip, I jot down "6MAT" next to the star on my calendar. Six-month anniversary trip. Alright, time to focus on work. I open the Excel file that Daniel requested. I better make it top-notch because I have no desire to stay late at the office again. Plus, I don't want to deal with Cyrus's sulking if I end up working late today. My tolerance for any sort of nonsense is at an all-time low, and even the slightest provocation will push me over the edge. Cracking my knuckles, I lean over my laptop, ready to conquer another day.
Chapter Two (1)
Chapter Two Rhiannon "Working hard?" Daniel startles me, and I quickly look up from my laptop. Glancing at the monitor, I see that only ten minutes have passed since I opened the file. He holds a fresh mug of coffee, his sleeves rolled up. Clearly, he beat me to the office this morning. Whenever he rolls up his sleeves, revealing his lean, muscled forearms, I can't help but feel a pang of desire. But it's not attraction he feels for me. No, Daniel's hunger is something else entirely. He takes pleasure in tormenting me, always seeking another opportunity to do so. Yet... Despite working alongside him for almost two years now, my heart still somersaults whenever he's near. It never did that before I met him, and it's only intensified over the past twenty-two months. Even my stomach feels strange these days, fluttering in response to the chaos in my heart. Unwanted shivers run through me at the most inconvenient times, distracting me during meetings or when I'm trying to focus on my boyfriend's words during our rare dates. The only thing that makes this inconvenient attraction to my boss somewhat bearable is the overwhelming urge to slap him ninety percent of the time. Especially when that thought, "I'm probably going to regret this..." sneaks into my mind. Or when he ruins yet another evening or weekend with his casual cruelty. When I arrived for the final interview, I actually thought I had entered the wrong building. It felt as though I stumbled upon a modeling agency by mistake, only to come face to face with their most stunning model. Daniel Hall stands at an impressive height of six-foot-four, towering over most people. His broad shoulders and narrow hips create an impossibly perfect physique. His deep-set eyes, a light blue that almost appears silver, burn with intensity whenever they meet mine. His facial features are masculine, as if sculpted by a master artist. A perfectly straight nose, high forehead, and square jaw with a hint of dark stubble. The only softness on his face is his mouth, surprisingly full. One corner of his lips often lifts in a sardonic amusement towards the world. And perhaps he truly is amused. Daniel possesses a rare financial genius, with a Midas touch that most mortals can only dream of. Working at GrantEm is like indulging in the best ice cream sundae in the world of finance. But working directly under Daniel Hall himself? That's the cherry on top. It's a shame that I don't feel any smugness or satisfaction that one might expect when working for a genius. Instead, my belly churns uncomfortably. Forty percent is pure lust for his breathtaking appearance, another forty percent is dread over what he'll do to ruin my day, and the remaining twenty percent is self-reproach for still finding him irresistibly attractive. If only he weren't my boss... If we had met under different circumstances... I might have considered a one-night stand, something I would typically never entertain. But when you encounter a man who sets your blood on fire with just a breath, why not? However, he is my boss. And not just any boss, but one determined to make my life a living hell. He hired me against his better judgment, and now he's set on proving that I don't belong, regardless of how well I perform at the firm. But how does he manage to look so fresh and attractive this early in the morning? He seems to radiate from within. He didn't leave the office until after I did last night, and yet he arrived before me this morning. How can he look like a million bucks while I'm desperate for a few quarts of espresso? Daniel raises an expectant eyebrow. Does he want the Excel file now? He specified that he needed it by two, and I refuse to give it to him any earlier. I deserve the allotted time for this task! Then I remember his words, "Working hard?" I offer him my most professional smile. "Yes. You said you wanted it by two." I gesture towards the Excel spreadsheet on my monitor. "That I did." He glances at my calendar, and his mouth tightens slightly. Oh no. I don't want him to think that the circles, star, and 6MAT next to today's date hold any personal significance. If he does, he'll find a way to ruin it. Maybe assign an "extremely urgent" task that will force me to work through lunch. I won't cancel my interview with the Moore Group. "I even marked it on my calendar to ensure I wouldn't forget." "Mmm." His eyes narrow ever so slightly. Damn. Does he know what the circles and star truly represent? I don't think he'd fire me for interviewing elsewhere, but I don't want to provide him with another reason to dedicate his life to making mine miserable. I'm not sure what more he can do at this point, but I'm certain he'll come up with something. There's a reason why he's the founding partner of a venture capital firm at his age, and it's not because of his family's wealth. "I'm curious about that '6MAT' notation," Daniel says, smiling. His casual tone doesn't fool me. I make sure to maintain a pleasant and innocent expression. "It's my personal code to indicate urgency. 6MAT signifies the highest priority. The work I'm doing for you is obviously my topmost concern." "Yes, but what does it stand for?" "You mean the letters themselves?" "Yes." "Oh, it's quite simple. Most Absolute Top. I have six numerical levels of priority, and six represents the highest." I smile again. Daniel raises both eyebrows before nodding slowly. "I see. It's important to establish priorities." "Exactly." "Keep up the good work," he says, though his tone suggests he'll dissect my deliverable until he finds something to criticize. Then he retreats into his office.
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