I'm in Bryce's office right now. I just arrived and am speaking to his secretary, but she is openly glaring at me. What is wrong with her? She did the same thing three days ago—making snide remarks and mocking me. She repeatedly called me stupid and used various derogatory names.
I understand she is jealous of me, but must she stoop this low?
"Mr. Brown is in a meeting with his assistants, as I've told you," she groaned, flipping through the pages of a book.
"I'll wait here, no problem." I leaned against the secretary's desk, but she immediately attacked me.
"Do you want to break the desk?" she snapped, pushing me from behind and almost causing me to fall.
"This desk is very expensive and delicate. Do you want to break it?" she grimaced before returning her gaze to the book.
Wow. I don't want any more problems; that's the only reason I haven't reported her to Bryce.
Otherwise, she would have gotten what she deserved.
About fifteen minutes after I arrived, Bryce concluded his meeting with his assistants and sent them out. Once I saw them leaving, I started heading in. I was about to enter when the secretary suddenly pushed past me and went in first.
What? What is wrong with her?
"Sir, Ms. Amera is here to see you," she told him as she approached.
"Oh, she's here." Bryce lifted his gaze from his computer and settled it on me. "You're late," he noted.
"Actually, I've been—" I started, but the secretary interrupted.
"She came in five minutes ago. I told her you were in a meeting, so she waited."
Five minutes? I've been here much longer than that. What is she talking about?
"Five minutes? That's still late," Bryce groaned, returning his gaze to his computer. "What about the files? Are they organized?" he asked.
What files?
"Oh, the files," she began, then paused and stared at me. "I showed them to her, but she insisted on speaking to you first. She doesn't understand the arrangement pattern and wants your advice."
What is she talking about? She never showed me any files.
"Is it true? You don't understand?" Bryce glanced at me briefly.
"Yes, she's still a college student—her first year. I doubt she'll—" she tried to continue, but Bryce cut her off.
"I didn't ask you. Get out!" he barked, and she immediately rushed out.
She is a total bitch. She does all this to get Bryce's attention, but Bryce is a lunatic; he won't even notice her, not with her layers of makeup and red lipstick.
Sigh. I hope he doesn't. If he ever does, I'll hate him. No—it's not that I don't already hate him; I do. But if he ever notices her, or any other woman, I'll hate him even more. He has no right to look at other women.
He is not allowed.
"You don't understand?" he repeated once we were alone.
"I... I do, I understand," I lied. I can't tell him otherwise, or he'll make it an issue.
"Okay, good. Then go ahead and sort it out," he said, returning his attention to his computer.
I walked out of his office, retrieved the files from Sandra, the secretary, and returned. I sat in the visitors' area and began reviewing the files, but unfortunately, I couldn't make sense of them.
This is how they stress me out. They don't make me cook or clean, but they stress me with things like this.
*
It's been two hours, and I'm still looking through the files. I feel sleepy; I dozed off a while ago, but I caught myself again.
I've tried reading the files but still can't fully understand them. They're about his businesses, expanding them, and growing internationally, but I don't know what he wants me to do with them. How am I supposed to arrange them?
"What are you doing?" I was dozing off again and didn't notice him come up behind me. Once I saw him, I quickly stood.
"N...nothing," I whispered.
"Do you want to sleep?"
"N...no."
"I think so," he muttered, then went behind his desk. He picked up the telephone and ordered a hot cup of tea.
Sandra brought the tea within three minutes. She tried to serve it to him, but he gestured toward me. "Serve her," he instructed.
"Yes, sir," Sandra said, though she didn't hide her frown as she approached me. I was about to take the cup from her, but she twisted the handle, immediately spilling hot tea on me. She meant to be mean, but her single act could get her into trouble, and it did. All hell broke loose. Bryce was furious.
"What did you—?" Bryce rushed over.
"It was a mistake, sir; she didn't—" she began, but Bryce didn't let her finish and immediately fired her.
"Get out!" he ordered.
"Sir?"
"You're fired. Do not ever appear in front of me again. If you do, you'll have yourself to blame," he warned, focusing on me.
"But sir..." Sandra tried to argue, but one look from him had her rushing out of his office.
Bryce pulled me closer and removed my black flare gown, leaving me in just my pink bra and matching panties. He examined the mark the hot tea left on my skin, and his mood darkened.
The next minute, he was on the phone with the best doctor in the country. "She's hurt; I need you here in the next ten minutes," he said.
Why is he overreacting? Well, I'm not surprised; they always do. I'm a werewolf—I'll heal naturally, and the wound won't leave a permanent mark. But I doubt Bryce understands that. Well, maybe he does; he just pretends not to know.
"Sit down," Bryce said, helping me to the sofa, his eyes on my reddened skin as he gently caressed my thighs. "Does it hurt?" he asked, his tone surprisingly soft and gentle. I shook my head in response, but his next words surprised me.
"I'll send her to jail. She did this intentionally; she deliberately hurt you. She must pay. I won't let her go free," he vowed. True to his word, the police showed up at the company within minutes and took Sandra away.