Excerpt from Rude Boss
(Content may be slightly changed before official publication)
The full-figured black woman, who’s wearing a
black skirt suit and high heels, swings the hair of her long, blonde wig, says,
“You were supposed to be upstairs a half-hour ago.”
“What? That’s not what I was told. The receptionist
told me to wait here. I got here early, and I’ve just been sitting here,
wasting away, waiting to be called for an interview.”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope that’s a good enough explanation
for Mr. DePaul. He doesn’t tolerate tardiness from anyone, so don’t get
offended if he dismisses the interview altogether. That’s just the way it is.”
I almost choke. None of this is my fault. And why
is she implying that Mr. DePaul, himself, is the person doing the interviewing?
Or maybe I didn’t hear her correctly.
I say, “Just for clarification, did you say, Mr. DePaul,
as in the Mr. DePaul?”
“Yep.”
“I’m not interviewing with the CEO, am I?” I ask,
stepping on the elevator with her. She presses the button for the twelfth floor.
“You are.”
“I can’t be!” I say, in full panic mode. “What in
the…is this standard practice around here?”
“No, it’s not, but Mr. DePaul specifically requested
to interview you. Surprised me, too. He hasn’t interviewed anyone in years.”
“But, but—look at my blouse. What kind of first
impression is this going to make?”
The woman grins. “Oh, please. If I were you, I’d
be more concerned that I was late than with what’s on my blouse.”
We exit the elevator. I say, “But I wasn’t late.
I told you that.”
I find it a struggle to keep up with her in these
five-inch heels. I haven’t worn heels in years. My toes are squished together,
my blouse is messed up and now, I’m supposedly late at no fault of my
own. Could this morning get any worse?
“By the way, I’m Shanice Davison, Mr. DePaul’s executive
assistant.” She taps on a glass door. It’s a conference room. I can see Mr. DePaul
sitting at the end of a long conference room table. She throws up a hand, and he
waves her – us – inside. Shanice instructs me to sit at the opposite end
of the table. There must be at least twenty chairs – ten on each side – putting
distance between us, which is fine by me. From this far away, there’s a good
chance he won’t see my stained shirt.
Shanice says, “Mr. DePaul, this is Ms. Quintessa Bailey.
She’s interviewing for the…um…accounting associate position.”
Shanice sounds nervous, and she knows the
man. If she’s this nervous, what am I to expect?
Mr. DePaul rolls up the sleeves of his white
shirt, looking at a watch that probably costs more than my whole life. And my
mama’s life. And my mama’s, mama’s life.
“Thank you, Ms. Davison,” he says in an abyss-deep
tone that has me trembling slightly, as if caught off guard by a rumble of
thunder on a day with no forecasted storms.
He has manners. That’s a shocker.
Before now, I’d never met Mr. DePaul, but I’ve heard
things. Women like him because he’s smart, wealthy and handsome. Dresses well, like
he has a personal tailor. He probably does. He’s your typical I-made-it-to-the-top-now-bow-down-to-me
CEO who wants everything done his way. He’s aggressive. Dismissive. A
formidable, autocratic leader. His wealth makes him clueless about the plight of
common people like myself.
“You’re welcome, sir,” Shanice says. She flashes a
wry smile before she leaves the room. When the door closes, I’m more unnerved
than I was when I first learned it would be Mr. DePaul doing the interviewing.
It’s just me and him. Shanice has left me alone with the wolf – the pack leader
– the black man in charge of this impressive accounting firm.
In his presence, I feel like I felt the first day
my parents dropped me off for kindergarten – abandoned and clueless. I didn’t
know how it was going to go. I just knew I was some place strange. That’s where
I am now – a place that’s foreign to me – a place my gut tells me I don’t want
to be.
But a sista needs a job. What choice do I have?
And, everything I’ve learned about him is hearsay. The rumors may not be true.
Mr. DePaul doesn’t say a word. He glances up at
me and carries his dark eyes back to his laptop screen.
O-kay…this is awkward…
What am I to do? Just sit here? Mr. DePaul ain’t
paying me no attention. It’s like I’m not even here. Was there some kind of mix-up
and he thinks I’m here for something else other than a job interview? That can’t
be the case. Shanice just told him I was here for the accounting associate position,
so this has to be legit. I just wonder why he’s avoiding me.
“Hello,” I say to break through the barrier of coldness
in the room that has us icebergs apart – his fault.
His brows furrow at my greeting, but he’s still
more attentive to what he’s doing on the computer, like he didn’t hear me at
all. It has me questioning whether I said anything. Did I say hello aloud? I
thought I did.
I’m completely losing it.
That’s the power this man wields. I knew that already
– I just never expected I’d be so close to him to be influenced by the overwhelming
potency of his demeanor.
I say, “Um,
excuse me, Mr. DePaul, I’m here for the—”
“Be quiet,” he says evenly, his fingers moving
across the keyboard like a skilled typist.
I snap my head back. “Excuse me?”
Who is he to tell me to be quiet? He’s the CEO
and all, but my own daddy doesn’t tell me to be quiet. He’s got the game
twisted.
He glares at me from across the table – eyes focused
on me like lasers, regarding me with cruel disparagement, like I ate the last
donut or something. He clears his voice and reiterates, “I said be quiet.”
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