Grumpy Boss by Hamel, B. (best non fiction books to read TXT) 📗

office,” he said, climbing out of the car. I scrambled to catch up as he walked toward the door tucked in the center of the building. It looked like it spanned twice as wide as all the other homes on the block, with large bay windows and a gorgeous facade. Rees knocked once then rang the bell, and a middle-aged woman wearing a black button-down shirt and black pants answered.

“Hello, Mr. Rees,” she said with a light accent. She had dark hair down around her shoulders, a small nose, light brown skin, and a big smile.

Rees smiled back. “Hi Louisa. He’s expecting us.”

“Yes he is. He’s out back though, in the courtyard.”

“Of course he is.” Rees followed Louisa inside, and I hurried after them, my heels making a light slacking on the smooth hardwood floors.

I’d never seen so much wealth in my life. Priceless pots, thick Persian rugs, oil paintings that looked like they belonged in the museum, and a smattering of sculptures lined the hallways. I caught glimpses of other rooms: a sparkling kitchen bigger than my apartment, an office in all wood and leather, a sitting room with enough space for fifty. Everything was plush, manicured, dusted, and pristine. I could’ve paid my rent by stealing a single work of art from the hallway alone.

Louisa took us out a back door and onto a porch that overlooked a concrete-slab back yard. It was twice that size of what I expected, with benches and a bird bath, and skinny trees with long, green leaves. It was a fairytale, tucked in the middle of an urban environment, the sort of place I thought Jane Austen would’ve had tea if she were absurdly wealthy.

“Thank you,” Rees said to Louisa, who smiled and slipped away. A man sat down on the bench, wearing a pair of shorts and a button-up camp shirt with an airplane motif repeated across the bright blue fabric. He had a gray straw hat tilted forward, a white cup in one hand, and a newspaper in the other.

Rees gave me a look that I struggled to read, but I wasn’t sure I could understand body language, given how overwhelmed I felt. He walked down the steps and into the back yard, and the man on the bench looked up, lowering the paper. He had bright blue eyes, a bushy white beard, and a wrinkled face, with thick laugh lines and a hooked nose.

“Rees, you came,” he said, setting aside the paper. “Did you say hello to Louisa? She loves you, you know, you old dog. I bet she’d have your babies. And you brought me a present, look at this time.” His voice was deep, almost rumbling, with an odd southern-seeming accent, clipped consonant, elongated vowels. He stood, and was a few inches shorter than Rees, but still towered over me.

“This is my assistant, Millie,” he said.

I reached out a hand and Mirko took it. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Poma,” I said.

“Call me Mirko, all these fuckers do.” He squeezed my hand hard and grinned savagely. “Millie, what a pretty nice, and what a pretty girl.”

“We came to talk to you, Mirko,” Rees said, stepping forward. Mirko tore his gaze from me and removed his hand, and I felt like I’d been lined up in front of a crowd and summarily judged.

“Of course, why else show up for the meeting we scheduled?” Mirko laughed and gestured at the benches. “Come on, sit down, join me. It’s a nice day.”

He returned to his spot. Rees sat on the bench to his right, and I sat next to Rees, leaving a gap between us. I crossed my legs and kept my back straight, and I caught Mirko looking at me, a slight frown on his lips like he wasn’t sure what to make of me. I returned his look, forcing myself not to glance away. I’d met men like him before, in law school—petty men that thought they could push be around, since I was a woman.

Rees didn’t treat me like that. He certainly messed with me, and tried to knock me from my comfort zone, but I never got the sense that it had anything to do with my gender, but more just the way he treated everyone. I actually liked that about him—he was a dick, but he was a dick equally to all.

“I assume you’ve heard about my SPAC,” Rees said, jumping in, skipping any of the normal formalities that might revolve around the courtship of an investor.

“Oh, sure, sure,” Mirko said. “Blank check company. Get a bunch of rich bastards to give you money and hope you make good investments. Seems like a lot of trust in you.”

“For good reason,” Rees said. “I’m guessing you heard about what happened with Giana.”

I grimaced and stared down at my hands. I hadn’t expected him to mention that up front, but it seemed as though he didn’t want to play games or mince words. I suspected Mirko might approve of that.

“Of course. You fucked her, yes? You did, didn’t you?” Mirko laughed deeply. “You sick bastard. Her husband’s in parliament.”

“I didn’t fuck her,” Rees said, an edge to his voice. “I’ve been seeing someone for over a month now. Giana was a friend, that’s all. Her husband’s a tiny cock.”

“Yes, well, politician.” Mirko took a long sip from his coffee and glanced toward me, then back to Rees. “This Millie here, she’s a new one. I’ve not seen her before.”

“She is new,” Rees agreed. “And she can confirm that the Giana story is bullshit.” He glanced at me, and I nodded along.

“Total bullshit,” I said.

“Well then, I am very much convinced,” Mirko said, eyes glittering with amusement. I wondered how well he knew Rees, or if they were simply distant acquaintances. I couldn’t tell if Mirko talked like this to all of his friends, or only to a person like Rees.

“We lost investors because of the Giana rumor,” Rees said. “And you know how the SPAC game