Read Online Breathe: A Billionaire Romance, Part 1 by Jenn Marlow - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jenn Marlow
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disgusting,” I blurted in a deep sigh-filled voice. I wasn’t really sorry that I said it; I just would have preferred not saying it.
“Excuse you?” he huffed, turning his back to me and towards the kitchen table. “You really have no right to say that to me.”
He began rifling through his briefcase, pulling out folder after folder and setting them on the table, likely so that I could get to work.
“I mean, if you weren’t so good at your job, I would have gotten rid of you today along with everyone else; you’re getting on my nerves.”
“But apparently I’m too hot to get rid of,” I snorted. “Besides that, you’re really getting on my nerves, too!”
“Frankly, dear, I don’t care how good you are at your job, or how good you look,” he said, gazing at me up and down. “If you continue this path, I will be done with you. There are plenty of young, hot, intelligent, and qualified women looking for a job in this cut-throat city. Now get to work on those files.” He gestured towards the stack on the table that he had just created for me.
I did. I went to work on them—but not happily.
I grumbled, loudly, hoping with all my might that he heard. I couldn’t believe how outward I was being with my frustration. I couldn’t believe that I was being so completely rude to my boss. But he deserved it, and that’s exactly why I didn't exactly feel remorse. The only inkling of bad emotion that I felt was fear, fear of losing my job.
But honestly, I almost didn’t care any longer.
Just as I was highlighting our data analysis for the last quarter’s media coverage, his cell phone rang. Rather loudly, as it sat just inches away from me. I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him, wondering when he was going to answer.
He didn’t though. He didn’t move.
I watched him as he stood there, leaning against the kitchen island, watching it for as long as it would ring.
And then I knew that he was definitely scrounging the call.
But who was it?
Who did he not want to talk to?
He always answered his phone.
“Don’t you want to talk to your mom?” I looked at him inquisitively, and he looked back at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Did I answer?” he asked.
“No. That’s my point,” I said. “I mean, she’s your mama. You have to want to talk to her—”
“If I wanted to talk to her, I would have answered the phone,” he replied, nonchalantly. “And if I wanted your lip, I’d ask you to suck my dick.”
“Why are you such an asshole?!” I screamed, throwing all of my papers down.
In all honesty, I was prepared to quit in that moment. I wasn’t sure if I was that loyal of a friend or that disgruntled as an employee, but I was ready to quit.
“Why do you feel like you have the right to ask me that?” he cut back
“Because, for the past couple months, I have seen you constantly. I know you, and you’re a dick, but you’re not this much of a dick! What makes you think that you can treat people this way!? You’re firing people, not giving any regard to others, and you’re going off the deep-end about everything little thing. Stop being such a dick!”
“I can be as big of an asshole as I want to be!” he shouted, his face turning red.
“No, you can’t!” I retorted, spit spewing from my mouth in the most un-lady-like fashion imaginable. My mom would die if she saw me arguing this way, but I didn’t care. The man needed someone to stand their ground with him.
“Yes, I fucking can!” he screamed, his face shaking with violence, red rising in his cheeks.
I growled and looked at him squarely. “What makes you feel so fucking entitled to treat people this way? To treat me this way?!”
“Because I’m dying!” he blurted, and immediately my face went pale.
“That’s not funny.” I could hardly catch my breath, but I knew that he had to be joking.
“Tell me about it...” he trailed, before clearing his throat. I watched him as he fell,
“Excuse you?” he huffed, turning his back to me and towards the kitchen table. “You really have no right to say that to me.”
He began rifling through his briefcase, pulling out folder after folder and setting them on the table, likely so that I could get to work.
“I mean, if you weren’t so good at your job, I would have gotten rid of you today along with everyone else; you’re getting on my nerves.”
“But apparently I’m too hot to get rid of,” I snorted. “Besides that, you’re really getting on my nerves, too!”
“Frankly, dear, I don’t care how good you are at your job, or how good you look,” he said, gazing at me up and down. “If you continue this path, I will be done with you. There are plenty of young, hot, intelligent, and qualified women looking for a job in this cut-throat city. Now get to work on those files.” He gestured towards the stack on the table that he had just created for me.
I did. I went to work on them—but not happily.
I grumbled, loudly, hoping with all my might that he heard. I couldn’t believe how outward I was being with my frustration. I couldn’t believe that I was being so completely rude to my boss. But he deserved it, and that’s exactly why I didn't exactly feel remorse. The only inkling of bad emotion that I felt was fear, fear of losing my job.
But honestly, I almost didn’t care any longer.
Just as I was highlighting our data analysis for the last quarter’s media coverage, his cell phone rang. Rather loudly, as it sat just inches away from me. I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him, wondering when he was going to answer.
He didn’t though. He didn’t move.
I watched him as he stood there, leaning against the kitchen island, watching it for as long as it would ring.
And then I knew that he was definitely scrounging the call.
But who was it?
Who did he not want to talk to?
He always answered his phone.
“Don’t you want to talk to your mom?” I looked at him inquisitively, and he looked back at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Did I answer?” he asked.
“No. That’s my point,” I said. “I mean, she’s your mama. You have to want to talk to her—”
“If I wanted to talk to her, I would have answered the phone,” he replied, nonchalantly. “And if I wanted your lip, I’d ask you to suck my dick.”
“Why are you such an asshole?!” I screamed, throwing all of my papers down.
In all honesty, I was prepared to quit in that moment. I wasn’t sure if I was that loyal of a friend or that disgruntled as an employee, but I was ready to quit.
“Why do you feel like you have the right to ask me that?” he cut back
“Because, for the past couple months, I have seen you constantly. I know you, and you’re a dick, but you’re not this much of a dick! What makes you think that you can treat people this way!? You’re firing people, not giving any regard to others, and you’re going off the deep-end about everything little thing. Stop being such a dick!”
“I can be as big of an asshole as I want to be!” he shouted, his face turning red.
“No, you can’t!” I retorted, spit spewing from my mouth in the most un-lady-like fashion imaginable. My mom would die if she saw me arguing this way, but I didn’t care. The man needed someone to stand their ground with him.
“Yes, I fucking can!” he screamed, his face shaking with violence, red rising in his cheeks.
I growled and looked at him squarely. “What makes you feel so fucking entitled to treat people this way? To treat me this way?!”
“Because I’m dying!” he blurted, and immediately my face went pale.
“That’s not funny.” I could hardly catch my breath, but I knew that he had to be joking.
“Tell me about it...” he trailed, before clearing his throat. I watched him as he fell,
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