CHAPTER 8: A boss from hell

MEREDITH:

My new boss was a constant source of irritation, a thorn in my side that I couldn't wait to be rid of once my debt was settled. Who would have thought that, instead of finding a job, I would end up paying off a debt? It was disheartening.

He was impossible to deal with—laying down ridiculous rules, exuding pride, and always cutting me off mid-sentence, which was infuriating. But what could I do? I was stuck with him for the time being.

 Brandon reappeared to show me around the mansion.

The mansion was undeniably beautiful, but it came with a multitude of restrictions. There were numerous areas I wasn't allowed to access. My routine became a familiar pattern: knock but don't enter Mr. Pierce's room, wait in the sitting room, and if, by some chance, I needed to spend the night, it had to be in a tiny room opposite his. And while there, I was to remain out of his sight. Did the man despise my presence that much?

He treated me like I was a plague, but I held no ill feelings towards him. He treated everyone like dirt.

Every day with Miles Pierce was a battle. He was constantly yelling at me or assigning me impossible tasks. Yet, I had to keep it together. It had been four days since I started working for him, and in those four days, I had never been more stressed in my entire life. I woke up early each morning with one goal: to survive the day under Miles Pierce's thumb. I barely had time to eat a decent meal or take care of myself. Each day, I felt drained and went home on the verge of tears.

My worries only intensified as my rent became overdue, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I ended up on the streets. But Miles dismissed the idea of me staying at his place, crushing my last hope. I had to find an alternative.

Miles Pierce didn't care about my well-being; his primary concern was my appearance. He would criticize me for wearing cheap clothes and overeating, even going as far as commenting on my weight. I nearly lost my temper. I'm a worker, not a model, and if he knew what I was going through, he might cut me some slack. But, of course, he was too absorbed in his life of wealth, fame, and power to see beyond his own judgments.

As I delved into researching Miles Pierce, I found myself overwhelmed. He was a titan in the business world, incredibly wealthy and powerful. No wonder he took offense when I mistakenly called him a cleaner. Learning about his stature, I made sure to remain invisible as he requested, obediently carrying out my tasks, no matter how challenging. The last thing I needed was to stir up more trouble.

Today marked the fifth day of working for him. Not that I was counting, but I was. Like every other day, I rushed out of bed, took a quick cold shower, and hastily put on a presentable outfit. I then drove as fast as I could, parking a few blocks away from his house to avoid being seen, and arrived at his residence promptly at six in the morning. Despite his not being awake, he had screamed over the phone for me to be there at six or risk losing my job.

"Where's Mr. Pierce?" I inquired of Brandon, who was leisurely sipping coffee from a mug. Did he ever rest, or was he constantly working? I had never seen him relax; he was always alert and ready to carry out Miles's commands. I wouldn't envy his salary, regardless of the amount.

"He's meditating," Brandon replied simply.

"Meditating? Then why did he ask me to come over so early?" I questioned, perplexed.

"I wouldn't know, Miss Tate. It's best you wait for him in the sitting room," Brandon suggested, before heading towards the second gate.

As I entered the house, my thoughts were momentarily distracted by Brandon's undeniable attractiveness. Each day in his presence tested my restraint, but I quickly shook off the inappropriate thoughts.

Mentally preparing myself, I made my way to the sitting room, where I encountered Grenada. From what I can gather, she seemed to hold a significant position in Miles's life, perhaps even acting as his sugar mummy, given the way he treated her with respect and deference. She made frequent trips to his room, and despite her apparent age—late forties or early fifties—she exuded beauty, elegance, and class. It was no wonder Miles held her in such high regard.

"You're here," Grenada greeted me warmly, pulling me into a hug. "Help yourself to some breakfast while you're here. He'll take another forty minutes to come down," she informed me, nodding towards Miles's bedroom.

She seemed to know Miles's schedule better than anyone else. I was still trying to figure out her exact role in his life, apart from my suspicions. There was a distinct lack of camaraderie among the staff; nobody bothered to get to know one another. Everyone maintained a professional demeanor, holding their heads high and behaving like statues. It was monotonous, with Miles's voice being the most prominent sound in the household.

Grenada chuckled in amusement and shook her head affectionately. "Darling, don't be shy. Working for Miles isn't something you should do on an empty stomach. Take it from a doctor."

Oh, she was a doctor as well? That was an unexpected bonus. This woman truly embodied the qualities of a role model. Regardless of what anyone else might say, if she truly held significance to Miles, then he had indeed landed a queen. And her kindness only added to her charm.

"If you need guidance around the house, just ask Isabel. She's the head maid. Try to loosen up a bit, so you can enjoy your job," Grenada advised, patting me on the back before heading towards the door. "I have to leave now. See you around."

As she reached the door, Grenada paused, holding the handle, and turned back to me. "Good job on making it this far. You've surprised me," she remarked before exiting the room.

Her words left me puzzled. What did she mean by "making it this far"? No matter how much I tried to think it through, it didn't quite make sense to me.

My stomach grumbled louder, reminding me of its emptiness. Following Grenada's advice, I headed towards the door adjacent to the sitting room. I had noticed maids coming and going through that door multiple times, so I figured if I was going in the wrong direction, at least I would find someone to guide me.

I softly knocked on the door, peeking inside to see four maids bustling about in the exquisite kitchen. Every aspect of this household seemed to exude beauty, with each room uniquely decorated. The architect, interior designer, and all the teams involved had truly outdone themselves.

"How can I help you?" one of the maids asked, snapping me out of my reverie. The other three stopped what they were doing and turned to look at me. I hadn't even noticed when she had approached me; I was lost in my thoughts. Were the maids also trained like the guards?

Mesmerized, I found myself getting lost in her eyes. Miles wasn't kidding when he mentioned his peculiar taste in selecting his staff. Just like the guards, these maids seemed handpicked. Instead of the usual assortment of maids with varying body sizes, they looked more like models. All were dressed in black fitted dresses that stopped below their knees, black flats, and brunette hair slicked back into a bun. They almost resembled quadruplets, with the same facial structure, slim yet curvy bodies, and tall stature. I couldn't help but think they would fare better in a modeling career than working for Miles.

"Excuse me?" she snapped her fingers, pulling me back to reality. "How can I help you?" she repeated, her tone gentle.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, feeling flustered. Ever since I started working here, it seems that I have apologized more times than I had in my entire adulthood. "I'm Meredith Tate, Mr. Pierce's new assistant," I introduced myself.

Isabel broke into a grin. "Oh, nice to meet you. We've been dying to meet you. Please come in. I'm Isabel," she responded warmly, firmly shaking my hand. "That's Sarah," she pointed to the one with hazel eyes.

"Hi," Sarah waved.

"And that's Britney," Isabel continued, pointing to a blue-eyed girl who seemed unfriendly. "Oh, don't mind her. She scowls at everyone."

"I can hear you," Britney's stern voice boomed.

"And that is Lucinda," Isabel pointed to a honey-brown-eyed girl who eagerly sprinted forward and pulled me into a warm hug.

"Nice to meet you too," I said, realizing it might take some time before I could differentiate between them unless I looked at their eyes. Did Miles have a preference for hiring people who looked alike?

Overall, I felt like the odd one out; they all seemed to be on some kind of diet. "Nice to meet you all," I repeated. "Grenada said I could whip up a quick breakfast while I waited for Mr. Pierce to come down."

"Oh, come in. Come in," Isabel offered, gesturing for me to sit on one of the high stools surrounding the island. "What would you like to have, so I can make it?"

"Oh, you don't have to worry. Just show me around. I'll do it myself," I insisted.

"Not at all," Isabel insisted back.

"Okay, then. Whatever is available is fine," I conceded.

She nodded and began to work her way around the kitchen while I sat, stared, and admired. We conversed as if we had been longtime friends. After a few minutes, she placed a meal in front of me.

"Dig in," she instructed, still wearing her charming smile.

"Thank you," I said, reaching for my fork, about to dig in when that perpetually unhappy male voice barked from the door.

 “What's going on here!” that forever unhappy male voice barked from the door.