Page 3 of The Boss Upstairs
“And you…” he went on. “You have a small son… Ethan.”
I smiled, impressed that he would know his name, but then again, he’d probably heard me say it. I was flattered that he remembered.
“Yes,” I said brightly. “He’s a lot of work.”
He nodded and studied me for the longest time as if he desperately wanted to know more, but didn’t dare ask.
“His father died in a car wreck a few years ago,” I explained, “before he was born.”
His face fell. “Oh… I’m so sorry.”
I could tell he was genuinely sorry, and I knew he didn’t know what else to say, so I was quick to change the subject. “Anyway, we’re doing all right. My mother-in-law is a lot of help, and I have my girlfriends.”
He smiled. “I know… I see the four of you together all the time.”
“I don’t know what I would do without them.”
His gaze fixed me for the longest time, full of longing, of appreciation. It made me slightly uncomfortable, but also gave me butterflies.
I hadn’t felt butterflies at the pit of my stomach since Donovan.
“You’re lucky to have them,” he finally said, and I wondered if he had any friends. He didn’t seem to. He definitely came off as the strong silent type, a real lone wolf.
I wanted to know everything there was to know about him. “So what do you do when you’re not riding the elevator,” I teased, curious. I knew he was well-off, and I wondered how he had gotten that way.
“I’m a developer,” he said. “Sustainable living condos. Semi-retired, philanthropist, and father of two teenagers, which is a full-time job in itself.”
I smiled, speechless.
“What about yourself?”
I stared at my feet. “Well… at the moment, I’m just a mom.”
He smiled. “There’s no such thing as ‘just a mom’. That’s a big job. Especially when you’re talking about a two year old. I’ve been there.”
I nodded, shy. “Well, I was thinking of getting back out there, back to the workforce.”
He drained his glass of white wine. “And what did you do before you were a full-time mom?”
I smiled at the recollection of a life which seemed so long ago. “I was a Graphic Designer,” I told him. “I’ve also worked as a Marketing Assistant and Communications Assistant. I studied Graphic Design and Marketing.”
His face lit up. “Really?”
I smiled. His reaction was funny. It wasn’t like I’d told him I was a heart surgeon or a marine biologist. Although fulfilling and creative, my profession is certainly not the most impressive. “Really. I make things look pretty and fun. I draw people in… that’s if I do my job well.”
“Did you love it?” he asked.
“Yes, I did,” I said honestly. “Which is one of the reasons I’d like to go back to it.”
He nodded, and suddenly became very animated. “Well, I should give you my card.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card wallet, and handed me a card.
I blinked and stared at it a little too long, confused and speechless.
“We’re currently looking for a Designer to brand a new charity I’ve been wanting to start for years,” he clarified. “In fact, my assistant, Rosetta, is posting the job on Monday.”
I was in shock, not processing his words fast enough. “Really?”
“It’s just a six-month contract,” he explained. “But maybe it’s something you might be interested in?”
