Screwing mr scrooge, p.1
Screwing Mr. Scrooge, page 1
SCREWING MR. SCROOGE
NICHOLE GREENE
Copyright © 2022 by Nichole Greene
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover by Opulent Designs and Swag
Created with Vellum
For all the readers like me who love holiday movies but wish they were spicier.
Ho Ho Ho, bitches.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Stalk Me Here
Also by Nichole Greene
CHAPTER 1
CLARA
There are two types of people in the world. The always on time, chronically stressed, sticks in the mud are the first. I’m currently surrounded by a swarm of them, all hurrying through the rain in their black and gray suits, umbrellas knocking against each other as they hustle toward their cubicles of despair. Then there are the wild cards, the go with flow and live life on your own terms type. That’s me.
My bright orange skirt over spider web leggings paired with a black cat sweater stand out on the River Walk like a sore thumb. The yellow umbrella I’ve had since college kicked the bucket while I waited for the L in my neighborhood on the south side of the city. Fine with me because it might be a drizzly, gray late October day in the Windy City but it’s still above fifty degrees and that deserves a celebration.
I walk up the stairs and into the building that houses the temp agency I work for. Being called in specifically for a meeting with the woman I’d be filling in for has never happened to me before. A strange request, but she said it was absolutely necessary, so who am I to question it?
The suits on the elevator all give me the side eye. They obviously aren’t used to this much in-your-face style. It’s okay, I’m an acquired taste. I give them a sweet smile as I step off the elevator.
Tillie, the receptionist, is sitting behind her desk as I walk into the lobby. She stands to greet me and waves me back toward one of the conference rooms. “Mrs. Preston is already back there waiting for you. Good luck.” She gives me a warm smile before she sits and calls another person back.
Taking a deep breath, I push the door open to find a very pregnant woman sitting at one end of a conference table with four binders spread out before her. She stands, dressed in a slim fitting black dress and jacket. Her hair is pulled back in a sleek low bun and her makeup subtle and understated. Her brown eyes move from my face down to my shoes.
“Clara Snow?” she asks with raised brows.
“That’s me.” I hold my hand out and give hers a firm shake.
“Nice to meet you. Sara Preston.” She gestures the chair across from her. “Have a seat. There’s a lot to go over before you start tomorrow.”
I sit down, glancing at the titles on the binders.
Company Procedures and Expectations
Mr. Bennett’s Daily Schedule
Mr. Bennett’s Expectations
Everything Else You Might Not Expect But Need to Know
Holy fucking shit. Who is this guy? Forget stick in the mud, more like stick up the ass.
“I can see you’re already overwhelmed,” she says with a slight grimace. “Your references were impeccable. I chose you from a pool of hundreds. I have no doubt you can do this.”
I look up at her from the binder in front of me. “I never met a challenge I couldn’t hurdle. I’m guessing Mr. Bennett has high and firm expectations?”
“He does.” She nods. “But he’s a good and fair boss. If you show up every day and do your job well, you’ll have no issues with him. Shall we get started?”
An hour and a half later, and my eyes are crossing with the immense amount of information I’m taking in. I know everything about TechJet from the founding to the company ethos to the structure of the meetings I’ll be expected to take notes during. And when it comes to Asher Bennett, I know everything from his preferred breakfast, either steel cut oats or an egg white and spinach omelet with fresh orange juice and black coffee, to where he prefers his dry cleaning is sent. The man has a rigid schedule that, according to my new bestie Sara, never deviates.
We take a break and order sandwiches from the deli across the street. As we’re waiting, I notice she’s kicked off her heels and is rubbing her feet. Relief crosses her face as she works tension out of her arches.
“When are you due?” I ask.
“I’m being induced tomorrow at five p.m.” She relaxes back into her chair. “Any questions beyond what we’ve discussed so far?”
“What’s the company culture like? And the other big wigs?”
“Good question.” She smiles over at me. “It’s pretty relaxed, despite what I’m going over with you. Nico Mattia is our in-house corporate counsel and very laid back. Don’t be surprised if he rides a skateboard through the office. He’s absolutely ruthless in a courtroom, though.”
Interesting. Definitely seems like the opposite of Mr. Bennett.
“Stella James is the CFO. She’s serious and smart as a whip. She’s a girl’s girl, though, so anything you need, go to her first.” She talks about a few others who are high up on the ladder but won’t be around as often. “The office culture is also, shockingly, casual. There’s a break room with video games, a pool table, and lounge area. A full gym with an on-staff trainer. As with most tech companies, dress code is business casual, but I take my cues from Mr. Bennett and always dress business professional. He’ll be fine if you want to personalize your desk. Bring in family photos or anything like that.”
I won’t be bringing in family photos, but I can personalize my space. Especially with the holidays coming up. Christmas is my absolute favorite time of year.
The sandwiches arrive, and we spend lunch time getting to know the basics about each other. We won’t be working together but having basic knowledge of Sara and how she approaches her work will help me assimilate into the role. Especially with such rigid exceptions from Mr. Bennett.
There are no pictures of him, but in my mind, he’s graying with a pot belly and ear hair. Maybe even occasional pit stains and pepper in his teeth. Based off the binder of rules I’ve had to memorize today; he can’t be younger than fifty.
I live in a lively neighborhood, four blocks from Chicago Midway Airport and about four feet from the Orange Line. The Mexican restaurant on the ground floor of the building my studio is in is always busy. The pork tacos are great, and the margaritas are even better.
Nothing beats the company of my fuzzy, black void, Steve, though. Coming home after a long day of peopling to his casual indifference makes my heart go pitter patter. His tail swipes back and forth as he sits on the window ledge, probably plotting world domination.
I set my bag down and walk over to him, scratching behind his left ear in greeting. It’s a weird ritual, but it’s one of the only places he tolerates being touched. I found him dumpster diving a couple years ago and decided to bring him home, at least for a flea dip. I left the door open one day, an invitation for him to leave, but he just sat on the windowsill and watched until I closed the door. He and I have been filling this studio apartment ever since.
Sara let me keep the binders to look through before I start tomorrow. It’s a little weird to be starting a job on a Friday, even as a temp, but I’m rolling with it. I pour a glass of wine and heat up my leftovers from last night, settling in to listen to some classic folk rock and study up on my new boss.
Asher Bennett has a mile-long list of dislikes, ranging from sugar in his coffee to the color yellow. What kind of curmudgeon doesn’t like yellow? Is this guy part troll?
I finish my wine and wash my lone wine glass in the sink that serves as both my bathroom and kitchen sink. Tomorrow is Halloween, so I pull out my favorite sweater and skirt, both of which are the colors of Halloween but muted without over-the-top prints. As much as I’d love to wear my witch dress, I’m guessing that would be too much for Mr. Bennett. Don’t want to send him into cardiac arrest with too much personality right off the bat.
I’ve just turned off the light when my phone lights up with a text from Daniel, the manager at the homeless shelter I volunteer at on the weekends.
Daniel: Sorry for the late text but I need a favor
Clara: Sure, anything
Daniel: We’re trying to secure enough funds to buy the other half of the block
I’m not sure what I can do to help with that, there are some months I live off ramen and Easy Mac.
Daniel: We also need the zoning committee to grant us permission to purchase
Clara: Okay…
Daniel: I wanted to know if you would go to them.
Daniel: Use that MBA you have from Northwestern
Dan
It’s a no-brainer for me to say yes. I’ve been volunteering there since I was a freshman in college and searching for meaning in my life outside academia.
Clara: Of course, I’ll help in any way I can. When will you meet with them?
Daniel: I’m not sure, the committeeman is hard to pin down.
Clara: I have a temp job through January, but I’m sure I can make something work
Daniel: Great, we’ll talk more this weekend
CHAPTER 2
ASHER
Six hours into Sara going on maternity leave, and things have already gone to hell. I’ve not even stepped into the office, and I’m fielding calls and emails from interested overseas investors. I’ve built TechJet incredibly fast and successfully from the ground up, but we’re about to hit the ceiling on growth capacity unless I get another influx of capital.
While I was taking a call from London and waiting for my driver, a cab drove by splashing my pants with cold, slushy street water and ruining the suit which undoubtedly cost more than his piece-of-shit sedan. We have a morning round up at nine this morning, so I don’t have time to go back up to my condo and change. I hope the new temp catches on quick because she’s being pushed into the deep end, and I don’t have time to play lifeguard.
By the time I walk through the door, there’s a steady stream of employees arriving. As is the norm with most tech startups we have foregone the old model of corporate culture and cubicles shifting to a co-working environment with comfortable seating and stimulating art. Over half my employees work remotely. The state-of-the-art building is four levels, the first is a lobby, cafe, and in-house gym. The second and third are workspaces for development, design, and engineering. The eastern and southern facing walls are floor to ceiling windows, highlighting the gloomy, autumn sky this morning. The fourth level has the executive suites. We each have a closed office with a central lounge. Our executive assistants’ desks are clustered together in that room.
For as laid back as the atmosphere we have cultivated is, most of the employees look down and scurry out of my way as soon as I enter the building. It’s not that I try to be an asshole, it’s just who I am. The pressure of my employee’s lives weighs heavily on me. Plus, the drive to give the metaphorical finger to my father is always there.
I started this company with my two best friends from prep school. Nico and Stella have been beside me for over twenty years. We barely manage weekends apart at this point.
Taylor, Stella’s assistant, is already at his desk deep in a pile of paperwork. I stop by his desk and tap my knuckle on it. “Can you send a floral arrangement to the hospital for Sara?”
“I already did. One from you and one from the entire office,” he answers with an easy smile. One of the only employees confident enough to hold eye contact with me.
“Good man. I should have stolen you away from Stella while Sara is gone.”
“Not if you wanted to live another day,” Stella says as she emerges from her office. “Oh my god, what happened to your suit?”
“Cab splashed me.”
“I think Nico has an extra suit in his office. You should be able to fit.” She disappears into his office and comes out a moment later with a burgundy Brioni suit. “I know you’re color adverse but it’s better than that,” she glances down at my leg in obvious disgust. “Your shirt and tie will work with it, too.”
“Fuck,” I grumble as I walk back into my office, hitting the button to turn the glass from clear to opaque. “Tell my temp to see me as soon as she gets in,” I say as I close the door behind me.
My phone rings with a text notification from my mother.
Mom: We need to know your plus one for the charity gala in Paris
Asher: I’m not bringing one
Mom: I’ll find someone
Asher: No.
Mom: You can’t show up alone
Asher: Watch me
Mom: Ash, I’ll find some possible dates and you can choose
I won’t be choosing any of them, but I won’t be telling her that. It should be easy enough to find reasons to say no. I don’t have time to entertain high maintenance women, even just a for a night. The company is in the middle of a high stakes time, I can’t risk distractions.
Asher: Fine
Mom: I love you
Asher: Love you, too
I strip off my jacket and toss it on the chair opposite my desk. My belt and pants quickly follow. I’m bent over, ass to the door when I hear it swing open. I stand quickly, one leg in and one leg out, and my eyes lock on an unfamiliar face.
Big, gray eyes rounded in shock, long brown hair, parted pink lips, and cheeks that are rapidly turning scarlet with embarrassment. She’s fucking gorgeous. That thought has no place in this moment, but I can’t bat it away.
“Get out,” I bark.
“S-sorry,” she stammers as she turns and closes the door behind her.
Her ass, holy fuck. It’s perfection.
Snap out of it.
Please, don’t let her be my new temp. The thought echoes through my mind like a silent prayer. I don’t need this; a massively embarrassing moment before I’ve even learned her name.
I take a deep breath once I’m dressed before going out to greet her. My hand is clammy as I reach for the doorknob, so I brush it against my thigh. It must be the embarrassment getting to me. Literally caught with my pants down.
Fucking hell.
I purposefully ignore Stella and Taylor, choosing instead to focus on the woman sitting at Sara’s desk and setting out a few personal items. Her hair is a shiny, chestnut curtain cascading down her back. She’s wearing a black leather skirt, knee length and a burnt orange sweater with black cat-eyeglasses.
When she finally raises her head to look at me, I can see the mortification written all over her face. Good, that makes two of us. She hurries to her feet quickly, holding out her hand. I don’t take it.
“Hi, sir. Mr. Bennett.” She pushes the glasses up her nose. “I’m Clara Snow, your temp.”
More like temptress.
“I’m so sorry for that,” she gestures at the open office door. “They told me to go right in, I should have knocked.”
“Anyone with common sense would have,” I snap. I should feel bad when she flinches at my harsh tone, but I just don’t have it in me to be contrite.
“We just relayed your message.” Stella raises a brow at me. “We didn’t realize it was going to take you ten minutes to change clothes. Or that you’d leave the door unlocked.” She looks like she’s barely holding her laughter in. I can tell by the crinkle in the corner of her eyes.
“Where’s Nico?” I look into his still dark office.
“On his way, sir.” Tory, his assistant, wrings her hands. “He said he might be a minute or two late for the round up.”
I check my watch and clench my jaw. Irritated with fucking everybody. Could this day get any worse?
“I laid my suit out in my office,” I look down at the temp. “You’ll need to take it to the dry cleaners. Hopefully they can salvage it.”
“Okay.” She stands and moves toward my office.
I hold a hand out. “After the round up,” I say through gritted teeth. The disapproving look Stella throws my way has me wanting to escape the walls closing in on me feeling. I stalk over to the stairwell and take them two at a time down to the second level lounge where we have our weekly meeting.
I need to calm the fuck down before the meeting. I scare most of my employees on a good day, and today is a day crafted by the demons in the seventh level of hell. My jaw aches with the force I’m exerting on it as I breathe in a few deep breaths, trying, and failing, to calm down.
