HIDE

EPISODE 4 - DILEMA.

He was brought to Wilson’s office. Or, to be exact, to the reception room outside his office. And then Brandon was told to wait. Which would have been fine if it hadn’t been three hours already.

Brandon glared at the golden plaque on the door that seemed to mock him. Edward Wilson CEO. So, apparently, that d**k was the EW Group’s CEO. That explained a lot. A lot. And now, Brandon was never going to get that job that he had hoped so much on, to take care of his pressing bills. If only he knew, he would have sealed his trap like others. Look where being so bold and vocal got him. Nevertheless, he still couldn't stand being degraded Of course, he has had a fair share of that experience and swore to his late mum never to be in a position like that again, regardless of what or who.

For Wilson to have been the CEO and treated people like this, he must be a soulless leader with no remorse. People working under him must have seen heaven and hell while doing so.

With every passing hour, his hope that Wilson had actually intended to listen to apologize or say something worthwhile had been gradually fading—until it was gone. Who was he kidding? People like Wilson never saw themselves doing something as 'shallow' as telling people who they wronged I am sorry or I will be better.

“All right, I’m leaving,” Brandon finally said. He had better things to do with his time than sit in this ridiculously fancy room and wait for hours for an audience with the resident dictator.

“You can’t!” the secretary said. “Mr. Edward asked you to wait. You will wait.”

Brandon scoffed and stood up. “I’m going.”

The woman—Becky, if he remembered correctly—sprang to her feet, panic flashing across her face. “You must stay. Please. I’ll be the one getting the heat of his anger if his orders aren’t carried out. Please — don't make me lose my job. I have kids to take care of,” she kept pleading and pleading.

Brandon sighed and dropped back into his chair. Sometimes being a nice person sucked; it really did. But he didn’t want the poor woman to suffer because of him. “Why won’t you quit instead of working for that asshole?”

Becky grimaced and turned back to her computer. “Please don’t talk about Mr. Edward in that way,” she whispered.

Brandon rolled his eyes. “Come on, he isn’t here. Why are you all so scared of him? He’s just a guy.”

Becky shot him a look that reminded Brandon of the way his sister looked at adorable but utterly clueless men.

The phone on her desk rang. From the way her entire body stiffened up, Brandon could guess who it was.

She picked it up. “Yes, Sir,” she said timidly. “No, sir… Yes, of course, I’ll do it right away… The press is ready, yes… Of course, sir… They said they’d get your interview by five o’clock… Of course, sir… Yes, sir.”

Brandon scoffed. He hadn’t thought people still addressed their bosses as “sir” in the twenty-first century. With all the development? It sounds pretty archaic. It was so weird. He had worked in a couple of places before, although not as big and high-tech as this one, but, everyone addressed their exec by their first name. No cowering and worshipping a man who must have been spoon-fed because he was too young to be a CEO—he couldn’t be much older than twenty, maybe thirty at most.

“Yes, Sir… Of course. Yes, he’s still waiting for you. Right away, sir.” Becky hung up and exhaled. Then she looked at Brandon. “Go. He’s waiting for you.”

Brandon was kind of tempted to rub it in his face and leave, but that would be foolish and all his waiting would be in vain. Besides, Becky would really get in trouble. Why doesn't he go in there and express his feelings without sugar-coating his words? After all, he had already lost the job opportunity for sure. What else was there to lose? Possibly, his bravery if he didn't stand up to Wilson until the end.

Quickly, he marched into the man’s office. The door clicked shut behind him, cutting off all the sounds from outside the room.

Brandon cleared his throat.

Edward, Wilson, lifted his gaze from his computer. He was leaned back in his chair, his posture seemingly relaxed. He had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms built with thick muscle. Thick. Powerful. Everything about this man screamed strength and power, from his wide shoulders to the biceps straining his white shirt. His emotionless face with gleaming dark eyes just added to the whole nerve-racking features.

He was intimidating, and it took a lot of breathing exercise and brief meditation for Brandon not to apologize and bid him a good day. His palms were sweaty and he was fidgeting. How could one man have such an effect on another human being?

They stared at each other for a long moment, the moment slowly passing by.

Finally, Brandon couldn’t take it anymore. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well?” he said, breaking the silence first. “You wanted to see me, why? Be quick, I have more pressing things to do.”

Wilson’s eyebrows twitched. He was probably surprised Brandon wasn’t tripping over his own feet to please him, as everyone else did. And, he hadn't given up the attitude, too.

Then, Wilson looked at the sheet of paper in front of him and said, “Brandon Nate Daniel, twenty-three years old. Lives alone. Has a sister in college. Bachelor of Management and Administration and professional chef recently graduated from August University. Top of his class A—”

“What the f**k?” Brandon said, more confused than angry. “Did you stalk me?”

Wilson gave him a flat look. “I don’t ‘stalk’ anyone. I have people who gather information for me.”

“You mean you have people who it is their job to stalk other people?”

“Sit.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Sit.” Wilson’s voice was like a whip.

Brandon wasn’t proud of himself, but he did as he was told. He didn’t know what it was about this man who made it very difficult to disobey him.

“Now what?” Brandon grumbled.

Wilson’s heavy gaze made him want to squirm. “You do realize that your behaviour today was very unwise, considering you needed the job?” Although it was a question, there was so little inflexion in Wilson’s voice that it seemed like a statement.

Brandon tensed up when he realized what Wilson was implying. “Are you threatening me?” then he recollected himself. “I know I already lost it. So, what?”

“I have better things to do with my time than threaten little boys who have no knowledge about companies and how they function.”

Brandon clenched his fists on his thighs. “Then what is this? Why did you make me wait for ages to tell me that?”

Wilson’s expression was dismissive. “You were the one who swayed the others into becoming a nuisance. I simply took the bad egg out so that the rotten smell wouldn't get out of hand. You were making the environment unbearable for my employees. But I didn’t intend to make you wait this long. I simply forgot about you—until security sent me a file on you.”

Brandon spluttered with indignation. He’d forgotten about him? But before he could say anything, the dickhead continued.

“Considering your condition, you really needed this job. And, sabotaging the only shot you had at getting it, antagonizing a major company is beyond stupid. I’m surprised by your lack of foresight.”

Brandon’s chest tightened. He’d known that instigating the protest was a little risky if he wanted to secure this job. But, he never knew that the jerk he was raw to was in charge of giving him that opportunity, or even an opportunity at all. He just messed it up.

“Or was it supposed to be your strategy for getting my attention?” Wilson said, his voice dry and sarcastic. “Then I’ll have to say that you did a terrible job. I won't have street and untrained employees.”

Brandon raged. He had worked so hard to get this job. Now that this douchebag was stating it clearly, Brandon realized a number of things the mouthwatering salary could have done for him and his sister. First, he had her college bill, the house bill, his mother's loan and upkeep. Where was he going to get the money from? Giving himself the encouragement and assurance of getting this job, he had quiet on the smaller company he was working for. He wanted to go big and, for once, have lesser responsibilities on his shoulder.

Fuck this! Brandon was going to get this job, no matter what it took, just to prove to this asshole that not everyone who didn't go to Harvard or had some fancy upbringing were irresponsible and dumb. He was going to work here, not for the money or incentives, but just to prove a point to Wilson. He burned to prove him wrong. At this moment, looking at Wilson’s condescending expression, he didn’t give a damn about anything besides proving him wrong and then rubbing it into his arrogant face. The asshole thought his company was too good for Brandon?

“You know what?” he said, lifting his chin. “Let’s make it a job application. This hooligan can function well in the administrative and management department than the incompetents who worked here.”

Wilson laughed. Somehow, even his laugh was dismissive and condescending. Brandon balled his hands into fists. “Something funny?”

“Your ambition would be… admirable if you knew how to behave with your superiors.” Wilson’s lips curled. “It’s not even the fact that you have little experience in managing larger firms or personality. It is your myopic attributes that makes you unsuitable for my company. You don’t have what it takes to work at a big company like this.”

Brandon got to his feet, his lips trembling with rage. “Then let’s make a bet, shall we? You assign me the position of the secretary in your company, and if I do my job competently for—for half a year, you admit that you were wrong, hold a press conference apologizing to me and those individuals you kept waiting, and give me a glowing recommendation letter when the six months are up.”

The black eyes stared at him, unreadable. “Why should I make a business decision based on some stupid bet?”

Brandon smiled. “What’s the matter? Are you scared of losing the bet, Sir?”

“I don’t make bets I know I will win,” Wilson said. “Nothing is interesting about it.”

Brandon smiled wider. “I think you just know you’ll lose it—that I’ll prove you wrong.”

Although Wilson’s face remained inscrutable, Brandon could tell he’d managed to get under his skin. He was good at making proposals. This was a man who wasn’t used to people talking back to him. A man who likely burned to put him in his place.

Wilson leaned back and regarded him for a long moment, a glint appearing in his eyes. “This bet of yours is very one-sided. What’s in it for me? I prefer a give and take situation.”

“If I fail, I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want me to do and publicly apologize to you, accepting to be a hooligan.”

“You think too highly of yourself if you think your opinion matters to me. It doesn’t. I can have anyone at my beck and call for whatever purpose. People are lined up to take care of my needs, irrespective of how I treat them. So, you trying to look like a saint is useless.”

Brandon’s fingernails dug into his palms. God, he had never wanted to punch anyone more. But he couldn’t. Brandon racked his brain, trying to think of something that would seem like an adequate prize for a powerful, rich man who likely had everything he wanted. There was only one thing he could offer.

“A big company as yours can't handle a scandal from a secretary fired unjustly,” Brandon said. “You know that the CEO title is plastered on every paper that cares to publish about the bad treatment of EW towards her employees, right?”

Although Wilson didn’t acknowledge it, from the way his expression tightened a little, Brandon knew he was aware of the issue.

“I happen to know a few persons who can hold an anti-protest addressing the situation,” Brandon said. “If I lose the bet, I promise that I’ll talk the community into staging a protest to give nothing but good reviews about your company.” The mere idea made him want to puke, but it was the only thing of genuine value that he could offer to this man. Clearly, good image—money—was all the asshole cared about, and it was undeniable that bad reviews did affect the Group's image. Besides, Brandon had no intention of losing the bet, so eventually, it didn’t matter.

Wilson was silent for a while, just studying Brandon in a way that made him uneasy. “Fine,” he said at last. “As it happens, I am in need of a Personal Assistant, which is a pressing need. The old one was fired a few hours ago.”

Brandon opened his mouth and then closed it without saying anything.

Wilson smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “You did say you were competent. Second thoughts?”

Brandon put on his most nonchalant look. “No. Why would there be?”

Being a PA couldn’t be that hard. Right? It was just a fancier term for the word secretary.