Dominated (Obsessed II)

05.

Richard Dawson Jr.
Unpredictable

•••

I was back in the office, staring down at the pile of resumes spread across my desk. The resignation was sinking in. The smooth, efficient operation that had become the backbone of my daily life was suddenly in flux, and now I had to find someone to fill his shoes. It was a mess, and I hated messes.

I picked up Isaac McTominay's resume first. He was experienced, no doubt—had a solid track record in high-level executive support. His list of achievements was impressive, but I needed more than just someone who could manage my schedule and keep things running smoothly. I needed someone who could anticipate my needs before I voiced them, someone who understood the high stakes of my world. McTominay seemed competent, but I had to be sure he could handle my particular brand of chaos.

I could delegate this task to someone else, but if this person was going to be the one I relied on, I needed to pick them myself.

"Send Ms. Winston in," I instructed my front desk attendant through the phone.

As I waited, I picked up the framed picture of Isabelle and me from our trip to Fiji two summers ago. We were laughing under the sun, a snapshot of a time when everything seemed more straightforward. I set it down and slid it into the drawer, closing it firmly. It was clear now: Isabelle and I were truly over, and I had to focus on the immediate challenges ahead.

The office door creaked open, and I heard a faint, unwelcome sound. My eyes shifted to the entrance, and my heart sank. Standing there was the same rude waitress from lunch, she was just as shocked to see me as I was to see her.

"Oh no," I heard her under my breath, though it was loud enough for me to hear.

"Oh, absolutely not," I said, my tone sharp.

"Well, you have a good day too," she said, turning on her heels, clearly ready to leave and be done with this.

"No, have a seat," I said, pointing to the chair in front of me.

She paused, her movements halted, and she turned, brows slightly raised in confusion. She hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing her options, before finally sitting down. I didn't waste any time.

"First question—what were you thinking?" I leaned forward, my eyes locking with hers.

"I didn't expect to see you," she replied, but her tone made it sound more like a question than a statement. Her whole attitude made it seem like I was the problem in this scenario. The nerve.

"Dawson Enterprises, Richard Dawson Jr's executive support officer" I snapped my fingers, emphasizing each word. "What's not clicking?"

Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms. "Look, it's reached the point where I've just been sending my resume everywhere, alright? I didn't do the whole 'thorough research' thing because, newsflash, jobs are hard to come by," she shot back, her fiery attitude returning.

Why would she say that? You don't ever say that. I couldn't help but smirk as I reached for her resume, a hard copy already printed out, lying on my desk. I flipped through the pages, my eyebrows rising slightly as I browsed through her qualifications.

I had to admit—this was impressive. A degree in finance from a top-tier school, internships at respectable firms, speaks multiple languages and worked in a corporate role that clearly matched her potential. This was not the resume of someone who should be slinging drinks or taking orders at the country club.

I glanced up at her, eyebrows raised. "This resume... it's solid. You've got a lot of experience here. Why are you currently working as a waitress?"

She straightened up, flicking her hair out of her face, fiery as ever. "Jobs that pay well are hard to find, Dawson. What's not clicking?" she mocked, snapping her own fingers the way I had earlier.