Cliché Number 1: Bad Boss by L.V. Lane

Today is the first day of my first job.
I’m nervous, excited, and much too early.
Which is when I meet him for the very first time.
He’s a businessman with a ruthless reputation.
A billionaire and a playboy.
His company sponsored my scholarship.
And I’ve dreamed about him in the kind of detail you can’t even tell your best friend about.
That was before I thought we might meet.
There is something very cliché about accidentally throwing your drink over a god in human flesh. The throwing part is where the cliché ends for me.
He doesn’t look endeared by the incident, nor amused. He looks mad as freaking hell.
My brain freezes, mental capability flees, and I look away from his penetrating gaze,
but that brings my focus to his chest, where coffee drips down onto his doubtless expensive shoes.
I want to die. I have never wanted to die before, but if a magic wish were granted me now, I would happily cease to exist.
I’ve just thrown a full and very hot cup of coffee all over my very hot new boss.