This is going to sound totally insane, but I swear this man was rock hard during my entire presentation today. Like, he had to be, and he had to know I was stealing glances at it because he sat in the back of the room, leaning back with his legs wide open, and he kept his eyes on me the entire time.
Your bestie,
Mya
Subject: Re: It has to be at least nine inches ... (At least)
You delete these emails, right? LOL I’ll take your word for the nine inches. I’m sure he didn’t earn his former playboy reputation for nothing....
Maybe you can give him a huge kick in his nine-inch cock before quitting?
Stay focused on leaving + start limiting these emails that compliment him and his cock. (Otherwise, you may start to subconsciously believe that you should stay there. O_o).
Your bestie,
Amy
THE ASSISTANT
Mya
Manhattan, New York
I couldn’t believe that Mr. Leighton had the audacity to offer me an extended contract after the way he treated me, couldn’t believe that he’d included a mention of it in every one of his emails since the day he brought it up.
As I stared outside my town car window, I decided that I needed to tell him that I really was looking for another place of work. That it wasn’t personal, but I wanted to go someplace where I’d actually be appreciated.
And somewhere where he won’t be such a distraction....
The second the driver pulled in front of Leighton Publishing, my phone buzzed with his usual morning email.
Subject: What I Need Today.
Coffee. Stephen King’s new book. Reports for the two o’clock meeting. Your signature on the employment extension contract.
You’re welcome.
Michael Leighton,
CEO, Leighton Publishing
I sighed. I’d done my best to avoid that last line on all of his task requests, simply not addressing it via email or simply saying “I need more time to think about it,” if he brought it up during one of our meetings. And even though the sexual tension between us was at the highest levels it’d ever been, I couldn’t afford to let that cloud my judgment.
His overbearing sexiness was not a good enough reason to stay, and the odds of us having sex were slim to none. (Not that having sex with him was a good enough reason to stay either.)
After securing a copy of Stephen King’s newest book from Barnes & Noble and a cup of his favorite expensive coffee, I rushed inside the building and headed right up to his office.
I knocked against his door five times and waited for his familiar, “Yes?” before opening the door.
The second I stepped inside, I felt his deep brown eyes watching my every move, and I tried not to make eye contact as I walked over and set the book and the coffee on his desk.
“Is there something on your mind, Miss London?” He waited for me to look at him, and I finally gave in. “Any particular reason why you’re currently mumbling?”
“No, Mr. Leighton. It’s just—” I decided to be honest, to finally get this over with. “I’m not interested in signing the extension contract.”
He raised his eyebrow. “Are you referring to right now, or ever?”
“Ever.” I stepped back, waiting for his reaction, but there wasn’t one. His face remained stoic and he simply picked up his coffee and took a long sip.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Thank you for telling me. After you settle into your office, I need you pick up my dry cleaning from Midtown. There should be fifteen suits and twenty shirts in my name.”
What the hell? “Would you like me to pick up anything else?”
“Not at all.”
I forced a smile and headed toward the door. “Thank you for being understanding about the contract, Mr. Leighton.”
“Anytime, Miss London.”
I left his office and took the steps to my own, quickly printing out the two o’clock reports so I could save time since I had a new dry cleaning mission. As I was stapling the first set of sheets together, my phone buzzed with a new email from him.
Subject: Something Else I Need Today.
My Jaguar needs to be washed. Take it to the place I like in New Jersey, ten miles across the bridge.
Michael Leighton,
CEO, Leighton Publishing
Is he being serious?
I dropped my reports to the floor, barely getting a chance to reread the message to see if my eyes were playing tricks or me or not, before he sent me another email.
Subject: And Also...
I forgot to pick up a particular watch I ordered weeks ago on my way to work this morning. You’ll need to stand in line at Audemars Piguet on 57th Street by noon to ensure that I receive it today.
Michael Leighton,
CEO, Leighton Publishing
I slammed my door shut to prevent myself from screaming. I paced the floor a few times before responding to him with a curt “Okay.” Then I headed down to the private parking garage.
I took the keys from the lockbox and tried my best not to think about using them to leave major scratches against his car, and I quickly slid behind the wheel. Instead of immediately heading toward the dry cleaners, I took his Jaguar for a half hour joyride first.
I took my time driving through the city streets, stopping for ten-dollar coffee and charging five cups worth to his card every time. I spotted a beautiful cashmere scarf through a window dressing at Macy’s and rushed inside to buy it in all twenty-five colors. On my way out, I noticed a new fashion line at the nearby lingerie store, so I took his precious credit card and purchased ten matching sets of overly priced panties and bras.
Screw him...
Still feeling reckless and far less professional than I’d ever felt in my life, I picked up his dry cleaning and tossed it in the back seat. I drove across the George Washington Bridge and sat in the back of a café for half an hour.
I checked my email and saw that my bastard boss had emailed me yet again.
Subject: Timing.
I refuse to believe it takes three to four hours to pick up my dry-cleaning and a watch. Even considering getting my car washed, you should be back by now.
Michael Leighton,
CEO, Leighton Publishing
I immediately deleted it and noticed that there were several other new emails in my inbox. Emails I actually wanted to see.
Apple, Microsoft, and Amazon all sent positive, personal messages that all read to the likes of, “Congratulations! You’ve made it to the final round of interviews! We simply need to verify your information and references. Afterwards, we’ll make an internal decision behind closed doors.”
I nearly jumped up from my chair, screaming about my pending freedom. I knew there was no way in hell that I wouldn’t receive a formal offer from at least one of those jobs, and since I was still awaiting to hear back from twenty more, I felt more emboldened than ever before. I felt like I could quit Leighton Publishing right now and leave Michael’s Jaguar in the middle of New Jersey for him to find by himself tomorrow.
It took all of one minute for me to realize that I wasn’t that bold. That, and I needed a way to get back to New York City.
Annoyed, I vented all of my frustration in a long-ass email to Amy, and per her previous advice, I deleted it the second I hit send.
Subject: My Boss.
Have I already told you that I hate my boss today?
Sexy as hell or not, this pompous, arrogant, ASSHOLE asked me to pick up his dry cleaning the second I walked through the door. Then he told me that I needed to take his Jaguar to a car wash that was ten miles outside of the city, but only after I needed to stand in a never-ending line to buy some type of limited, hundred-dollar watch.
I honestly can’t wait to see the look on his face two months from now when I tell him that I’m quitting his company and that he can kiss my ass. KISS. MY. ASS.
All those former fantasies about him kissing me with his “mouth of perfection”
or bending me over my desk and filling me with his cock are long over. OVER.
Your bestie,
Mya
PS—Please tell me your day is going better than mine...
THE EMAILS
Mya
Subject: My email.
Did you get my email from this afternoon?
Your bestie,
Mya
Subject: Re: My email.
No ...What email?
Your bestie,
Amy
Subject: Re: Re: Re: My email.
The one about my boss and all the shit he asked me to do today. :-(. I would resend it to you, but I deleted it....
He’s so ridiculous, Amy.
Can I call you in like twenty minutes when I get back to the office?
Your bestie,
Mya
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: My email.
Of course. I’ll be waiting.
Your bestie,
Amy
THE ASSISTANT
Mya
Manhattan, New York
I slumped in my office chair minutes after returning Mr. Leighton’s Jaguar to the garage. I didn’t bother bringing any of his dry cleaning inside, though. If he wanted those suits, he could go down to the garage and get them himself.
Now, more than ever, there was a huge part of me that wanted to pack up all of my things and never come back. Yet, I knew I couldn’t leave this place without personally telling him to go fuck himself first. I’d more than earned that.
When I’d finally let go of enough anger, I picked up my desk phone and dialed Amy’s number.
“Hey, there!” She answered on the first ring. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Not at all.” I sighed. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it to the two-month mark anymore, Amy. I really don’t.”
“You can do this,” she said. “This is just one bad day and I’m sure by the time you get home later, you’ll feel differently. Don’t let him get to you. Ever.” There was a sudden loud banging noise in her background. “Ugh! Let me call you right back, Mya. The neighbors are being ridiculous with their music today.”
She ended the call before I could say goodbye, and I heard a ping from my inbox seconds later, knowing she’d sent me one of her usual “Stay Calm” emails.
I opened my email—expecting to see something inspiring, but the second I saw the subject line and the sender, my jaw dropped to the floor.
Subject: Re: My Boss.
No, you haven’t already told me that you hate your boss, today, but seeing as though you’ve sent me this email directly, I know now....
Yes, I did ask you to pick up my dry cleaning the second you arrived to work today. (Where is it?) And I did tell you to take my Jaguar to the car wash and pick up my thousand-dollar watch. (Thank you for taking five hours to do something that could be accomplished in two.)
You don’t have to wait two months from now to see the look on my face when you tell me you’re quitting. I’m standing outside your office at this very moment. (Open the door.)
No comment on your “fantasies,” although I highly doubt they’re “long over.”
Your boss,
Michael
PS—Yes. My day is definitely going far better than yours....
Oh. My. Fucking. God!
I felt all the color draining from my face, and I swear I didn’t breathe for over a minute.
I shook my head in utter disbelief, refusing to accept that I’d sent my rant to him instead of Amy. I refreshed my computer screen again and again, hoping that this was some type of joke.
A loud and sudden knock came to my door and my heart nearly fell out of my chest, but I didn’t get up. I didn’t make a single move.
The knock came again, much louder this time, and this time I heard his voice. “Miss London?” He knocked once more.
I slowly stood up from my desk and looked outside the peephole. Mr. Leighton was looking down at his watch, his face still impossibly perfect and flawless. His full lips pressed into an angry flat line.
He looked up from his watch and stared through the peephole, letting his eyes meet mine.
I jumped back from the door and considered my options. I could open the door and listen to whatever he had to say, or I could leave through my office’s side exit door.
It was a no-brainer.
I grabbed my coat, my laptop, and shut down my computer. Then I rushed out of my side door and took the freight elevator down to where my town car was waiting.
My driver eyed me suspiciously as I literally ran through the garage, but he didn’t protest when I begged him to hurry up and get me home.
I didn’t wait for him to open the door for me or wish me a good day when we arrived. I practically jumped out of the car and rushed straight into my building—making a beeline for Amy’s place.
“Amy?” I knocked on her door. “Amy!”
“Coming!” She swung open her door immediately and pulled me inside. “No need to bang on my door like that, Mya. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I think I just got fired.”
“What? How do you think you just got fired? You either did or you didn’t.”
“Okay, okay. I didn’t get fired yet, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to fire me. He’s definitely going to fire me. Oh god, oh god, oh god....”
“Mya, slow down.” She placed her hands on my shoulders. “Speak English, slowly. Very slowly.”
“I accidentally sent him one of my complaining emails, a complaining email that was one hundred percent meant for you.”
“Was it worse than the one you sent me yesterday morning?”
“Way worse. I mentioned my fantasies about his cock in this one.... I called him an asshole and said I used to want him to bend me over his desk.”
Her face turned red as well, and she opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of my phone ringing caught both of our attention.
I pulled it out of my pocket and damn near dropped it at the sight of Mr. Leighton’s name on my screen. Unsure of what to do, I tossed it onto her couch.
“Is that him?” Amy asked.
I could only nod.
“Do you plan on answering it?”
“No.” I stared at it until it went to voicemail. But then it rang again.
And again.
Rolling her eyes, Amy picked up my phone and hit ‘answer’ before tossing it to me.
“Hello?” I answered, my voice was basically a whisper.
“Hello, Miss London.” The sound of my name falling from his mouth made me take a seat. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
I shook my head, as if he could see me.
“Are you there, Miss London?” His deep voice sent warmth through my body. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Not really....”
“Good. Where are you right now?”
“Oh, um ...” I looked to Amy for help, but she was smiling, looking as if this shit was actually funny. “I just ran down to the copy room.”
“So, you’re still in the building?”
“You could say that.”
“I saw you getting in your town car half an hour ago.” There was a smile in his voice. “You’re definitely not in the building right now.”
“Yes, well ... Is there something you need from me right now?”
“There is actually,” he said, his voice even deeper, sexier. “I came to your office this afternoon because I needed to discuss something private and very important that pertains to you and me, but I missed you somehow. So, I need you to come into work an hour early tomorrow so we can have this private and important conversation. Can you do that?”
I nodded, slightly turned on by the way he’d said the word “private.”
“Miss London,” he repeated. “Can you do that?”
“Yes....”
“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.” He ended the call, and a large glass of wine was immediately thrust into my hand via
Amy.
Shit. Shit. Shit....
She tried her best to distract me from today’s epic mistake by making me watch terrible Netflix shows, and letting me crash on her couch for hours, but it was no use.
I woke up twice in the middle of the night, hoping this was some type of bad dream. And for a moment, it seemed like it really was, until I checked my phone and saw that Mr. Leighton had sent me a message minutes before midnight.
Subject: Tomorrow.
Arrive one hour earlier than normal.
Don’t forget. (I won’t.)
Michael Leighton,
CEO, Leighton Publishing
THE ASSISTANT
Mya
Manhattan, New York
There was no “What I Need Today” email from him this morning, no last minute request for coffee, new release novels, or breakfast.
As I headed to the office one hour earlier like he requested, I noticed his Jaguar wasn’t in his designated spot. Somewhat relieved, I took the elevator to my floor and unlocked my office—unsure as to whether I should start organizing my things for an upcoming termination or not.
Whenever he decided to bring up my email, I knew I was going to have to choose between three options when I responded. Plan A: Deny. Deny. Deny. Plan B: Deny more. Deny more. Deny more. Plan C: Suck up my pride, admit I was wrong, and hope he doesn’t fire me because I haven’t received an official job offer from anywhere else yet.
It has to be Plan A....
Just as I was about to sit down, my desk phone rang and his office number appeared on the screen. Taking a deep breath, I picked up the receiver. “Yes, Mr. Leighton?”
“Come up to my office.” He hung up without a single word, leaving me confused.
I locked my purse in my drawer and took the steps, knocking three times until his familiar, “Yes?” greeted me and made me open the door.
He was sitting in his chair, his back facing me. At the sound of my heels clacking against the floor, he slowly spun around—his deep brown eyes meeting mine.
His suit today was one I hadn’t seen before, a dark grey one that perfectly complemented the new silver watch on his wrist. The watch he’d far too recently made me stand in line to get.