Naughty, Dirty, Cocky

  “Furthermore,” he said, “if you want to talk about following rules to the letter, we can easily discuss how you’ve been using my credit card to buy things for yourself. Things like overpriced gifts and breakfasts at Dean & DeLuca, unnecessary office supplies from the most expensive stores on Fifth Avenue, and a bunch of other personal things I don’t recall ever authorizing. I believe any other boss would say that that’s technically stealing, and that’s immediate grounds for termination, is it not?”

  He slowly stood up and walked over to me, making my heart race a mile a minute. “We could also get really technical and discuss how you use your assigned town-car to drive you around to all types of non-work related places on the weekend with your best friend. Amy is her name, correct?”

  My cheeks had never been so hot, and I struggled to say a single word. Before I could come up with a rebuttal, he stepped so close our chests were touching. Then he slipped his hand into my coat pocket and pulled out my cell phone, hitting stop on my “record conversation” app—clearly realizing I was hoping to catch his asshole ways on tape for future use.

  Smiling, he returned the phone to me. “See you Monday, Miss London. Eight o’clock.”

  ***

  Two hours later...

  “So, let me get this straight.” Amy poured me a glass of wine in her condo later that night. “He literally just emailed you and told you that he changed his mind and you need to come into work at six o’clock in the morning on Monday? And you think it’s because you complained about leaving late today?”

  “That’s definitely why.” I tossed back the wine in one gulp. “It’s like he purposely pushes back at me or does things to get under my skin because he feels like it. He knows exactly how to piss me off, and I still can’t read him for some reason. I don’t understand why.”

  “He’s an asshole, that’s why.” She poured me another glass. “I told you to start keeping track of all those overbearing task emails he sends to you. Start highlighting the ones where he’s at his rudest and least professional.”

  “That won’t work,” I said, quickly downing the fresh glass and reaching for the bottle. “He’s the ultimate professional in communication. Besides, you can’t interpret his tone from an email, and no judicial team in their right mind would read anything into those short sentences he sends me.”

  “Well, have you tried recording your meetings like I told you to weeks ago? Guiding him into a conversation that makes him say something questionable?”

  I shook my head, neglecting to tell her that he’d easily out-maneuvered that attempt, just hours ago.

  “My only hope is a new job. I’m just going to stick it out until one of those other places finally calls me.”

  “You know, you could just quit tomorrow and use up all the leave time you’ve acquired. You’ve got what? Six weeks paid for all those crazy hours of overtime you’ve worked?”

  “Seven.”

  “See! And you’ve never even used a sick day! You could at least use some of those. And while you’re at it...”

  I tuned her out, nodding along as she suggested endless options, but I knew I’d never be able to follow any of those to the letter. Amy was far too removed from corporate culture and she didn’t understand the inner-working politics or the bigger picture.

  If Mr. Leighton was any other boss, I would happily take sick leave any time he got under my skin, but if I started doing that now, I wouldn’t have any left. Not only that, but he seemed like the type of asshole who would actually send someone to check and see if I really was sick. The type who would actually attempt to ‘get even’ if he found out I was lying.

  “You know what?” I said to Amy. “I’m just going to apply to ten times as many jobs, and work super hard while avoiding him as much as possible. No matter how big of a jerk he is to me, I’ll remain professional and never let him see me crack until I can yell at him when I do finally leave.”

  “Okay, sure.” She didn’t look convinced, but she smiled. “Good for you. Worst case scenario, at least you still get to have an up close seat to one of the most gorgeous men in the city and you can continue to use his face for your fantasies until you quit. How big did you say his cock is?”

  “Huge.” I was more than certain it was. I’d witnessed it hard during a meeting here or there, witnessed him crossing and uncrossing his legs under the boardroom table. “I’ll be sure to take a more dedicated look at it before I leave.”

  “Please do. For both of our sakes.” She turned on the television. “Okay, your boss no longer exists for the rest of our weekend. Let’s talk about something else. ASAP.”

  THE BOSS

  Michael

  Manhattan, New York

  I stepped off the elevator the following Monday evening, noticing that the lights were still on in the boardroom. Confused, I headed over to shut them off, but I saw Mya sitting alone at the end of the table. She was flanked by several boxes of files and holding one of my best designer pens between her teeth.

  I stared at her as she flipped through her notebook, remembering how I’d once attempted to find numerous ways to get rid of her when she first started. How I really tried to get her to quit.

  It was never personal, and never because she was awful. She was actually the smartest woman I’d ever met, the best executive assistant I’d ever hired, but her unfortunate flaw was being sexy as fuck. Beyond sexy as fuck.

  Absolutely stunning, her light hazel eyes perfectly complemented her long brown hair and puffy, pink lips. Her light, raspy laughter was sexy enough to catch any man’s attention, and she possessed a never-ending wardrobe of curve-fitting dresses that I actually looked forward to seeing every day.

  For months, I’d wanted to see her smart ass mouth wrapped tightly around my cock. I’d wanted to bend her ass over my desk and fill her pussy with my cock while fucking her from behind, but I knew better than to ever attempt to make that fantasy a reality.

  There were only a few times when I’d been careless—when I’d let my gaze linger on her for a little too long, or when she wore a particular shade of dress that left little to the imagination.

  Coughing, she suddenly looked up and noticed me staring from the doorway. Her cheeks flushed pink and she cleared her throat. “May I help you with something, Mr. Leighton?”

  “I don’t recall giving your permission to come onto my floor today.”

  “That’s because you didn’t.” She shrugged. “So?”

  “So, unless you personally hear me say the words, ‘Step into my office,’ or ‘Yes, you have permission to sit in my boardroom and do your work’ your ass is currently trespassing.”

  “Oh, really?” She shrugged again. Then she took out her cell phone and smiled, hitting ‘record’ on that goddamn conversation app. “Could you kindly repeat what you were just saying, Mr. Leighton? I.e. Michael Leighton of Leighton Publishing? Particularly that ‘Your ass is trespassing’ line...”

  I shut the door, immediately walking to my own office.

  The second I hit the lights, Brad turned around from the beverage cabinet and held up a bottle of champagne.

  “Congratulations to you!” He uncorked it, letting the frothy foam drip onto the carpet.

  “What’s the occasion?” I took off my jacket and sat behind my desk.

  “Three things, actually.” He poured two glasses and walked over, handing me one. “For one, the most obvious, you’ve had the best year for any publisher in the country.”

  “Two, you’ve gone an entire year without appearing on the cover of a tabloid or getting involved in any sex scandals.”

  “That shouldn’t be an accomplishment, Brad.”

  “It is when it comes to you. Trust me.”

  I tried to think of the third thing and beat him to it, but I didn’t have a clue as to what it could be.

  “And three ...” he said, “You’ve seemingly done the impossible. You’ve kept the same executive assistant for over a year. You can thank me a million times
later for finding Mya London.”

  I tossed back my drink at the sound of her name and rolled my eyes. I was considering walking right back into that boardroom and telling her to bend over the chair.

  Or maybe I should fuck her on the table ... No. The floor....

  “Um. Hello?” Brad waved his hand in front of my face. “Are you there, Michael?”

  “My apologies. What were you saying?”

  “I was saying that it’s quite ironic that the one time you find an assistant who lasts a year, she decides to leave.” He laughed. “Crazy, right? I’ll make sure we find someone half as good when she leaves.”

  “What? What do you mean when she leaves?”

  He tossed back his drink. “She put me down as a reference for a few jobs she’s received interviews for and they’ve left voicemails requesting me to call and answer a few of their questions.” He pulled out his phone. “Speaking of which, I need to schedule those at some point tomorrow.”

  “Which companies?” My blood was suddenly boiling.

  “The usual thieves of great employees.” He laughed again. “Apple, Microsoft, and Amazon.”

  “And why the hell didn’t she—” I changed my tone. “Why didn’t she use me as a reference?”

  Or even fucking tell me she was leaving?

  He shrugged. “Probably assumed you’re busy enough and you wouldn’t have time to call the people back. Or maybe she rightfully assumed that I’m the better choice.”

  He changed the subject and started talking about our next quarter projections, but I could only halfway listen. I was furious at the audacity of Mya to even think about leaving.

  I was paying her more than double what I paid any of my previously EAs—deservedly so, and her benefits package was specifically tailored for her: The day I found out she loved and preferred the hardback version of novels, I added a mandate to her contract that she receive five hundred dollars’ worth of hardback books per month from any bookstore she wanted. The day I found out she didn’t have her own car and was taking a cab back and forth to work and conferences? I added a mandate to her contract that gave her unlimited access to her own private town car and driver. (No other executive assistant in the building had ever had his or her own town car, and I’d made sure no one else in the company knew about this arrangement. Even Brad.) And the day I found out she’d actually wanted to be a professional assistant and eventually rise to the ranks of CEO of a company someday, I thought I’d found a potential business partner for the future.

  But now, I wasn’t so sure. Add that to the fact that she wouldn’t even tell me that she was considering quitting?

  This was fucked up.

  This was war.

  “So, I’m thinking.” Brad was still babbling. “If we put more of an investment into the audio production for the second quarter of next year—”

  “How much are the other companies offering her as a salary?” I cut him off. “Are they paying significantly more than we are?”

  “What?” He stepped back. “Did you hear any of what I said over the past five minutes?”

  “Not at all.” I didn’t even try to pretend otherwise. “How much are they paying her?”

  He blinked.

  “Actually, don’t even answer that,” I said. “Forward me those company inquiries, and any other new ones you may get. I’ll be her reference....”

  THE BOSS

  Michael

  Manhattan, New York

  “Here’s every report you requested, your print-out of next month’s front-list, and your coffee.” Mya set down a mug and a stack of folders in front of me the following afternoon. She was wearing a bright blue dress that clung to her hips and exposed the top of her breasts, and my cock had gotten hard the second I saw her this morning.

  Even during her presentation to the interns hours ago, I’d sat still in the boardroom and tried to focus on anything else while words left her alluring mouth, but it was no use. The thoughts of bending her over every surface in my office were only getting worse by the day.

  “Would you like anything else, Mr. Leighton?” She adjusted her exposed bra strap, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “What about the Danbury report?” I asked.

  “Did it.”

  “The Porterfield files?”

  “Did it weeks ago.”

  “Have the backlist titles from—”

  “Faith Sarandon been contracted and signed?” She cut me off and crossed her arms. “Yes. As have all of the remaining backlist catalogues from the other twenty-two authors you asked me to acquire. They’re very happy with your so-called generosity. Anything else?”

  “Actually, yes.” I ignored the way she’d said ‘generosity’ and opened my desk drawer. I pulled out her personnel file and set it on my desk. “I was looking at your employee contract and making sure it was up to date. You’re currently signed on for two more years. Is that still correct?”

  “To the best of my knowledge.” She smiled. “That sounds about right.”

  “So, nothing has changed and you’re quite happy working here?”

  “Sure.” She looked away from me and cleared her throat. “Is that all you need from me, Mr. Leighton? I have tons of work to do today. We have that Somerstein meeting at noon.”

  I picked up a pen and slid the contract across my desk. “I made a salary adjustment to the contract. If you initial it, it can be processed as early as this Friday.”

  She picked up the paper and finally looked at me, her stunning hazel eyes meeting mine. “I um....Do you mind if I look at this later?”

  “I do mind. Look at it right now.”

  She parted her lips, but she didn’t say a word. She flipped through the papers, stopping at the salary page and her eyes widened.

  “This is ...” She blinked a few times. “This is quite an increase.”

  “It is.” I narrowed my eyes. “I think you should sign it.”

  “Wait a minute ... You added a non-compete clause,” she said, reading softly. “I, Mya London, agree to remain at Leighton Publishing for a minimum of forty-eight months, and unless terminated, will never pursue any competing opportunities.”

  “There’s a set of pens in front of you. I prefer black.”

  She set the papers down and stepped back. “I need time to think about it.”

  “What exactly do you need to think about?” I was beyond confused. “That offer is triple what you’re currently making, which is saying something since you’re currently making double what every other executive assistant here makes.”

  “I guess I don’t like committing to something unless I’m one hundred percent sure that it’ll at least be good and somewhat enjoyable for me.”

  “It will definitely be more than ‘good’ and extremely enjoyable for you.”

  “Are you referring to this job, Mr. Leighton?”

  “What else would I be referring to?”

  Silence.

  “Um ...” She cleared her throat, taking another small step back. “Surely you, yourself, don’t sign contracts after only reading them once.”

  “I would if it was a contract like this.”

  She muttered something under her breath I didn’t quite catch, and then my desk phone rang.

  Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I answered it.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “Hey.” It was Brad. “Glad I caught you before the Somerstein meeting. I just got a call from Hilton Corporate and gave them your direct line, so try to be available for their questions in a few hours. I already told them Mya was amazing, but they need a second, more direct reference. They want details I don’t have, so try to be specific.”

  “I’ll definitely do that.” I hung up, still looking at Mya. “So, how much time would you need to look over my proposal?”

  “A couple months should be enough.”

  “Months?” I clenched my jaw.

  “Yes.” She glared at me. “Months. Working for you for an extended period of time
is a lot to think about.”

  Silence.

  “Fine.” I picked up the papers and returned them to my drawer. “You can get the hell out of my office now.”

  She shook her head and glanced down at my pants, blushing before leaving the room.

  I sat back down in my chair and shook my head. I was confused and upset at the fact that she’d not only blatantly lied to my face, but she was also refusing to admit she was seeking other jobs. That, and she was still getting under my skin with her sexy bullshit.

  Then again, if she wanted to play games, I could do the same...

  THE EMAILS

  Mya

  Subject: The Ass-holery Report #235 (Can You Believe I’m Still Keeping Track of These?)

  Today we’re supposed to go over the top literary fiction titles that will be rolled out in the spring. I emailed him my top picks LAST WEEK but since he “doesn’t remember,” he asked me to RE-DO the entire 200-page report in an hour. An hour!

  Of course, I made way more than one copy of it, so I’m not really re-doing it, but fuck him.

  Fuck him hard.

  Your bestie,

  Mya

  PS—Is it sad that, ass-holeness aside, he still makes my panties wet more than once a week?

  Subject: Re: The Ass-holery Report #235 (Can You Believe I’m Still Keeping Track of These?)

  You mis-typed! We’re on ass-holery report #335, not #235! :) And BRAVO for making copies! Way to think smart!

  Ugh, I can’t wait until you quit! I mean, wherever you end up next, you probably won’t get all those over the top benefits, but you won’t have to deal with him, so that’s more than a fair trade-off.

  Your bestie,

  Amy

  PS—No, but only because you’re still sadly single.

  Subject: His cock has to be at least nine inches ... (At least)