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.”