And even when I completed everything on his ridiculous lists in record time, instead of saying, “Thank you,” he had the audacity to say, “You’re welcome.”

“No, no, no.” I picked up a plate of banana muffins the second the catering assistant set them down. “My boss is extremely allergic to these. Can you replace them with blueberry ones?” I quickly looked over the other things she was starting to set out, making sure nothing else was suspect.

“You sure you want me to replace them?” She smiled. “He’ll die a lot a faster if I don’t.”

“I’m sure.” I said. “I’m not trying to kill him...yet.”

She laughed and took away the offending pastries, and before I could call Dean & DeLuca to order his overpriced coffee, he sent me another email.

Subject: Time.

You were two minutes late to work yesterday, and one minute late to the noon meeting.

Don’t let it happen again today.

Michael Leighton

CEO, Leighton Publishing

I started to respond with “Eff you and your obsession with time, you egotistical asshole,” but I wasn’t going to let him get to me today. I sent him a curt “Ok,” ordered his coffee, and scrolled through my inbox, looking for correspondence from any of the countless jobs I’d recently applied to, but all I saw was spam.

Ugh...

Dialing my personal town-car driver, the best benefit that came with being his executive assistant, I begged him to retrieve the coffee for me. And then I told him to buy whatever else “looked pretty” in that café and add it to the purchase account.

“Are you sure about that, Miss London?” he asked.

“Absolutely.” I hung up. I was only supposed to use the “CEO credit card” for Mr. Leighton’s coffee and meals, but since he’d been increasingly mean to me over the past few months, I’d been using it on whatever came to mind. He could more than afford it.

The sudden sound of the elevator stopping on the floor made me look over the room one more time, made me realize that another day with him was just beginning.

“Good morning,” I said as several staff members began to fill the room and take their designated seats. “Good to see you all today.”

They all offered me their usual warm “Hellos” and slight looks of sympathy in return.

“Thank you all for being early,” I said. “As you all know, this month is going to be extremely busy in regards to our front-list, and today you’ll be asked which books you’d like to push from your departments and how much of the budget you’d like to spend on promoting each title.”

Mr. Leighton suddenly entered the room as I spoke, turning the head of every woman at the table. He was dressed in an impeccable three-piece navy blue suit and matching tie, and the diamonds in his newest designer watch gleamed against the room’s soft light.

His beautiful eyes met mine as I continued my short introduction, and for a split second I was reminded of how utterly gorgeous and captivating he was.

His face was flawlessly sculpted with piercing almond colored eyes that pinned me to the spot any time we were alone. His lips looked as if they were handcrafted for kissing, his jet black hair was always cut low enough for a woman to run her fingers through it, and the way his suits fit over his muscles consistently invaded my dreams more times than I cared to admit.

When I was finished talking, he stared at me—giving me a familiar look he gave me from time to time. One I still had yet to figure out. It was a cross between the way he looked in my fantasies when he was burying his head between my thighs, and when he was asking me to stay late after work. A look that said he may not be as horrible of a boss I often made him out to be.

“You can take your seat now, Miss London,” he said. “Unless you’d like us to spend the rest of this two-hour meeting staring at you.”

Fantasy over...

I sat down in my chair. I only halfway listened as he went around the room and condescendingly questioned the staff members one by one, requesting client novel updates, publications schedules and budgeting concerns. And as he directed his venom at the staff member next to me, I stared at his mouth of perfection. Then I discreetly pulled out my phone under the table and sent Amy an email.

Subject: I Wonder If He Eats Pussy...

I’m currently staring at his mouth as he’s (surprise, surprise) being an utter jerk and telling the staff all the things he wants them to redo and the thought just crossed my mind. Like, his lips are beyond incredible and if he could keep them shut he’d be A LOT sexier, but I wonder if he ever puts them to use behind closed doors...

Your bestie,

Mya

PS—If he tells me I was “one minute” or a mere “two minutes” late one more time...

Her response was immediate.

Subject: Re: I Wonder If He Eats Pussy...

Probably not. If he’s anything like you say, he’d probably more of a taker in the bedroom. I mean, I’m sure he’s a good taker, but I can’t see a hot-shot guy like him using his tongue for anything other than sarcasm.

Your bestie,

Amy

PS—Why haven’t you poisoned his breakfast yet?

“Miss London?” Mr. Leighton’s deep voice made me look up from my phone.

“Yes?”

“The morning meeting is over now. Feel free to leave my boardroom with everyone else.”

I bit my tongue and stood up, forcing a smile as I headed toward the door.

“Oh and Miss London?” He walked over to me before I stepped into the hallway.

“Yes?”

“You were about to leave without your files for our Friday meeting. I’m pretty sure you’ll need them if you plan on doing your assigned work between now and then.” He handed me my massive binder. “You’re welcome.”

THE ASSISTANT

Mya

Manhattan, New York

Friday was supposed to be the best day of the week, that one day that stood between the final hours of the work week and freedom, but Mr. Leighton had managed to make it my worst day for over a year.

He insisted on meeting in the executive boardroom at three o’clock until seven o’clock. And then he always sat at the head of the table, which would be normal if he was holding a meeting, but we were the only two people in the room and there were always several seats between us.

Today he was wearing my favorite suit—a three piece black one with a navy blue tie for accent. His cufflinks, monogrammed “ML” were gleaming underneath the room’s bright light, and I swear the way he was looking at me made me think he wanted to fuck me.

“Do you plan on staring at me for this entire meeting or would you finally like to start?” He raised his eyebrow.

Bastard... “I’d like to start.”

“Good.” He opened his folder. “What did you think of the latest Grisham?”

“Absorbing.” I flipped through my notes. “Reminiscent of what me fall in love with his writing during his A Time to Kill era.”

“I felt the same.” He wrote down a few words. “Do you think it’s front list worthy for the next quarter?”

“It’s John Grisham, that shouldn’t even be a question,” I said. “Although, in a perfect world I’d say no. But only because his next book is far more commercial and I think we could do a lot more for that one.”