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 all 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.
“Have a seat.” He motioned for me to sit in front of his desk.
I sat down and he picked up his coffee, taking a long sip.
“You know, Miss London,” He emphasized every syllable of my name. “I honestly thought you and I were on better terms, especially after working together for over a year. But it seems I was clearly mistaken.”
He looked as if he was waiting for some type of explanation in regards to my email, and I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to go for Plan A, B, or C. As if he could sense that I was weighing my options, his lips curved up into a smirk.
I tried to avert my gaze away, even for a second, but I couldn’t look away from him at all.
“Are you going to say something?” he asked. “Or are you going to continue sitting there as if you have no idea what I’m talking about?”
“Is this about me leaving early yesterday?” I settled on Plan A. “I was feeling a little ill, that’s all.”
“This is about a particularly inappropriate email where you make a mention of me fucking you.”
My cheeks were on fire and I knew he wasn’t going to let me avoid this at all.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the words rushing out. “I had no idea that I’d accidentally—”
“This is also about...” he said, cutting me off as he raised his hand. “Me possibly needing to go to human resources and file a complaint. A sexual harassment complaint.”
What?
Slowly standing up, he walked in front of his desk—keeping me pinned to the seat with his angry gaze, making me soaking wet with every slight lick of his lips.
“Sexual harassment is a very serious offense here at Leighton Publishing, Miss London.” He looked me up and down. “I’ve had people fired for far less egregious offenses, and I technically should be doing the same to you right now as that would only be more than fair.” He didn’t let me get a word in. “Especially since I don’t think you fully understand why what you did was so offensive.”
“I do...” My voice was a whisper.
“Oh really?” He raised his eyebrow. “Can you imagine if I accidentally sent a similar email to someone about you the way you did me?”
I didn’t answer.
“Let me put this in perspective for you.” He leaned forward, so close his knees were touching mine. “If I sent an email to you—accidentally that is, and it said that I’ve wanted you to sit your pussy on my face since you started working here...Or that I’ve wanted to bend your ass over my own desk and fuck you until you begged me to stop every time you wore a particular shade of dress, don’t you think I would need to be reprimanded somehow?”
I was speechless at his words, and I wasn’t sure if he was simply giving an example or if he’d really thought about me the way I’d thought about him.
“Answer me, Mya.” The way my name fell from his lips made me suck in a breath. “Don’t you think there would be an uproar with serious consequences?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? No, definitely.” He adjusted his tie. “In fact, there would be such an uproar that I think the IT department would be forced to go through all the emails I’d ever sent on any company device since nothing sent on a company server is ever truly deleted. In fact, they’d probably have to investigate and see if this was a one-time offense or a particularly interesting pattern...”
I felt my jaw dropping and struggled to keep my lips together.
“I mean,” he said, looking somewhat serious. “Depending on what they found, they’d have to personally address me and assess the damages. And if the person I was talking about ‘fucking’ in my emails wanted to, I’m sure she could make my life very miserable.”
Silence.
He picked up a folder from his desk and slowly set in on my lap—somehow managing to turn me on even further without even touching me. “Three hundred and sixty-seven emails between you and your ‘bestie’, Amy.”
That’s it?
“That’s this month alone.” His voice was clipped. “I didn’t have time to read more than a few of them, but I’m assuming we won’t be seeing anymore of these in our IT database. Or will we?”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Good. I had them all permanently deleted. You’re welcome.” He stood up and glanced at his watch. “Those Roberto files are due before our morning meeting with Lockwood.” He walked over to the door and held it open, waiting for me to leave.
Avoiding his gaze, I stood up and headed into the hallway.
“Oh, and one last thing, Miss London,” he said, making me look over my shoulder.
“Yes?”
“For the record, per your email with the subject heading, ‘I Wonder If He Eats Pussy’...” He looked me up and down. “I do eat pussy, and if I ever was going to eat your pussy...If that thought had ever been filthy enough to cross my mind and certain circumstances between us were different, you wouldn’t be able to walk for days after I was done with you...”
“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 all 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.
“Have a seat.” He motioned for me to sit in front of his desk.
I sat down and he picked up his coffee, taking a long sip.
“You know, Miss London,” He emphasized every syllable of my name. “I honestly thought you and I were on better terms, especially after working together for over a year. But it seems I was clearly mistaken.”
He looked as if he was waiting for some type of explanation in regards to my email, and I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to go for Plan A, B, or C. As if he could sense that I was weighing my options, his lips curved up into a smirk.
I tried to avert my gaze away, even for a second, but I couldn’t look away from him at all.
“Are you going to say something?” he asked. “Or are you going to continue sitting there as if you have no idea what I’m talking about?”
“Is this about me leaving early yesterday?” I settled on Plan A. “I was feeling a little ill, that’s all.”
“This is about a particularly inappropriate email where you make a mention of me fucking you.”
My cheeks were on fire and I knew he wasn’t going to let me avoid this at all.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the words rushing out. “I had no idea that I’d accidentally—”
“This is also about...” he said, cutting me off as he raised his hand. “Me possibly needing to go to human resources and file a complaint. A sexual harassment complaint.”
What?
Slowly standing up, he walked in front of his desk—keeping me pinned to the seat with his angry gaze, making me soaking wet with every slight lick of his lips.
“Sexual harassment is a very serious offense here at Leighton Publishing, Miss London.” He looked me up and down. “I’ve had people fired for far less egregious offenses, and I technically should be doing the same to you right now as that would only be more than fair.” He didn’t let me get a word in. “Especially since I don’t think you fully understand why what you did was so offensive.”
“I do...” My voice was a whisper.
“Oh really?” He raised his eyebrow. “Can you imagine if I accidentally sent a similar email to someone about you the way you did me?”
I didn’t answer.
“Let me put this in perspective for you.” He leaned forward, so close his knees were touching mine. “If I sent an email to you—accidentally that is, and it said that I’ve wanted you to sit your pussy on my face since you started working here...Or that I’ve wanted to bend your ass over my own desk and fuck you until you begged me to stop every time you wore a particular shade of dress, don’t you think I would need to be reprimanded somehow?”
I was speechless at his words, and I wasn’t sure if he was simply giving an example or if he’d really thought about me the way I’d thought about him.
“Answer me, Mya.” The way my name fell from his lips made me suck in a breath. “Don’t you think there would be an uproar with serious consequences?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? No, definitely.” He adjusted his tie. “In fact, there would be such an uproar that I think the IT department would be forced to go through all the emails I’d ever sent on any company device since nothing sent on a company server is ever truly deleted. In fact, they’d probably have to investigate and see if this was a one-time offense or a particularly interesting pattern...”
I felt my jaw dropping and struggled to keep my lips together.
“I mean,” he said, looking somewhat serious. “Depending on what they found, they’d have to personally address me and assess the damages. And if the person I was talking about ‘fucking’ in my emails wanted to, I’m sure she could make my life very miserable.”
Silence.
He picked up a folder from his desk and slowly set in on my lap—somehow managing to turn me on even further without even touching me. “Three hundred and sixty-seven emails between you and your ‘bestie’, Amy.”
That’s it?
“That’s this month alone.” His voice was clipped. “I didn’t have time to read more than a few of them, but I’m assuming we won’t be seeing anymore of these in our IT database. Or will we?”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Good. I had them all permanently deleted. You’re welcome.” He stood up and glanced at his watch. “Those Roberto files are due before our morning meeting with Lockwood.” He walked over to the door and held it open, waiting for me to leave.
Avoiding his gaze, I stood up and headed into the hallway.
“Oh, and one last thing, Miss London,” he said, making me look over my shoulder.
“Yes?”
“For the record, per your email with the subject heading, ‘I Wonder If He Eats Pussy’...” He looked me up and down. “I do eat pussy, and if I ever was going to eat your pussy...If that thought had ever been filthy enough to cross my mind and certain circumstances between us were different, you wouldn’t be able to walk for days after I was done with you...”
