THE BOSS
Michael Manhattan, New York
One week of “sick leave” later...
Subject: My Boss...
I still can’t believe I fucked my boss last week...
You think he would be mad if I called in sick for a second week?
Your bestie,
Mya
PS—Is it sad that I desperately want to fuck him again?
Subject: Re: My Boss...
I still can’t believe that you haven’t learned to double check who you’re sending your emails to...
Yes, “he” would be quite furious if you called in sick for a second week.
Your boss,
Michael
PS—It’s not sad at all, considering he wants to fuck you again as well.
I hit send on my email and put my phone away. She hadn’t shown up to work this morming—no advance notice to Human Resources at all, but I wouldn’t dare file a write-up or even so much as verbally reprimand her. I’d damn near lost my mind over the past week by attempting to do everything she normally did for me, and I was starting to wonder if I really was as terrible of a boss as she said I was.
Even now, as I sat across the table from an author we were attempting to acquire, I was seconds away from saying, “You know what? I don’t feel like being here right now,” and asking her to reschedule. And I was very much tempted to drive to Mya’s house to address that last “PS” note in her email.
I was also regretting hosting this meeting over dinner instead of at my office. In fact, the only reason I’d scheduled a reservation at this five-star restaurant was because three months ago I’d overheard Mya telling someone she wished she could afford to dine here someday. Of course, I’d deny that fact if she ever asked, but since she wasn’t even here tonight, I didn’t see a point of me being here either.
“So...” The author across from me, a pretty brunette in her mid-thirties cleared her throat. “If I sign with Leighton Publishing, I’m going to need some promises from you.”
“What type of promises, Miss Sutherland?”
“Well, I’ll need you to actually promote my book.”
“We promote all of our books.”
“Well, I know that. That’s why your reputation is so great, but that’s only the basic level of promotion. I want you to promise me a movie deal within two years, six figure advances for every future book I write, and I want a world tour at only the best bookstores.”
“This is your debut book...”
“I know. And I could totally self publish this thing on amazon and have it live in five seconds. Yet, here I am, taking a risk on you and offering you the next smash New York Times bestseller on a silver platter.”
I rolled my eyes and took a long sip of wine. I started to change the subject, but she started talking about which actors and actresses she would would prefer to read her audiobook, which ones we “better” promise her, so I easily tuned her out her voice.
This was usually the part where Mya would step in and tell the author to have realistic expectations, the part where my fraying thread of patience wore even thinner and I’d have to excuse myself to get more coffee. Without her here, I was minutes away from cracking and telling this woman to shut the hell up and get over herself.
“You know what I mean?” Miss Sutherland’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Don’t you hate when Hollywood turns books into movies, but then they strip away the best parts? I honestly can’t sign a deal with you unless you promise that won’t happen to me.”
“Miss Sutherland...” I tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “The chances of Hollywood taking your debut book, which is a goddamn cookbook filled with catfish recipes, are so fucking low that—”
“I’m sorry I’m so late.” The sound of Mya’s voice stopped me from saying another word.
Dressed in a short, black cocktail dress that exposed her long legs, she looked absolutely stunning. Her lips were painted in a bright, alluring red, and her hair was piled high on top of her head in a pretty bevy of loose curls.
She walked over to Miss Sutherland and shook her hand, and then she mouthed “Stop it” to me as she sat down.
“I think what Mr. Leighton is trying to say—” Mya faced Miss Sutherland. “is that we should focus on doing all we can in the cooking sphere for this book. Then we can discuss ideas for your next collection of recipes so we make sure your future catalogue with us is as strong as it can be.”
I stared at her and remained silent for the remainder of the meeting, appreciating how she smoothly steered the rest of the conversation.
By the time we were done, Miss Sutherland was signing the contract and wishing us both well. When we all stood up to leave the restaurant, I pressed my hand against the small of Mya’s back and noticed how she attempted not to react.
The second Miss Sutherland was tucked away in her cab, Mya looked up at me.
“You’re welcome.” She smirked.
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” I said, looking her up and down once more. “You look pretty damn good to have been ‘sick’ for a week.”
She didn’t answer. She simply stared at me, and it took every ounce of restraint not to take her hand and pull her into my car for the night.
“Are you planning on coming to work tomorrow or are you keeping me in suspense?”
“I’m not sure yet. It depends on how I feel when I wake up, on if I want you to see even more of how much you put me through when you have to do everything yourself.” She held up her hand for the town car and he pulled right in front. “But I must say, I’m happy you finally said those two precious words to me in regards to my work.”
“What two words?”
“Thank you.”
I said nothing. I just watched as her driver opened the back door and motioned for her to get inside.
I slid inside next to her before he could shut the door.
“What the—” She buckled her seatbelt. “What are you doing?”
“Driver, roll up the partition please.” I waited for the driver to divide the car. “Mya London, do you really think that because we’ve fucked I won’t fire you?”
“Michael Leighton,” she said, mocking me. “I know you won’t fire me and it has nothing to do with the fact that we’ve slept together.”
“We haven’t ‘slept together’, we’ve fucked.”
“Fine.” She lowered her voice. “Fucked. But I know you wouldn’t dare fire me.”
“Would you like to bet?”
“Not with a man who knows that I’m the best damn assistant he’s ever had.”
I smiled, unable to come up with a rebuttal for that. Before I could fire back, the driver’s voice came over the intercom.
“Miss London, are you still going to the AMC in Times Square?”
“Yes, Archer. Thank you.”
I shut off the speaker button. “What’s at the AMC in Times Square?”
“I have a date with a complete and utter gentleman.” She looked away from me, as if she was somewhat embarrassed. “It was set up weeks ago. I didn’t want to be rude and cancel at the last minute.”
“What’s his name?”
Michael Manhattan, New York
One week of “sick leave” later...
Subject: My Boss...
I still can’t believe I fucked my boss last week...
You think he would be mad if I called in sick for a second week?
Your bestie,
Mya
PS—Is it sad that I desperately want to fuck him again?
Subject: Re: My Boss...
I still can’t believe that you haven’t learned to double check who you’re sending your emails to...
Yes, “he” would be quite furious if you called in sick for a second week.
Your boss,
Michael
PS—It’s not sad at all, considering he wants to fuck you again as well.
I hit send on my email and put my phone away. She hadn’t shown up to work this morming—no advance notice to Human Resources at all, but I wouldn’t dare file a write-up or even so much as verbally reprimand her. I’d damn near lost my mind over the past week by attempting to do everything she normally did for me, and I was starting to wonder if I really was as terrible of a boss as she said I was.
Even now, as I sat across the table from an author we were attempting to acquire, I was seconds away from saying, “You know what? I don’t feel like being here right now,” and asking her to reschedule. And I was very much tempted to drive to Mya’s house to address that last “PS” note in her email.
I was also regretting hosting this meeting over dinner instead of at my office. In fact, the only reason I’d scheduled a reservation at this five-star restaurant was because three months ago I’d overheard Mya telling someone she wished she could afford to dine here someday. Of course, I’d deny that fact if she ever asked, but since she wasn’t even here tonight, I didn’t see a point of me being here either.
“So...” The author across from me, a pretty brunette in her mid-thirties cleared her throat. “If I sign with Leighton Publishing, I’m going to need some promises from you.”
“What type of promises, Miss Sutherland?”
“Well, I’ll need you to actually promote my book.”
“We promote all of our books.”
“Well, I know that. That’s why your reputation is so great, but that’s only the basic level of promotion. I want you to promise me a movie deal within two years, six figure advances for every future book I write, and I want a world tour at only the best bookstores.”
“This is your debut book...”
“I know. And I could totally self publish this thing on amazon and have it live in five seconds. Yet, here I am, taking a risk on you and offering you the next smash New York Times bestseller on a silver platter.”
I rolled my eyes and took a long sip of wine. I started to change the subject, but she started talking about which actors and actresses she would would prefer to read her audiobook, which ones we “better” promise her, so I easily tuned her out her voice.
This was usually the part where Mya would step in and tell the author to have realistic expectations, the part where my fraying thread of patience wore even thinner and I’d have to excuse myself to get more coffee. Without her here, I was minutes away from cracking and telling this woman to shut the hell up and get over herself.
“You know what I mean?” Miss Sutherland’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Don’t you hate when Hollywood turns books into movies, but then they strip away the best parts? I honestly can’t sign a deal with you unless you promise that won’t happen to me.”
“Miss Sutherland...” I tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “The chances of Hollywood taking your debut book, which is a goddamn cookbook filled with catfish recipes, are so fucking low that—”
“I’m sorry I’m so late.” The sound of Mya’s voice stopped me from saying another word.
Dressed in a short, black cocktail dress that exposed her long legs, she looked absolutely stunning. Her lips were painted in a bright, alluring red, and her hair was piled high on top of her head in a pretty bevy of loose curls.
She walked over to Miss Sutherland and shook her hand, and then she mouthed “Stop it” to me as she sat down.
“I think what Mr. Leighton is trying to say—” Mya faced Miss Sutherland. “is that we should focus on doing all we can in the cooking sphere for this book. Then we can discuss ideas for your next collection of recipes so we make sure your future catalogue with us is as strong as it can be.”
I stared at her and remained silent for the remainder of the meeting, appreciating how she smoothly steered the rest of the conversation.
By the time we were done, Miss Sutherland was signing the contract and wishing us both well. When we all stood up to leave the restaurant, I pressed my hand against the small of Mya’s back and noticed how she attempted not to react.
The second Miss Sutherland was tucked away in her cab, Mya looked up at me.
“You’re welcome.” She smirked.
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” I said, looking her up and down once more. “You look pretty damn good to have been ‘sick’ for a week.”
She didn’t answer. She simply stared at me, and it took every ounce of restraint not to take her hand and pull her into my car for the night.
“Are you planning on coming to work tomorrow or are you keeping me in suspense?”
“I’m not sure yet. It depends on how I feel when I wake up, on if I want you to see even more of how much you put me through when you have to do everything yourself.” She held up her hand for the town car and he pulled right in front. “But I must say, I’m happy you finally said those two precious words to me in regards to my work.”
“What two words?”
“Thank you.”
I said nothing. I just watched as her driver opened the back door and motioned for her to get inside.
I slid inside next to her before he could shut the door.
“What the—” She buckled her seatbelt. “What are you doing?”
“Driver, roll up the partition please.” I waited for the driver to divide the car. “Mya London, do you really think that because we’ve fucked I won’t fire you?”
“Michael Leighton,” she said, mocking me. “I know you won’t fire me and it has nothing to do with the fact that we’ve slept together.”
“We haven’t ‘slept together’, we’ve fucked.”
“Fine.” She lowered her voice. “Fucked. But I know you wouldn’t dare fire me.”
“Would you like to bet?”
“Not with a man who knows that I’m the best damn assistant he’s ever had.”
I smiled, unable to come up with a rebuttal for that. Before I could fire back, the driver’s voice came over the intercom.
“Miss London, are you still going to the AMC in Times Square?”
“Yes, Archer. Thank you.”
I shut off the speaker button. “What’s at the AMC in Times Square?”
“I have a date with a complete and utter gentleman.” She looked away from me, as if she was somewhat embarrassed. “It was set up weeks ago. I didn’t want to be rude and cancel at the last minute.”
“What’s his name?”
