New York Nights
Page 155
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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, publication 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’s 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 made 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, so 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.”
His lips briefly curved up into a smile, but he didn’t let it remain. “Which romance novel would you like to recommend?”
“One second ...” I flipped through another page of my notes. “Castrating Her Boss.”
“Excuse me?” His eyes met mine. “What book did you just say?”
“Casting Her Boss.”
He narrowed his eyes at me before writing down my suggestion. “Anything in particular that stood out? Favorite parts?”
“Probably when the asshole boss redeems himself and stops treating the heroine like shit ...” I muttered under my breath, but then I cleared my throat. “The realism was great. The heroine was a movie director and I learned a lot about Hollywood while reading.”
“What about your Young Adult selection?” He continued to go through all twelve genres I’d been assigned to read—asking follow-up questions here or there, but as usual, he never let our conversation go off topic or get remotely personal.
When we finished the book recommendations, we transitioned into the month’s e-book revenue and promotional adjustments, and by the time he decided that I was “free to go,” it was nine o’clock.
Nine. O. Clock.
“Mr. Leighton?” I said as I slipped into my coat.
He didn’t answer. He was still writing, looking down at his paper.
“Mr. Leighton?” I repeated with a little more bite in my voice, enough that it made him finally look up at me.
“Yes?”
I hesitated, hating the fact that something as simple as his eyes meeting mine was enough to make my panties wet.
“This is the fifteenth Friday in a row that you’ve kept me past six.
“No, this is the fifteenth Friday in a row that the work has kept you past six. If you completed more of it throughout the week, then maybe you’d be able to leave earlier.”
“Regardless,” I said, keeping my voice firm. “I’m going to need to leave at six o’clock on Fridays like everyone else here so I can enjoy a full weekend. If I’m not out of here by six, I’m going to deduct time from my Monday arrival and start time.”
He set his pen down and leaned back in his chair. “Come again?”
“Like today.” I picked up my purse and slung it over my shoulder. “Today I’m leaving at nine o’clock which is three hours past acceptable, per section 83B in the company handbook. So, on Monday, I’ll be arriving three hours past my normal time at around eleven o’clock. I will also—”
“You’re going to arrive here at eight o’clock.” He cut me off, his voice deeper than usual. “And you’re going to stay in these Friday meetings until we get the work done because that’s what you get paid very generously to do.”
“No, I’m not.” I wasn’t backing down. “I’ll see you at eleven o’clock on Monday, Mr. Leighton.”
“Be sure to bring a pen to sign off on your write-up papers because first of all,” he said, looking me up and down. “You’re not like everyone else here ...You’re salaried, not hourly. And per your contract and section 89B in the company handbook, Friday meetings can go as late as eleven o’clock, depending on the season. So technically, I’ve been doing you a favor since the day you started here.” He paused. “You’re welcome.”
“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?”
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, publication 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’s 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 made 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, so 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.”
His lips briefly curved up into a smile, but he didn’t let it remain. “Which romance novel would you like to recommend?”
“One second ...” I flipped through another page of my notes. “Castrating Her Boss.”
“Excuse me?” His eyes met mine. “What book did you just say?”
“Casting Her Boss.”
He narrowed his eyes at me before writing down my suggestion. “Anything in particular that stood out? Favorite parts?”
“Probably when the asshole boss redeems himself and stops treating the heroine like shit ...” I muttered under my breath, but then I cleared my throat. “The realism was great. The heroine was a movie director and I learned a lot about Hollywood while reading.”
“What about your Young Adult selection?” He continued to go through all twelve genres I’d been assigned to read—asking follow-up questions here or there, but as usual, he never let our conversation go off topic or get remotely personal.
When we finished the book recommendations, we transitioned into the month’s e-book revenue and promotional adjustments, and by the time he decided that I was “free to go,” it was nine o’clock.
Nine. O. Clock.
“Mr. Leighton?” I said as I slipped into my coat.
He didn’t answer. He was still writing, looking down at his paper.
“Mr. Leighton?” I repeated with a little more bite in my voice, enough that it made him finally look up at me.
“Yes?”
I hesitated, hating the fact that something as simple as his eyes meeting mine was enough to make my panties wet.
“This is the fifteenth Friday in a row that you’ve kept me past six.
“No, this is the fifteenth Friday in a row that the work has kept you past six. If you completed more of it throughout the week, then maybe you’d be able to leave earlier.”
“Regardless,” I said, keeping my voice firm. “I’m going to need to leave at six o’clock on Fridays like everyone else here so I can enjoy a full weekend. If I’m not out of here by six, I’m going to deduct time from my Monday arrival and start time.”
He set his pen down and leaned back in his chair. “Come again?”
“Like today.” I picked up my purse and slung it over my shoulder. “Today I’m leaving at nine o’clock which is three hours past acceptable, per section 83B in the company handbook. So, on Monday, I’ll be arriving three hours past my normal time at around eleven o’clock. I will also—”
“You’re going to arrive here at eight o’clock.” He cut me off, his voice deeper than usual. “And you’re going to stay in these Friday meetings until we get the work done because that’s what you get paid very generously to do.”
“No, I’m not.” I wasn’t backing down. “I’ll see you at eleven o’clock on Monday, Mr. Leighton.”
“Be sure to bring a pen to sign off on your write-up papers because first of all,” he said, looking me up and down. “You’re not like everyone else here ...You’re salaried, not hourly. And per your contract and section 89B in the company handbook, Friday meetings can go as late as eleven o’clock, depending on the season. So technically, I’ve been doing you a favor since the day you started here.” He paused. “You’re welcome.”
“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?”
