New York Nights
Page 164

“Ah.” He laughed. “Well, like I was saying, Apple and Microsoft called to tell me that you still haven’t returned their calls about her reference so you really need to do that at some point this week. You do plan on giving her a good recommendation, don’t you?”
My phone rang before I could address that question.
“Yes?” I answered.
“Good morning, Mr. Leighton,” a soft voice said. “This is Shelby in Human Resources. I’m sorry I’m notifying you so late, but your executive assistant called in earlier and put in a notice for a week of sick leave.”
“A week?”
“Yes, sir. Would you like me to fill her space with a temp during this time?”
“No, thank you.” I hung up and leaned back in my chair. Mya never used sick leave, even when she was actually sick. She’d come to countless meetings coughing and sneezing when she probably should’ve stayed home, so I wasn’t sure if she was using our recent tryst as leverage, or if she’d somehow become deathly ill in a matter of forty eighty hours.
“Michael?” Brad attempted to get my attention. “Michael?”
I ignored him, pulling out my phone and sending Mya an email.
Subject: Sick Leave.
You better have a goddamn doctor’s note....
Michael Leighton,
CEO, Leighton Publishing
Her response was immediate.
Subject: Re: Sick Leave.
And if I don’t?
Mya London,
Executive Assistant to Leighton Publishing CEO
Subject: Re: Re: Sick Leave.
If you don’t, I suggest you call HR right now and rescind your “sick leave” since I already know it’s fake. Then I suggest you magically appear in my office within the next hour so we can prepare for next week’s round of author acquisitions.
Michael Leighton,
CEO, Leighton Publishing
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Sick Leave.
Oh, that’s right. Next week is very important....
I’ll probably be sick next week, too.
(I’ll probably still be” recovering” from something.)
Maybe if I’m gone for a while, you’ll see how hard my job really is. Maybe then you’ll appreciate me more.
Mya London,
Executive Assistant to Leighton Publishing CEO
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Sick Leave.
You will not “probably be sick” next week.
You will bring your ass to work.
(It doesn’t take two weeks to recover from getting properly fucked.)
I’d appreciate you a lot more if you came into work today....
Michael Leighton,
CEO, Leighton Publishing
I closed my inbox, not waiting for her response. I looked up and noticed Brad staring at me as if he’d just seen a ghost.
“What?” I said.
“You fucked Mya, didn’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He didn’t flinch. “You slept with her ...You slept with her, and that’s why you haven’t called those companies back. That’s exactly why you don’t want her to leave.”
“That’s not why I don’t want her to leave.”
“So you’re admitting to the part about fucking her?”
“No,” I said, denying it and spending countless minutes attempting to calm him down. I knew he’d have a heart attack if he knew the truth.
When I was sure he was convinced, I pulled out the files for today’s meeting so the two of us could go through them alone.
As he began to organize his own files, I opened a new tab in my browser and looked up a local florist so I could order “Get Well” flowers for Mya—so I could send her a more direct “Bring your ass to work” note.
I picked out a seven-layer bouquet of lilies since she’d once mentioned loving those in a novel meeting, and I was halfway to the purchase screen when I stalled.
What the hell am I doing?
I closed the screen and clicked my pen.
I could definitely survive a week without her help since she wanted to continue to play games. I was pretty sure I could do her job even better than she could.
It couldn’t be that hard.
 
 
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 morning—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 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 prefer to read her audiobook, which ones we “better” promise her, so I easily tuned 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.