Naughty Boss

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Manhattan Publisher Seeks Executive Assistant

The Brad guy from the ad just called me and told me to be at Leighton Publishing next Friday for an interview. AN. INTERVIEW!

Wish me luck!

Your bestie,

Mya

Subject: Did you get the job?

Haven’t heard anything from you in two weeks! The two of us aren’t that busy these days and you stay right across the hall! What gives?

Did you meet Michael Leighton during the interview?

Your bestie (Do we really have to continue signing off like this on every email like we’re still teenagers?)

Amy

Subject: Re: Did you get the job?

Sorry, I’ve been swamped with some massive reading and pre-research. (Don’t ask.) But yes! I got hired On. The. Spot! The Brad guy (Leighton’s advisor) even doubled the initial salary offer in the middle of our negotiations.

I didn’t technically get to “see” Mr. Leighton until this morning when I went to officially sign the paperwork and I lie to you not, the man is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life. Hands down.

He made me wet after he shook my hand and said the words, “Welcome to my company, Mya.” That’s honestly all it took...

Sexy as ever or not, I’m determined to last way longer than all of his other assistants. He can’t be that bad, right?

Your bestie (Yes. It’s tradition to sign off like this :) ),

Mya

ONE YEAR LATER...

THE ASSISTANT

Mya

Manhattan, New York

I stumbled into the glittering lobby of Leighton Publishing, balancing a small box of files in one hand and a binder of reports in the other. I was over an hour early, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough for my boss.

Taking the elevator straight to the top floor, I rolled my eyes as the golden numbers lit up above the doors. Michael Leighton insisted on having the entire top floor to himself, and only allowed me and the lowly secretaries access when we had a morning meeting like today. Or, when he was too lazy to travel down one flight of stairs, when he would call and say, “Come up to my office.”

The second the doors sprung open, I headed toward the massive conference room that was right across from his office. I unlocked the doors and hit the lights, pulling down the projector screen as I made my way around the room.

I set out notepads and pens at each chair, and then I dialed the breakfast caterer.

“Fifth Avenue Catering,” a woman answered on the first ring. “How may I help you this morning?”

“Hello, this is Mya London with Leighton Publishing,” I said. “I was wondering what time your delivery person was going to—”

“They’re on the elevator right now, Miss London.” She interrupted, a slight smile in her voice. “We know how your boss feels about time. No worries.”

“Thank you.” I ended the call and dialed the literary agent who was due to arrive or a separate meeting later today, letting her know that we would only have time for a twenty-minute pitch. Then I emailed each and every staff person a reminder to arrive to the boardroom at least ten minutes early.

As soon as I hit send on the message, an email from Mr. Leighton popped onto my screen.

Subject: What I Need Today.

Coffee from Dean & DeLuca. Mary Kubica’s new book. Ad report. Hotel confirmations for next Saturday night, two. Q3 revenue reports. Travel itinerary for January. Files for meeting at 3 o’clock on my desk by noon.

Michael Leighton,

CEO, Leighton Publishing

There was never any point in responding to his first email of the day. One hundred percent rhetorical and two hundred percent rude, he always sent them at exactly seven o’clock and they were always comprised of staccato-like sentences. There was never a “Hello,” “Good morning,” or a mere, “Hope all is well today.” The asshole never even said, “Please.”

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.