THE ASSISTANT

Mya

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Manhattan, New York

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I slumped in my office chair minutes after returning Mr. Leighton’s Jaguar to the garage. I didn’t bother bringing any of his dry cleaning inside, though. If he wanted those suits, he could go down to the garage and get them himself.

Now, more than ever, there was a huge part of me that wanted to pack up all of my things and never come back. Yet, I knew I couldn’t leave this place without personally telling him to go fuck himself first. I’d more than earned that.

When I’d finally let go of enough anger, I picked up my desk phone and dialed Amy’s number.

“Hey, there!” She answered on the first ring. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Not at all.” I sighed. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it to the two-month mark anymore, Amy. I really don’t.”

“You can do this,” she said. “This is just one bad day and I’m sure by the time you get home later, you’ll feel differently. Don’t let him get to you. Ever.”  There was a sudden loud banging noise in her background. “Ugh! Let me call you right back, Mya. The neighbors are being ridiculous with their music today.”

She ended the call before I could say goodbye, and I heard a ping from my inbox seconds later, knowing she’d sent me one of her usual “Stay Calm” emails.

I opened my email—expecting to see something inspiring, but the second I saw the subject line and the sender, my jaw dropped to the floor. 

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Subject: Re: My Boss.

No, you haven’t already told me that you hate your boss, today, but seeing as though you’ve sent me this email directly, I know now....

Yes, I did ask you to pick up my dry cleaning the second you arrived to work today. (Where is it?) And I did tell you to take my Jaguar to the car wash and pick up my thousand-dollar watch. (Thank you for taking five hours to do something that could be accomplished in two.)

You don’t have to wait two months from now to see the look on my face when you tell me you’re quitting. I’m standing outside your office at this very moment. (Open the door.)

No comment on your “fantasies,” although I highly doubt they’re “long over.”

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Your boss,

Michael 

PS—Yes. My day is definitely going far better than yours....

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Oh. My. Fucking. God!

I felt all the color draining from my face, and I swear I didn’t breathe for over a minute.

I shook my head in utter disbelief, refusing to accept that I’d sent my rant to him instead of Amy. I refreshed my computer screen again and again, hoping that this was some type of joke.

A loud and sudden knock came to my door and my heart nearly fell out of my chest, but I didn’t get up. I didn’t make a single move.

The knock came again, much louder this time, and this time I heard his voice. “Miss London?” He knocked once more.

I slowly stood up from my desk and looked outside the peephole. Mr. Leighton was looking down at his watch, his face still impossibly perfect and flawless. His full lips pressed into an angry flat line.

He looked up from his watch and stared through the peephole, letting his eyes meet mine.

I jumped back from the door and considered my options. I could open the door and listen to whatever he had to say, or I could leave through my office’s side exit door.

It was a no-brainer.

I grabbed my coat, my laptop, and shut down my computer. Then I rushed out of my side door and took the freight elevator down to where my town car was waiting.

My driver eyed me suspiciously as I literally ran through the garage, but he didn’t protest when I begged him to hurry up and get me home.

I didn’t wait for him to open the door for me or wish me a good day when we arrived. I practically jumped out of the car and rushed straight into my building—making a beeline for Amy’s place.

“Amy?” I knocked on her door. “Amy!”

“Coming!” She swung open her door immediately and pulled me inside. “No need to bang on my door like that, Mya. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I think I just got fired.”

“What? How do you think you just got fired? You either did or you didn’t.”

“Okay, okay. I didn’t get fired yet, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to fire me. He’s definitely going to fire me. Oh god, oh god, oh god....”

“Mya, slow down.” She placed her hands on my shoulders. “Speak English, slowly. Very slowly.”

“I accidentally sent him one of my complaining emails, a complaining email that was one hundred percent meant for you.”

“Was it worse than the one you sent me yesterday morning?”

“Way worse. I mentioned my fantasies about his cock in this one.... I called him an asshole and said I used to want him to bend me over his desk.”

Her face turned red as well, and she opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of my phone ringing caught both of our attention.

I pulled it out of my pocket and damn near dropped it at the sight of Mr. Leighton’s name on my screen. Unsure of what to do, I tossed it onto her couch.

“Is that him?” Amy asked.

I could only nod.

“Do you plan on answering it?”

“No.” I stared at it until it went to voicemail. But then it rang again.

And again.

Rolling her eyes, Amy picked up my phone and hit ‘answer’ before tossing it to me.

“Hello?” I answered, my voice was basically a whisper.

“Hello, Miss London.” The sound of my name falling from his mouth made me take a seat. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

I shook my head, as if he could see me.

“Are you there, Miss London?” His deep voice sent warmth through my body. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Not really....”

“Good. Where are you right now?”

“Oh, um ...” I looked to Amy for help, but she was smiling, looking as if this shit was actually funny. “I just ran down to the copy room.”

“So, you’re still in the building?”

“You could say that.”

“I saw you getting in your town car half an hour ago.” There was a smile in his voice. “You’re definitely not in the building right now.”

“Yes, well ... Is there something you need from me right now?”

“There is actually,” he said, his voice even deeper, sexier. “I came to your office this afternoon because I needed to discuss something private and very important that pertains to you and me, but I missed you somehow. So, I need you to come into work an hour early tomorrow so we can have this private and important conversation. Can you do that?”

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 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.

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Subject: Tomorrow.

Arrive one hour earlier than normal.

Don’t forget.  (I won’t.)

Michael Leighton,

CEO, Leighton Publishing