It was time for me to get a life.
It was time for me to prove—to no one in particular—that I could make room for another person in that spacious new life.
I just didn’t expect to realize exactly how empty my life had become as soon as I’d made the change.
Fortunately, I don’t have time to dwell on that kind of thing anymore.
Fortunately, my work life is fulfilling in a way that it has never been before.
I could do with a lot less of the Christmas decorations and holiday cheer around the corporate office, though.
As soon as I step off the elevator and into the Sentinel lobby, I’m greeted by Cindy the unbearably happy receptionist. Which is weird because she started to back off after I’d been here for about a week. That made me like her more.
“Happy holidays, Mr. Cannavale!”
“Nope.”
“I’m so happy you’ll be at the holiday party next week!”
“I won’t be there.”
“Oh really? Because Maddie just RSVP’d yes for you. We got the deluxe karaoke machine this year, so it should be extra fun.”
“Oh really? Maddie RSVP’d ‘yes’ to the office party, you say?”
“Yeah, like ten minutes ago.”
Interesting.
Unexpected.
Absolutely unacceptable.
But hot.
And there she is. The woman who keeps my schedule running smoothly and handles me with the sleek, unruffled grace of a highly skilled assassin. She shields me from all of the assholes and idiots I don’t want to deal with. I like it. She’s the executive assistant of my dreams and the succubus from my filthiest, most confusing adolescent nightmares. She’s the woman who’s kept me in a constant state of blue balls for the past two months. Today, she’s torturing me with a tight black pencil skirt, knee-high boots, and a cashmere sweater that looks like it was spray painted onto her evil curves. Her brown hair is so shiny; I believe her shampoo is made from the semen of demonic stallions. It’s up in a bun, revealing the satiny smooth skin of her long neck. I could spend an hour or twelve just kissing that neck, and I bet she’d like it too.
But that’s neither here nor there.
She’s standing by her desk with a coffee mug in one hand, her other hand resting just above her hip, right where I should be gripping her.
“Cooper.”
“Morning, Sunshine. You’ve got your conference call with Drucker in ten minutes, and Harvey from Cravath had to push your lunch to the new year because he’s an actual human who takes time off to be with his family during the holidays.”
“I’m not going to the office party next week.”
“I’m pretty sure you are. Let me just check your schedule. Hang on…” She mimes looking at a schedule on a monitor. “Yup. December 22nd, five to five thirty or later, office holiday party.”
She follows me into my office, shutting the glass door behind her. Those glass walls and doors were my least favorite thing about this office until two months ago.
“Get it off my schedule.”
“I know it may feel like I RSVP’d ‘yes’ in order to punish you, and I’m glad it feels like punishment, but the entire executive team will be in attendance. So I’m actually doing my job and helping you to look like slightly less of a terrible person.”
She places the coffee mug on my desk, on the coaster, leaning forward and exposing just enough bra and cleavage to make a grown man cry. She turns the mug around so the World’s Best Boss text is facing me and winks. I fucking love it when she winks at me. Even when she’s being a sassy little turd.
I take a seat and glower at her. “You’re telling me Shapiro is going to this thing?”
“Yes, the founder and CEO of this company will be attending the festivities along with most of the employees from all of the offices. Including his beloved General Counsel.”
Both hands rest on her hips now, and she sticks her chest out, defiant and hot. Hot and defiant and endlessly problematic. But really hot.
“That is very disappointing. Will you be there? If I have to go, then you do too.”
“Why yes. I and the rest of the executive assistants as well as the entire support staff will be there—thanks for asking!”
“Who’s going to answer the phones? Or are we all hoping to drop off the list of top ten New York real estate firms next year?”
“They’re bringing in temps to cover the phones that day.”
“Thought of everything, huh?”
“Yeah, and I hear they got the deluxe karaoke machine, so…” She smirks at me. That smirk does things to me. That smirk is highly problematic.
“Tell one of the interns to get my car washed.”
“Right away, sir.” She bats her eyelashes.
“But not the one who did it the last time—he’s a smoker. And not the girl who did it the time before that—my car was infused with her perfume for a week, and I did not like it.”
“I’ll be sure to request the one who always gets onion rings at White Castle on his way to the car wash.”
I raise the coffee mug to sniff it. “What is this?”
“A steaming hot cup of the tears of your former assistants.”
“That’s funny, because it smells like pumpkin spice.”
“That’s hilarious, because it’s a pumpkin spice latte.”
“That’s interesting because I only drink black coffee and espresso. You know that.”
“I thought maybe the pumpkin spice would put you in the holiday spirit.”
“Fuck holiday spirit. Fuck pumpkin spice.”
She crosses her arms in front of her ample, problematic chest. “Maybe you should. It would probably put you in a better mood…”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you trying to get yourself fired, Cooper?”
“Yes, but I’m not expecting a Christmas miracle.”
I hand her back the coffee cup. “Please accept this pumpkin spice latte in lieu of said miracle.”
“Blech, no thank you. I hate flavored coffee. Unless it’s, y’know, grown-up coffee.”
Every now and then I detect the slightest hint of Staten Island in the way she talks, and it makes whatever she’s saying sound
