Page 1 of The Bonus

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Grace

My name is Grace Porter, and I am the personal assistant to Gabriel Ferrara, CEO of Ferrara Media in New York.

And it’s the perfect job, great pay, beautiful office, everything I ever dreamed of, if not for one small detail.

I am utterly and hopelessly in love with my boss.

Every day it starts the same, at precisely 8:20 a.m. I make my way into his office. By this time, he’s already run on his treadmill, had an infrared sauna and showered. We run through his day while he dresses.

Watching Gabriel put on his suit each morning is the highlight of my day—who am I kidding, it’s the highlight of my fucking life.

I pick up my notes and knock softly.

“Come in,” his strong voice calls.

I tentatively open the door to see him standing at his coffee machine, white towel around his waist. Tanned muscles, broad back and dominance for miles, the lethal trifecta.

“Morning, Gracie.”

“Good morning, Gabriel,” I reply, my eyes drink him in while he has his back to me. I know most PAs make their boss’s coffee, but each morning he likes to make mine, and besides, it’s the only time I can stare uninterrupted.

He turns and passes me my cup and saucer. “Your coffee, madam.”

“Thank you.” I take a sip, warm and delicious, even his coffee is smooth. He goes back to making his coffee while I take a seat at his desk. I open his computer and log into his calendar.

My eyes flick over the screen to his sculptured back. Damn it.

Why is he so delicious? How could any female work in these conditions and not be completely besotted with him?

And then he opens his mouth…and I remember why.

“Did you sleep at all last night? You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” I mutter as I refocus on his day.

“I didn’t sleep much either, actually, can you remind me later to send flowers.”

I bite the side of my cheek.

Fucker.

Not only do I have to watch him date every beautiful woman in the world, I send them fucking flowers too.

“Of course,” I reply as I act unaffected.

I’m positive that I could win an Academy Award for the acting of casual that I do.

“What have we got today?” he asks as he disappears into his large closet. From my peripheral vision, I see the white towel drop as he puts his briefs on.

Focus.

I exhale as the screen jumbles, he’s busy.

Even reading his schedule is exhausting. “Board meeting at nine.”

“Let’s run through that agenda.” He walks out of the closet in black briefs, his suit and shirt on hangers.

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