Page 12 of Filthy Promises

Diane Montrose

Executive Assistant to Vincent Akopov

My stomach drops to somewhere south of my ankles.

This is it. I’m getting fired. Suddenly, it’s not sexy or darkly funny anymore. It’s justterrifying.

Because if I get fired…

What will happen to Mom?

“Mr. Peterson?” I call out to my supervisor, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m feeling a bit sick. Mind if I work from home today?”

My supervisor, Kevin, barely glances up from his monitor. “Whatever. Just get the Harrison drafts to me by three.”

I grab my laptop and practically run for the elevator.

Twenty minutes later, I’m pacing my tiny apartment, phone pressed to my ear. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I chant. “Please, for the love of?—”

“Marketing, Natalie speaking.”

“Nat, it’s me.” I’m whispering, even though I’m alone in my apartment. “I’m so screwed.”

“Row? Why are you whispering? And why aren’t you at your desk?”

I collapse onto my couch. “He summoned me.”

“Who summoned you?”

“Who do you think? Is there anyone else in our company whosummonspeople?”

There’s a pause. “Wait, like… Do you mean…?”

“Yes, dammit!” I wail. “Vincent! I have to meet with him tomorrow at nine.”

“Holy shit,” Natalie breathes. “What for?”

I’m suddenly incredibly shy. “The details aren’t important.”

“Counterpoint: The details areextremelyfuckingimportant.The details are the whole thing! The details are all that matter! Rowan, if you don’t tell me what happened—because something definitely happened; I can hear it in your voice and I’ve got a sixth sense for hot, juicy goss, which this definitely qualifies as—then I swear on God and Jesus and Joseph and Mary and Timothée fucking Chalamet that I will start to scream in three, two?—”

“Okay! Okay! Please just stop.” I press my face into a pillow. “I may have walked in on Mr. Akopov, you know… doing things.”

“Whatkindof things?”

“SEX things, Nat! With his secretary! On his desk!”

The silence on the other end of the line lasts so long I think we’ve been disconnected. I hold the phone away from my ear to check, but nope, the call is still active.

“… Natalie?”

A strangled sound comes through the phone, followed by the most uproarious, full-blown cackling I’ve ever heard. It’s like a hyena on laughing gas. Straight-up depraved.

“It’s not funny!” I protest. “He saw me! And he... he...”

“Hewhat?” Natalie is wheezing like a pug walking up the Empire State Building now. “He farted mid-thrust? He asked you to peg him at the same time?”

“He winked.”

---