Page 28 of The Boss

“If that’s what you want me to do, ma’am,” Vern says with only the slightest crack in his otherwise professional voice, “then I will ensure that it’s done.”

“I know I can always count on you.” My tone, like his, changes. He must know that there is no negotiation here. I will warn him. Not once, but twice. If he offers any of his judgment about what I’ve asked him to do, then he’s out the damned door. Executive assistants are a dime a dozen. Granted, hiring a new one means training them to the level I expect, but one of those levels isdon’t fucking judge me, Vern.

He won’t. He values his job in this economy too much. Aren’t he and his wife trying for a baby? There’s no way he’ll jeopardize his job with me, even if I ask him to perform certain tasks.

Like finding out Alessa’s class schedule and making sure she and I will have plenty of alone time in the future.

I know how it looks. Not only have I hired her as my second assistant – a position I should have delegated long ago because Vern is only one man taking on the world around here – but we’re openly in a relationship. I don’t pussyfoot. I won’t give any personal details that aren’t necessary, but I also won’t withhold them if I deem themnecessary.

I’m sure Vern thinks there are better uses of his time. I don’t think there are.

“Go ahead and give me the status report.” I sit back in my chair, taking the pressure off my feet. I barked the new order at my first assistant the moment he walked in for our morning meeting. Might as well get everything else out of the way on this fine Tuesday morning.

And what a fine morning it is, honestly. All I have to do is look out my large panel of windows and enjoy the bright spring sunlight spilling through patchwork clouds. Since spending the night with Alessa, my life has become quite sunny. Even my driver commented on it when we got in the back of my Audi this morning. Decided to take a “normal” car since we had to drop Alessa off at her campus for her morning classes. Most of those parking lots can’t accommodate limos, and I wasn’t about to dump her on the end of the street.

You know why?

Because if I lust after her to the extent that I do, then what are other students thinking when she walks by them?

I should assign a bodyguard to tail her on campus.

“You’ll be happy to know,” Vern begins, and I’m already taking bets whether I’ll be happy to hear whatever he has to say, “that I have finally managed to arrange a meeting this time next week between you and Ms. Etta Coleman. So happens that the meeting with Ms. Danica Moreau will be the next day as well. Trust me, it wasn’t easy to fit them both into your schedule. Or you intotheirschedules.” Vern sighs. I don’t doubt it wasdifficult. Coleman and Moreau have more money than I do – they must, if they’re the queenpins of New England.

“Back-to-back meetings with the two women most interested in financing our next venture? God help us all if they cross paths in the hallway.” Their silent rivalry is a legendary topic of conversation in the wine bars and country clubs. One of them will be chosen over the other in the end, however. I’d rather not be around when that voicemail goes through. I should make Presley do it. She’s almost as butch as Coleman and as privileged rich kid as Moreau.

“I’ll make sure that their paths do not cross, ma’am.”

“You do that.” I lean forward again, elbows propped up on my desk. My large computer screen dings with new email alerts. I almost fall prey to distraction when I realize Vern isn’t done yet. “What else is there?”

“Your brother called shortly before you reached the office. He asked me if you’re available this Saturday for the wedding mixer.”

“Well?” I open my email browser. “Am I available, Vern?”

“I rearranged a few things that we had listed as ‘not pertinent.’ You and your +1 are due at the Willamette Wine Club by one on Saturday.”

“To think, Ted called you instead of me.” The man knows me, that’s for sure. “That’s fine. It will be a good opportunity for the family to meet Alessa.”

Vern lingers in the doorway, hands clutching his tablet with enough strength to break it in half. There go his judgments again.

I know what he’s thinking. Me? Taking my latest squeeze as of last week to meet my brother and some of our family? I’ve got the gumption, yes. But my family won’t be shocked. They’re used to me bringing whatever woman I’m seeing to these functions, cause God damn me right now if they’re not boring otherwise.Some women of my station prefer to keep their affairs under the radar until one turns serious. As long as I don’t believe my date will embarrass me or my family, I bring them. I have a feeling Alessa will not be much of a liability.

The way she submissively deferred to me last night, even after we went over the first half of our relationship terms, told me everything I needed to know. If I inform her of the rules, she’ll follow. I reward effort. In business… and love.

Even if she screws up, if I believe she didn’t do it out of malice, I won’t be angry.

That doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on her, however.

Vern leaves me to my emails and thoughts of Alessa. He was even nice enough to leave my door mostly closed so I have privacy. Where is my girlfriend now? What is she doing? What class is she in? All I know about her schooling is that she’s after a degree in business – otherwise, she wouldn’t be working here. Perhaps I should ask her about her classes and gauge the effectiveness of her education. I’m not about to let my girlfriend go to school and learn absolute bullshit. I would expect the same of my children, as well.

Is Alessa wife material? Is she mother-of-my-children material?

I contemplate these thoughts with careful consideration first. But, as always, my thoughts quickly devolve into a sexual nature I can’t escape. Last night was Heaven. Even with my disappointment – that I set myself up for, of course – I still had one of the most wonderful times. Something about Alessa excites me beyond a single night. Playing a long game by introducing her to new avenues of sex and pleasure entices me to keep her around. Get to know her. Maybe I’ll ask her about what she does during spring break the next time I’m three knuckles deep in her.

It should be now. I don’t care if she pushed herself against the shower wall and invited me to touch her again before curling up next to me in bed. I don’t care if I woke up from an all-consuming sex dream and she didn’t say a thing when I suggested she take care of my lingering thoughts with her hand. The sunlight on her pretty chestnut hair was like an Impressionist image. I want to hire someone to paint her, so I will never forget how lovely she looked when I came.

I can’t take it anymore. I text her.

“Still thinking about these past twelve hours, my sweet. Tell me your thoughts are consumed with me.”

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