Page 3 of The Grump's Assistant

“Where are you?” a rough voice cuts me off.

“Um, I think you have the wrong number.”

There’s a brief pause, as if the man had never even considered that possibility. But then he grunts out, “No, I’m right. You were supposed to be here to fill out paperwork thirty minutes ago, Jennifer.”

Oh crap, this guy is looking for the lady who just sold me her phone. “Actually, this is Juniper, and I?—”

“Juniper. Jennifer. Whatever your name is. Did you read through the contract HR emailed?” I’m about to jump in and tell him he’s got the wrong girl, but the arrogant, growly man won’t let me get a word in edgewise. “Being late on your first day isn’t the way to impress me. I need an assistant who will anticipate my needs and meet them before I even have to say anything.”

“That seems like a ridiculously high standard,” I mumble. My hand shoots out to cover my mouth, as if I could somehow pull back the words and keep them locked inside. Why did I say that? I should hang up. I really should. But something he said has a plan forming in my mind.

“And I don’t intend to lower them for you, Juniper.”

Oh, Lord, why did I feel each syllable of my name as it rolled off his tongue? The low, gravelly tone of voice settles somewhere deep in my core, and I swear I can feel my erratic heartbeat in my clit. I mean,what the actual hell is going on?

Clearing my throat, I try to shoo away inappropriate thoughts about the man on the other end of the phone. I don’t know anything about him other than he’s grumpy, growly, and a perfectionist. Oh, and he needs an assistant. If this is the job Jennifer skipped out on for spring break, I can understand. This guy is definitely a jerk, but I think I can handle him better than my current boss, who tells me to wear tighter shirts to make more tips.

“Of course not,” I say, putting on my best waitress voice. The one I use with difficult customers who are determined to find something wrong with their food. “Nor would I ask you to. Just an observation.” My tone is light, and hopefully it’s working on him. I can’t see his face, but I swear I can feel the tension, even through the phone.

“Keep your observations to yourself, Ms. Harper.”

“It’s Ms. Leigh, actually,” I correct him without thinking.

He grunts, a sound I think he makes more often than not. “Fucking HR screw-ups,” he mutters.

I hear what sounds like a pen scratching across paper, presumably crossing out my name.

“Did they even tell you where to show up today?”

I feel bad throwing anyone under the bus, but I’ll go in and explain everything at the end of the day. Hopefully, I can convince this man, whoever he is, that I can be the best assistant ever.

Silence stretches between us, though I can still hear his breathing. “It’s not their fault. I, uh… I lost the email with all of the information,” I lie. It rolls off my tongue easily enough, though my stomach twists at the thought of deceiving anyone. “I’m so sorry. I was trying to find my way to your office but got a bit turned around,” I ramble on as I watch my bus roll away from the stop. I have a new destination now. As soon as I get the address.

He still doesn’t speak, but I can feel the weight of everything he’s not saying. It’s a long shot for him to give me a chance to make a good impression, but I have to try. An executive assistant job surely pays more than overnights at the diner.

“You have one day to prove yourself worthy of a second chance.”

I bite my tongue, swallowing back all the things I want to say. Prove myself worthy? Who does this guy think he is? The man answers my silent question when he continues.

“As the owner, CEO, and brainpower behind Sloan Investments, I need a reliable assistant. One who will show up on time and do what they’re told. Without sassing me,” he adds. “Is that something you’re capable of?”

You don’t even know me! You have no idea what I’m capable of, what I’ve been through, what I still go through every day.Also, did you just say you’re the brain behind the company? How arrogant can you be?

I don’t say any of that, of course. Instead, I focus on the pieces of information he gives me. Sloan Investments. I’d have to be living under a rock not to recognize that name. It’s one of the biggest financial institutions in the city. The name is plastered all over buildings and the news is always reporting on stocks going up and up and up. I don’t even pay attention to that stuff, but it’s successful enough to be a household name around the city.

“Vincent Sloan,” I whisper to myself, remembering his first name. I also remember a photo of the man himself on the cover of Forbes. He topped one of those lists about the most stupidly rich and handsome men in the country. As if they need more praise and bigger egos. Vincent stood tall, proud, and unshakable in that photo. Like nothing could touch him. He didn’t need to tell anyone he was powerful; his stance and dark, perceptive eyes said it all. I remember thick, dark hair that matched his beard, which is uncharacteristic for the slick business people in the upper echelons of society.

A half groan, half snarl leaves his lips, and I wonder if he’s mad or in pain. Maybe he thinks I’m being rude by using his first name.

“I-I mean, Mr. Sloan.”

Another tortured sound comes through the line, though it fades away as if he’s pulling the phone away from his face.

“Good, at least you remembered my name. Maybe not so worthless after all.”

“How d—” I inhale deeply, forcing the reprimand back down. Instead of asking him how dare he insinuate I, or any human being, could be worthless, I switch gears. “How can I be of assistance today, Mr. Sloan? I’ll get everything sorted with HRwhen I get there, then I’m all yours.”I’m all yours? Why did I say that?

Another rough, jagged sound rumbles through the phone, and I press my thighs together, trying to rid myself of the tingly feeling coursing through my body.

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