Page 32 of Bossh*le Daddy
"I could use someone with your . . . dedication." His smile was razor-sharp. "I'd offer real employment, not games. A proper salary, clear advancement path, no need to pretend feelings that will be discarded once the deal closes."
Real employment. As opposed to what? The fever dream I'd been living where Damian Stone actually wanted me?
"I won't poach you while you're still useful to him, of course." Silas straightened his already-perfect tie, preparing to leave. "Professional courtesy. But after the Hartley dinner, well. That's only ten days away. The deal will close shortly after, and then . . ."
He spread his hands, letting me fill in the obvious conclusion. Then I'd be Rebecca. I'd be Melissa. I'd be another LinkedIn profile updating with a sudden relocation, another young woman with an NDA and a broken heart, another notch in Damian Stone's bedpost of convenient arrangements.
"Ten days," I repeated numbly.
"Perhaps two weeks if there are complications with the contracts. But Damian's never kept a personal assistant longer than a month." The sympathy in his voice was poisonous, calculated to seem genuine while delivering maximum damage. "But I'm sure you're different. I'm sure what you have is real. I'm sure when he called you his good girl while bending you over that desk, he meant it as more than just effective conditioning."
The blood drained from my face. He knew. Somehow, he knew details that should have been private, sacred, ours. Unless they weren't ours at all. Unless this exact scene had played out before with Rebecca, with Melissa, with however many desperate girls Damian had found to fill his temporary needs.
Silas stood in one fluid motion, looking down at me with that pitying smile. "Enjoy it while it lasts, little one."
The endearment from his mouth was the final violation. I flinched back like he'd slapped me, and his smile widened with satisfaction.
"Do check that contract," he said, already turning away. "Knowledge is power, after all. And right now, my dear, you have neither."
He left me there, shaking in that booth while around us the morning coffee rush continued its cheerful chaos. Baristas called out orders. Customers chatted about weekend plans. Normal people living normal lives while my world tilted off its axis and threatened to spill me into the void.
The coffee shop sounds faded to white noise. All I could hear was the echo of last night—good girl, little one, mine—words that had rewritten my DNA now revealed as nothing more than a well-practiced script.
Ten days until the Hartley dinner.
Ten days to pretend I hadn't just learned I was temporary.
Ten days to play the devoted fiancée while knowing I was already being measured for my severance package.
The gold ribbon in my hair felt like a mockery now. I reached up with numb fingers, touching the silk that marked me as his. Such a small thing, but it had felt like everything this morning. Like belonging. Like being chosen.
Now it felt like a costume piece.
Chapter 7
Theridetothesixtieth floor had never felt longer. My reflection in the polished steel doors showed someone I didn't recognize—red-rimmed eyes despite the concealer I'd hastily applied in the lobby bathroom, shoulders curved inward like I was trying to disappear into myself, the gold ribbon in my hair now feeling like evidence of my naivety.
The executive floor was tomb-quiet when the doors opened, that particular stillness that meant I was late. So late. My americano sat in my hand, long cold, the cup sweating condensation that dripped onto my shoes as I walked.
When I reached my desk I set the useless coffee beside my keyboard and I felt like my mind was floating somewhere above. The computer hummed to life under my trembling fingers, and I found myself navigating to the employee portal before I'd consciously decided to look.
Three clicks. Username. Password. Two-factor authentication because Damian insisted on security for everything, even the systemic destruction of naive girls' hearts. The documents tab loaded with its neat rows of PDFs—employee handbook,tax forms, direct deposit authorizations. And there, innocuous between the parking policy and healthcare enrollment, my employment contract.
My cursor hovered over it for long seconds. Did I really want to know? But Silas's voice echoed in my head—"Knowledge is power, after all"—and my hand moved without permission, clicking open the document that would confirm everything I desperately didn't want to be true.
The PDF loaded in segments, corporate letterhead appearing first. Stone Enterprises in those severe capitals, the logo sharp as the man himself. My name below it looked so small, so insignificant. Just another replaceable assistant in what was apparently a rotating cast.
I scrolled past the position description—Executive Administrative Assistant, how clinical—past the salary that had seemed so generous when I'd had nothing. Past the vacation days I'd probably never use and the health insurance I'd been so grateful for. My fingers moved with increasing urgency, searching for the section Silas had mentioned with such casual cruelty.
Section 12: Termination and Confidentiality.
There it was, buried on page eighteen like a landmine. My eyes skimmed the legalese, catching phrases that made my stomach churn. "Upon termination for any reason, Employee shall receive a severance payment equal to three (3) months of base salary..." Exactly what Silas had said. Not a penny more, not a penny less. The precision of it made me want to laugh or cry or both.
But it was the next part that stole what little breath I had left.
"Employee agrees to maintain strict confidentiality regarding all aspects of employment, including but not limited to: any personal interactions with Employer, any knowledge ofEmployer's private affairs, any intimate or non-professional encounters . . ."
The list went on for two full pages. Every possible variation of silence money could buy, wrapped in legal language that tried to make it sound routine. But I saw it for what it was—a gag order. A pre-emptive strike against any girl who might think what happened between them meant something more than a business arrangement.
