My life isn’t really a life. It’s a constant, repetitive cycle of the same routine.
I wake up, get ready, go to the café for an espresso, catch the bus, and go to work. I always leave after hours, catch the bus, go home, make dinner, and go to sleep. Every day is the same, except on weekends.
I’m the second assistant to the biggest tycoon who owns the largest vineyard estate in the region—and not just any vineyards, but the “Award-Winning Terroir,” where the fertile soil and wonderful sun exposure produce grapes with exceptional flavor, resulting in fine, exclusive wines that we mere mortals won’t have the chance to taste without having a lot, a lot of money.
Leonard Parker, "the Relentless". That’s how my boss is known. He has everything he wants; he doesn’t mind trampling over everything and everyone in his path to get what he wants. His feared blue eyes are something his employees try to avoid at all costs. He is an imposing man at six feet tall; he intimidates his male employees and makes the female employees sigh whenever he walks past them, ignoring them. His honey-colored hair is never out of place, just like his tailor-made suit. Known around the world as the “Heartbreaker,” he is a born womanizer and makes no effort to hide it from the media. He doesn’t care about others’ opinions. His smile is reserved only for those closest to him or his next conquest. He is a man of many connections and great wealth.
I’ve been working for him for two years. It was never my dream job, but the perks and the salary are excellent. The number one assistant is Laila, a beautiful woman who makes a point of flaunting her beauty to her boss with her sweet voice, her white smile, and her red lipstick. Her big blue eyes and her curves make all my coworkers stop working and drool over their desks as she walks by. She’s just one of the countless women he has working for him—model-like women. I’m the only one who doesn’t fit in here.
Laila handles his personal schedule, while I handle the meeting schedule; Leonard has a third schedule so he can fit both personal and professional commitments into his timetable. Laila is also his personal assistant; she’s the one who informs him of his appointments, walks into his office, speaks with him, and welcomes people when there are meetings. She is his personal assistant; I am the assistant who answers the phones, reports to Laila, and only says good morning, good afternoon, or good night. And that’s how I intend for it to stay. I’m not good at communication; I never have been. But my strength has always been organization, which is why I settled into this job.
The Relentless One walks past us with a frown, ignoring our greetings and shutting himself in his office.
***
- Blair, Mr. Parker asked you to reschedule the afternoon meetings for next week.
Laila tells me, as I start steaming from the ears. This is the second time he’s done this! Whenever there are meetings with the partners, he always asks to reschedule, as if people were always available for him. They’re from other countries with schedules completely different from ours, and everyone has to accept a new time to hold the meeting via video conference. There goes my chance to leave on time and go out for drinks with the girls; I’m going to have to work late until all the assistants unanimously agree to the new meeting time. My only response to Laila is an audible sigh and a roll of the eyes over the top of my thin reading glasses. She doesn’t say anything else to me. Laila has the bare minimum of kindness toward me; I realized from the moment I started working here that she didn’t like my presence because I simply didn’t fit the mold. Our office is a long desk that runs along the side wall next to the elevator. In the center is the boss’s office. Laila sits gracefully in her ergonomic chair, while I sit in mine like a weight being placed on a scale, and whenever I raise the chair, I always drag it on tiptoes, making it slide from side to side, instead of standing up and walking. Yes, I’m lazy.
I pick up my phone with a heavy heart. I send a message to Claire to cancel our plans and ask her to pass the information on to Bia and Jonathan. I’m sure I’m going to get a huge scolding and that next time they won’t let me get away with it. They are my closest friends. Bia used to be one of the security guards at the building’s entrance, and it was because of my good manners in greeting her every day that we became friends. When she left, I was devastated, since she was the one I spent my breaks and lunch hours with. Now she’s a trainer and teaches security training. Claire is my oldest friend; we met in school and became inseparable. She works at a preschool because her dream has always been to work with children, though now she completely disagrees. And Jonathan is the advertising designer who works three floors below me. We met through Bia. Jonathan is the devil of our group. More of a woman than any of us and wiser too, he has a foul mouth and isn’t afraid to speak his mind. He’s incredible.
I check my schedule and realize I have a ton of work to do, so I throw myself into it until lunchtime.
Laila leaves and comes back from her lunch break, and I don’t even notice she’s been gone and is back. When I look at the clock, it’s almost 2:30 p.m.
-Shit! I have to go! I’m going to grab a quick bite and be right back! She waves her hand to dismiss me, not paying much attention to what I’m saying. I only realized what time it was because my bladder decided to give me a signal right when it’s about to burst! I grab my purse and run out, distracted by my phone, without noticing who was coming toward me, also distracted.
The collision was inevitable.
-WHAT THE HELL?
- OW!
We say in unison, my phone dropping from my hand and his from his. I twist my ankle in my high-heeled pumps and only have time to brace myself against his arm. My hair clip betrays me and pops out of my hair, letting it slide down my back, while a strong, steady hand grabs my waist and pulls me against gravity. A scene straight out of a movie, no doubt.
- I’m so sorry….
I look up and my eyes meet a pair of fearsome blue eyes that leave me breathless and stunned. Whatever he was going to say, he gave up, my brain melting while my heart pounded beneath his overly defined chest in that white shirt. I look over my old lady glasses and his expression reveals surprise. I feel my face heating up; not even I am immune to this devilish temptation. I slowly compose myself without taking my eyes off his, and he doesn’t let go of me. I hear Laila lamenting what just happened, asking Parker if he was okay. She didn’t even ask about me. Bitch.
There was a connection, something electrifying. Even as Laila touches his arm, he doesn’t take his eyes off mine.
- Blair! Let go of Mr. Parker!
Only after that reprimand do I realize that I, too, am still clinging to his arm and my chest is still pressed against his.
- I’m so sorry, Mr. Parker! – I let go of his arm and step back, creating some much-needed space between us. – I was so focused on my phone that I didn’t notice you.
He raises his eyebrows in surprise, offering a small, sidelong smile; as if it were impossible for anyone not to notice him. I swallow hard, not knowing what to say. He looks away and bends down to pick up his phone and mine. OH SHIT! He’s going to see the message I was writing to Claire!
I panic and reach for my phone, which is already in Mr. Parker’s hand, and our heads bump. I step back, covering my forehead with my hand. And for the first time in two years, he speaks to me.
“Damn it, woman! Are you always this clumsy?”
This is it—he’s going to fire me. Goodbye, job; goodbye gym memberships, spa perks, and discounts on great wines.
His hand rubs the crown of his head, and his gaze reveals just how irritated he is; his brow is furrowed, but that doesn’t stop him from looking at my phone, which isn’t locked and still has the message on the screen.
I can’t utter a single word. I feel my heart beating too fast, and the heat of embarrassment begins to rise through my entire body.
He read it. He fucking read it.
-Mm.
The only sound was a “Mm”?
He sighs and hands me the phone. I take it with my trembling hands. He nods slightly and resumes walking, turning away from me. Laila doesn’t say a word to me, but she’s practically crawling after that man who didn’t even offer me an apology. But then again, who would apologize after reading a message like that?
I pull myself together and head straight to the bathroom on our floor. I lock myself in a stall and sit on the toilet seat, taking deep breaths to try to calm down. His scent still lingers on my lilac silk blouse. I don’t think I’ll ever wash it again. Just when I think nothing could surprise me more, I feel strange down there. I pull my pencil skirt up to my waist, slide down my panties, and realize; I’m wet. From just a single touch of his.
Message
To: Claire
Sorry, friend, I have to stay late because that jerk decided he doesn’t want to have the meeting with the partners. I’m so sorry! Maybe his plans will backfire, like instead of drinking his fancy wine, he’ll be drinking flat cola with a splash of...