Silence.
My face paled. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, and terrible boss or not, I couldn’t afford to lose this job right now.
“I told you that I wanted Colombian coffee from the Sweet Seasons Café on Park Avenue,” he said, finally. “Is that not what I asked you for?”
What the fuck? “Yes.”
“Interesting. Well, what’s unique about Sweet Seasons Café is that they place a solid chocolate drop at the bottom of every cup.” He picked up his cup of coffee and poured it into an empty glass. “And it always sticks to the bottom when you’re finished drinking it.” He turned the empty cup toward me, and I swallowed.
“No other coffee shop in this city does that, Miss Lauren. It’s kind of a trademark, a subtle wink to their loyal customers who are willing to spend fifteen dollars per ounce. It’s how I know when I’m drinking their blend or when my new assistant is filling up one of their cups with bullshit.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“As you can see,” he said, not letting me finish my sentence, “Miss Lauren, if I can’t trust you to get me the right cup of coffee, I’m going to have a hard time trusting you with much else.” He set the cup down, and a smirk crossed his lips. “Nonetheless, I’m a man of second chances, so I will give you exactly thirty minutes to get the correct coffee that I asked you for.”
“Okay.” I stood up, but he held up his hand—motioning for me to stay put.
“There’s one last thing, Miss Lauren,” he said, making me hate the way he said my name. The way he was able to turn me on despite his rudeness. “I’m not sure if you’ve thoroughly read your employee handbook, but tech support is required to flag and report all emails that are sent and received from any domains that belong to my competitors.” He paused. “Well, the domains that belong to people who think they’re my competitors. Are you familiar with the email address [email protected]?”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s my boyfriend’s email address. He’s an intern at Marriott, and it’s only a temporary job for him. He’s not some type of corporate spy.”
“Hmmm,” he said, looking me up and down. “Well, now that I know he’s not attempting to get any insider secrets from you, I’ll consider having tech support turn off the alert. That said, allow me to give you and your boyfriend some advice.” He picked up a sheet of paper and walked closer to me, making my heart race faster with every step. “I think you should watch what you send on my company server, because certain emails are far from appropriate.”
“I’ve only called you an ‘impossible asshole’ once in my emails.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” He glared at me, and then he looked at the paper. “Subject: Let me make it better. (Yes, I’m Talking About Fucking.)”
I gasped, hoping like hell a sinkhole would open up in the floor and swallow me right now.
“Then there’s a huge problem with the message itself,” Preston continued reading, smiling as he did it. “Tara, babe, don’t worry about your terrible-ass boss. I’m more than willing to help you de-stress whenever you get a break. I want to plug your vagina with my cock and lick it all over for as long as it takes to make you forget about your job. Just say the word. Are you feeling kind of—” He paused, raising his eyebrow. “Water emoji. Water emoji. Water emoji.”
My cheeks were on fire.
Preston set the paper down and closed the gap between us—looking directly into my eyes. “Inappropriate work email aside,” he said, “you need to tell your boyfriend to work on his vocabulary. If he’s really so concerned about helping you de-stress whenever you’re free from your terrible-ass boss, then he should just say, I want you to sit on my face so I can eat your pussy until you come in my mouth, until the only thing you’re able to think about is how good my tongue feels when it’s sucking on your dripping wet clit. And the next time you get a break, you should invite me into your office, so I can bend you over the desk and let your pussy feel just how hard my cock gets whenever I’m thinking about you.”
He stepped back, still keeping his eyes on mine. “Then maybe, if he said those things, he wouldn’t have to ask if you were wet. He’d know, and perhaps, since he’s clearly corny as fuck, he’d say umbrella emoji, umbrella emoji, umbrella emoji …”
My panties were wetter than they’d ever been.
“Now,” he said, snapping back into asshole mode. “Go get me the right coffee.”
Six (B)
Tara
Later that evening, at six o’clock to be exact, I paced in front of my office windows, waiting on Preston’s suits to arrive. Today marked the fourth time in a week that they were late, and no matter how nice I tried to say, "Please be on time next week, " his stylist never made it to the office a second before seven.
I pulled my phone from my drawer and sent Michael a text message.
Me: Definite raincheck on Happy Hour, since he's making everyone work late and I’m still waiting on suits. Also, I may need a raincheck for apartment hunting, too. (I have to fly to Cali for a meeting with him.) Can you help me next weekend instead?
Michael: Of course, babe.
I started to ask him how his day was, but Cynthia stepped into my office and slammed the door shut.
“May I help you with something, Cynthia?”
“I want you to know that Mr. Parker was going to pick me to be his executive assistant before you.” She crossed her arms. “He said I was more than qualified, and he was looking forward to taking me on all of his business trips.”
“Would you like me to ask him if you can still go on those trips?” I’ll happily let you take my place …
“No, I would like you to know that I am rooting for you to fail.” She looked dead ass serious. “You’ve lasted two months, which is pretty impressive when it comes to his assistants, but this streak won’t last. It won’t last at all.”
“Do your eyes normally bulge out of your skull like that?” I asked, terrified of the way she looked right now. “You may want to get that checked out.”
“My eyeballs are just fine, and they can see that you’re a three and a half-monther at best, Taylor. I’ve started a new employee pool with a bet on how long you’ll last and no one has you getting past month three.” Her eyes bulged out even further. “We don’t usually invite the Taylors to join us on things like this, but for you, I’m willing to make an exception. You want three, four, five, or six more weeks? Most people are betting on four. And a few risk takers—not me—are putting their money on six.”
Before I could tell her to get the hell out of my office, Preston opened the door and stepped inside.
“Miss Lauren, why aren’t my—” He paused, looking at Cynthia, then at me. “Why aren’t my evening short list and coffee on my desk?”
“I don’t know.” I forced a smile. “I definitely put them there half an hour ago.”