Thank you for your interest and support. I appreciate it. I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Naughty Boss.
THE EMAILS...To Mercedes from Santana...
Subject: Manhattan Publisher Seeks Executive Assistant
Chica, so...I'm pretty sure this job listing is for that sexy CEO we sometimes see on all the tabloids! You should definitely apply for this. You'd be perfect.
Check out the attachment below.
Your bestie,
Santana
—-—Forwarded Message—-
High level executive at Evans Publishing seeks a highly competent and professional executive assistant. Requirements and salary package attached via pdf below.
Requirements
—Bachelor's degree from an accredited college institution (master's preferred).
—A minimum of five (5) years experience working for high level corporate executive.
—Passion for literature.
—Ability to work under high stress and for at least 50-60 hours a week.
—Ability to draft error-free press releases and PR copy at a moment's notice.
Salary& Benefits Package
Evans Publishing (pdf)
Send resume(s) and contact information to: Artie Abrams, Advisor, Evans Publishing.
Subject: Re: Manhattan Publisher Seeks Executive Assistant
It can't be. There's no way a guy like that would post a job like this on Craigslist, is there? And at that huge of a salary range?! O.M.G! Wait! I thought he was the naughty CEO? Isn't that what they call him?
Your bestie,
Mercedes
PS—I definitely applied. :-)
Subject: Re: Manhattan Publisher Seeks Executive Assistant
Naughty. Sexy. Same thing. And who knows? Maybe he's desperate? According to Page Six and his former EA, he can't keep an assistant for more than two months at a time. She claims he was really demanding and asked her to do hard labor.
Then again, I'm sure the real reason no women last around him is because they're all distracted by how big his cock is. If you get hired, please find out how big it is. Do it for me, at least.
Your bestie,
Santana
Subject: Re: Manhattan Publisher Seeks Executive Assistant
That Artie guy from the ad just called me and told me to be at Evans Publishing next Friday for an interview. AN. INTERVIEW!
Wish me luck!
Your bestie,
Mercedes
Subject: Did you get the job?
Haven't heard anything from you in two weeks! The two of us aren't that busy these days and you stay right across the hall! What gives? Did you meet Sam Evans during the interview?
Your bestie (Do we really have to continue signing off like this on every email like we're still teenagers?)
Santana
Subject: Re: Did you get the job?
Sorry, I've been swamped with some massive reading and pre-research. Don't ask. But yes! I got hired On. The. Spot! That Artie guy...Evans' advisor...even doubled the initial salary offer in the middle of our negotiations.
I didn't technically get to see Mr. Evans until this morning though, when I went to officially sign the paperwork. And I lie to you not, that man is the sexiest man I've ever seen in my life. Hands down!
He made me wet after he shook my hand and said the words,
"Welcome to my company, Mercedes." That's honestly all it took...
Sexy as ever or not, I'm determined to last way longer than all of his other assistants. He can't be that bad, right?
Your bestie...and yes. It's tradition to sign off like this :)
Mercedes
ONE YEAR LATER...
MERCEDES...THE ASSISTANT
I stumbled into the glittering lobby of Evans Publishing, balancing a small box of files in one hand and a binder of reports in the other.
I was over an hour early, but I knew that wouldn't be enough for my boss.
Taking the elevator straight to the top floor, I rolled my eyes as the golden numbers lit up above the doors. Samuel Evans insisted on having the entire top floor to himself. And only allowed me and the lowly secretaries access when we had a morning meeting...like today.
Or, when he was too lazy to travel down one flight of stairs. That's when he would call and say,
"Come up to my office."
The second the doors sprung open, I headed towards the massive conference room that was right across from his office.
I unlocked the doors and hit the lights, pulling down the projector screen as I made my way around the room.
I set out notepads and pens at each chair, and then I dialed the breakfast caterer.
"Fifth Avenue Catering," a woman answered on the first ring. "How may I help you this morning?"
"Hello, this is Mercedes Jones with Evans Publishing," I said. "I was wondering what time your delivery person was going to..."
"They're on the elevator right now, Miss Jones," she interrupted with a slight smile in her voice. "We know how your boss feels about time. No worries."
"Thank you."
I ended the call and dialed the literary agent who was due to arrive for a separate meeting later today, letting her know that we would only have time for a twenty-minute pitch.
Then I emailed each and every staff person a reminder, to arrive at the boardroom at least ten minutes early.
As soon as I hit send on the message, an email from Mr. Evans popped onto my screen.
Subject: What I Need Today.
Coffee from Dean & DeLuca. Mary Kubica's new book. Ad report. Hotel confirmations for next Saturday night, two Q3 revenue reports. Travel itinerary for January. Files for meeting at 3 o'clock...all on my desk by noon.
Samuel Evans,
CEO, Evans Publishing
There was never any point in responding to his first email of the day. One hundred percent rhetorical and two hundred percent rude, he always sent them at exactly seven o'clock and they were always comprised of staccato-like sentences.
There was never a "Hello," "Good morning," or a mere, "Hope all is well today." The asshole never even said, "Please."
And even when I completed everything on his ridiculous lists in record time, instead of saying, "Thank you," he had the audacity to say, "You're welcome."
"No, no, no." I picked up a plate of banana muffins the second the catering assistant set them down. "My boss is extremely allergic to these. Can you replace them with blueberry ones?"
I quickly looked over the other things she was starting to set out, making sure nothing else was suspect.
"You sure you want me to replace them?" She smiled. "He'll die a lot a faster if I don't."
"I'm sure." I said. "I'm not trying to kill him...yet."
She laughed and took away the offending pastries, and before I could call Dean & DeLuca to order his overpriced coffee, he sent me another email.
Subject: Time.
You were two minutes late for work yesterday, and one minute late for the noon meeting. Don't let it happen again today.
Samuel Evans
CEO, Evans Publishing
I started to respond with "Eff you and your obsession with time, you egotistical asshole," but I wasn't going to let him get to me today.
So I sent him a curt "Ok," ordered his coffee, and scrolled through my inbox, looking for correspondence from any of the countless jobs I'd recently applied to.
But all I saw was spam.
Ugh!
Dialing my personal town-car driver...the best benefit that came with being Mr. Evans' executive assistant...I begged him to retrieve the coffee for me.
And then I told him to buy whatever else looked pretty in that café and add it to the purchase account.
"Are you sure about that, Miss Jones?" he asked.
"Absolutely!"
I hung up. I was only supposed to use the CEO credit card for Mr. Evans' coffee and meals, but since he'd been increasingly mean to me over the past few months, I'd been using it on whatever came to mind.
Besides, he could more than afford it.
The sudden sound of the elevator stopping on the floor made me look over the room one more time.
And made me realize that another day with the head asshole of this company, was just beginning.
"Good morning," I said as several staff members began to fill the room and take their designated seats. "Good to see you all today."
They all offered me their usual warm "Hellos" and slight looks of sympathy in return.
"Thank you all for being early," I said. "As you all know, this month is going to be extremely busy in regards to our front-list. And today, you'll be asked which books you'd like to push from your departments and how much of the budget you'd like to spend on promoting each title."
Mr. Evans suddenly entered the room as I spoke, turning the head of every woman at the table.
He was dressed in an impeccable three-piece navy blue suit and matching tie. And the diamonds in his newest designer watch gleamed against the room's soft light.
His beautiful eyes met mine as I continued my short introduction, and for a split second, I was reminded of how utterly gorgeous and captivating he was.
His face was flawlessly sculpted with piercing green eyes that pinned me to the spot any time we were alone. His lips looked as if they were handcrafted for kissing, and his soft looking blonde hair was always cut low enough for a woman to run her fingers through it.
And the way his suits fit over his muscles, consistently invaded my dreams more times than I cared to admit.
When I was finished talking, he stared at me...giving me a familiar look he gave me from time to time.
One I still had yet to figure out.
It was a cross between the way he looked in my fantasies when he was burying his head between my thighs, and when he was asking me to stay late after work.
A look that said he may not be as horrible of a boss as I often made him out to be.
"You can take your seat now, Miss Jones," Mr. Evans said. "Unless you'd like us to spend the rest of this two-hour meeting staring at you."
Fantasy over...
I sat down in my chair, but I only halfway listened as he went around the room and condescendingly questioned the staff members one by one, requesting client novel updates, publications schedules and budgeting concerns.
And as he directed his venom at the staff member next to me, I stared at his mouth of perfection.
Then I discreetly pulled out my phone under the table and sent Santana an email.
Subject: I Wonder If He Eats Pussy...
I'm currently staring at his mouth as he's...surprise, surprise...being an utter jerk and telling the staff all the things he wants them to redo, and the thought just crossed my mind. San, his lips are beyond incredible and if he could keep them shut he'd be A LOT sexier. Hence, I'm wondering if he ever puts them to use behind closed doors...
Your bestie,
Mercedes
PS—If he tells me I was one minute or a mere two minutes late one more time...
Her response was immediate.
Subject: Re: I Wonder If He Eats Pussy...
Probably not. If he's anything like you say, he'd probably more of a taker in the bedroom. I mean, I'm sure he's a good taker, but I can't see a hot-shot guy like him using his tongue for anything other than sarcasm.
Your bestie,
Santana
PS—Why haven't you poisoned his breakfast yet?
"Miss Jones?" Mr. Evans' deep voice made me look up from my phone.
"Yes?"
"The morning meeting is over now. Feel free to leave my boardroom with everyone else."
I bit my tongue and stood up, forcing a smile as I headed towards the door.
"Oh and Miss Jones?" He walked over to me before I stepped into the hallway.
"Yes?"
"You were about to leave without your files for our Friday meeting. I'm pretty sure you'll need them if you plan on doing your assigned work between now and then." He handed me my massive binder. "You're welcome."
With that, I rolled my eyes and stepped out into the hallway.
'Insufferable jackass!'
So, I wasn't going to post anything for a few more days, since over the weekend I lost two relations to Covid. A mother and daughter. They were distant relatives but we were very close. The mother passed on Saturday and the daughter on Sunday.
Sleep in peace, dear Roslyn and Karon...
Stay safe friends!