Thank you all for your kind words. I appreciate every single one of them. Much love to you and yours.

I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Naughty Boss.

MERCEDES...THE ASSISTANT

Friday was supposed to be the best day of the week...that one day that stood between the final hours of the work week...and freedom.

But Mr. Evans has managed to make it my worst day for over a year.

He always insist on meeting in the executive boardroom at three o'clock until seven o'clock. And then he always sits at the head of the table...which would be normal if he was holding a meeting...but we are always the only two people in the room and there are always several seats between us.

Today, the sexy jerk was wearing my favorite suit of his...a three piece black one with a navy blue tie for accent.

His cufflinks, monogrammed 'SE' were gleaming underneath the room's bright light. And I swear, the way HE was looking at me made me think he wanted to sex me.

"Do you plan on staring at me for this entire meeting or would you finally like to start?" he asked.

He raised his eyebrow.

'Bastard...'

"I'd like to start," I gritted out.

"Good." He opened his folder. "What did you think of the latest Grisham?"

"Absorbing." I flipped through my notes. "Reminiscent of what made me fall in love with his writing during his 'A Time to Kill' era."

"I felt the same." He wrote down a few words. "Do you think it's front list worthy for the next quarter?"

"It's John Grisham, that shouldn't even be a question," I said. "Although, in a perfect world, I'd say no. But only because his next book is far more commercial and I think we could do a lot more for that one."

His lips briefly curved up into a smile, but he didn't let it remain.

"Which romance novel would you like to recommend, Miss Jones?"

"One second..." I flipped through another page of my notes. "Castrating Her Boss."

"Excuse me?" His eyes met mine. "What book did you just say?"

"Casting Her Boss," I relied, with an innocent look on my face.

Her narrowed his eyes at me before writing down my suggestion.

"Anything in particular that stood out? Favorite parts?"

"Probably when the asshole boss redeems himself and stops treating the heroine like shit..." I muttered under my breath, but then I cleared my throat. "The realism was great. The heroine was a movie director and I learned a lot about Hollywood while reading."

"What about your Young Adult selection?"

He continued to go through all twelve genres I'd been assigned to read, asking follow-up questions here or there, but as usual, he never let our conversation go off topic or get remotely personal.

When we finished the book recommendations, we transitioned into the month's e-book revenue and promotional adjustments, and by the time he decided that I was free to go it was nine o' clock.

Nine. O. Clock.

"Mr. Evans?" I said as I slipped into my coat.

He didn't answer. He was still writing, looking down at his paper.

"Mr. Evans?" I repeated with a little more bite in my voice, enough that made him finally look up at me.

"Yes?"

I hesitated, hating the fact that something as simple as his eyes meeting mine was enough to make my panties wet.

"This is the fifteenth Friday in a row that you've kept me past six.

"No, this is the fifteenth Friday in a row that the work has kept you past six. If you had completed more of it throughout the week, then maybe you'd be able to leave earlier."

"Regardless," I said, keeping my voice firm. "I'm going to need to leave at six o'clock on Fridays like everyone else here so I can enjoy a full weekend. If I'm not out of here by six, I'm going to deduct time from my Monday arrival and start time."

He set his pen down and leaned back in his chair.

"Come again?"

"Like today." I picked up my purse and slung it over my shoulder. "Today I'm leaving at nine o'clock, which is three hours passed acceptable...as per section 83B in the company's handbook. So, on Monday, I'll be arriving three hours past my normal time...which should put me at around eleven o'clock. I will also..."

"You're going to arrive here at eight o'clock." He cut me off, his voice deeper than usual. "And you're going to stay in these Friday meetings until we get the work done, because that's what you get paid very generously to do."

"No, I'm not." I wasn't backing down. "I'll see you at eleven o'clock on Monday, Mr. Evans."

"Be sure to bring a pen to sign off on your write-up papers, because first of all," he said, looking me up and down. "You're not like everyone else here...you're salaried, not hourly. And as per your contract and section 89B in the company's handbook, Friday meetings can go as late as eleven o'clock depending on the season. So technically, I've been doing you a favor since the day you started here." He paused. "You're welcome."

"Furthermore," he said, "If you want to talk about following rules to the letter, we can easily discuss how you've been using my credit card to buy things for yourself. Things like overpriced gifts and breakfasts at Dean & DeLuca, unnecessary office supplies from the most expensive stores on Fifth Avenue, and a bunch of other personal things I don't recall ever authorizing. I believe any other boss would say that that's technically stealing. And that's an immediate ground for termination is it not?"

He slowly stood up and walked over to me, making my heart race a mile a minute.

"We could also get really technical and discuss how you use your assigned town-car to drive you around to all types f non-work related places on the weekend with your best friend. Santana is her name, correct?"

My face has never been so hot. And I struggled to find a single word.

But before I could come up with a rebuttal, Mr. Evans had stepped so close our chests were touching.

Then he slipped his hand into my coat pocket and pulled out my cell phone, hitting 'stop' on my record conversation app...clearly realizing I was hoping to catch his asshole ways on tape for future use.

Smiling, he returned the phone to me and said,

"See you Monday, Miss Jones. Eight o'clock."

Two hours later...

"So, let me get this straight." Santana poured me a glass of wine as I sat in her condo. "He literally just emailed you and told you that he has changed his mind and you need to come into work at six o'clock on Monday morning? And you think it's because you complained about leaving late today?"

"That's definitely why." I tossed back the wine in one gulp. "It's like he purposely pushes back at me or does things to get under my skin because he feels like it. He knows exactly how to piss me off. And I still can't read into him for some reason. I don't understand why."

"He's an asshole, that's why." She poured me another glass. "I told you to start keeping track of all those overbearing task emails he sends to you. Start highlighting the ones where he's at his rudest and least professional."

"That won't work," I said, quickly downing the fresh glass and reaching for the bottle. "He's the ultimate professional in communication. Besides, you can't interpret his tone from an email. And no judicial team in their right mind would read anything into those short sentences he sends me."

"Well, have you tried recording your meetings like I told you to weeks ago? Guiding him into a conversation that makes him say something questionable?"

I shook my head, neglecting to tell her that he'd easily out-maneuvered that attempt mere hours ago.

"My only hope is a new job. I'm just going to stick it out until one of those other places finally call me."

"You know, you could just quit tomorrow and use up all the leave time you've acquired. You've got what? Six weeks paid for all those crazy hours of overtime you've worked?"

"Seven."

"See! And you've never even used a sick day! You could at least use some of those. And while you're at it..."

I tuned her out, nodding along as she suggested endless options, but I knew I'd never be able to follow any of those to the letter.

San was far too removed from corporate culture and she didn't understand the inner-working politics or the bigger picture.

If Mr. Evans was any other boss, I would happily take sick leave any time he got under my skin, but if I started doing that now, I wouldn't have any left.

Not only that, but he seemed like the type of asshole who would actually send someone to check and see if I really was sick.

The type who would actually attempt to get even if he found out I was lying.

"You know what?" I said to Santana. "I'm just going to apply to ten times as many jobs, and work super hard while avoiding him as much as possible. No matter how big of a jerk he is to me, I'll remain professional and never let him see me crack until I can yell at him when I finally leave."

"Okay, Chica." She didn't look convinced, but she smiled. "Good for you. Worst case scenario, at least you still get to have an up close seat to one of the most gorgeous men in the city and you can continue to use his face for your fantasies until you quit. How big did you say his dick is?"

"Huge."

I was more than certain it was. I'd witnessed it hard during a meeting here or there and I've witnessed him crossing and uncrossing his legs under the boardroom table.

"I'll be sure to take a more dedicated look at it before I leave."

"Please do. For both of our sakes." She turned on the television. "Okay, your boss no longer exists for the rest of our weekend. Let's talk about something else. ASAP."

Stay safe!