Thank you for your continued interest and support. I appreciate it. I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Naughty Boss.
MERCEDES...THE ASSISTANT
I slumped in my office chair minutes after returning Mr. Evans' Jaguar to the garage.
I didn't bother bringing any of his dry cleaning inside, though. If he wanted those suits, he could go down to the garage and get them himself.
Now, more than ever, there was a huge part of me that wanted to pack up all of my things and never come back.
Yet, I knew I couldn't leave this place without personally telling him to go fuck himself first.
I'd more than earned that.
When I had finally let go of enough anger, I picked up my desk phone and dialed Santana's number.
"Hey there!" She answered on the first ring. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Not at all." I sighed. "I don't know if I'm going to make it to the two-month mark anymore, San. I really don't."
"You can do this," she said. "This is just one bad day. And I'm sure by the time you get home later you'll feel differently. Don't let him get to you. Ever." There was a sudden loud banging noise in her background. "Ugh! Let me call you right back, Chica. The neighbors are being ridiculous with their music today."
She ended the call before I could even say goodbye, and seconds later, I heard a ping from my inbox, telling me she'd sent me one of her usual "Stay Calm" emails.
I opened my email expecting to see something inspiring, but the second I saw the subject line and the sender, my jaw dropped to the floor.
Subject: Re: My Boss.
No, you haven't already told me that you hate your boss today, but seeing as though you've sent me this email directly, I know now...
Yes, I did ask you to pick up my dry cleaning the second you arrived at work to day. Where is it, by the way? And I did tell you to take my Jaguar to the car wash and pick up my THOUSAND-dollar watch. Thank you for taking five hours to do something that could've been accomplished in two.
Another thing, you don't have to wait two months from now to see the look on my face when you tell me you're quitting. I'm standing outside your office at this very moment. Open the door!
No comment on your fantasies, although I highly doubt they're long over.
Your boss,
Samuel
PS...Yes. My day is definitely going far better than yours...
Oh. My. God!
I felt all the blood draining from my face. And I swear I didn't breathe for over a minute.
I shook my head in utter disbelief, refusing to accept that I'd sent my rant to Mr. Evans instead of Santana.
I refreshed my computer screen again and again, hoping that this was some type of joke.
But it wasn't.
Of all the stupid things to do...
A loud and sudden knock came to my door and my heart nearly fell out of my chest. But I didn't get up.
I didn't make a single move.
The knock came again, much louder this time, and this time I heard Mr. Evans' voice.
"Miss Jones?"
He knocked once more.
I slowly stood up from my desk and looked through the peephole. He was looking down at his watch, his face still impossibly perfect and flawless.
But his full lips were pressed into an angry flat line.
As if he could tell I was right there, he looked up from his watch and stared through the peephole, letting his eyes meet mine.
I jumped back from the door and considered my options...
I could open the door and listen to whatever he had to say, or I could leave through my office's side exit door...
It was a no-brainer.
I shut down my computer, grabbed my coat and my laptop. Then I rushed out of my side door and took the freight elevator down to where my town car was waiting.
All of this I did without chancing a glance back to see if Mr. Evans had come through the door. I really didn't want to see those angry green eyes of his.
My driver eyed me suspiciously as I literally ran through the garage. And he didn't protest when I begged him to hurry up and get me home.
When we arrived, I was so far removed, I didn't wait for him to open the door for me or wish me a good day. I practically jumped out of the car and rushed straight into my building, making a beeline for Santana's place.
"San?" I knocked on her door. "Santana!"
"Coming!" She swung open her door immediately and pulled me inside. "No need to bang on my door like that, woman. What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I think I just got fired."
"What? How do you think you just got fired? You either did or you didn't."
"Okay, okay. I haven't been fired...yet, but I'm pretty sure Mr. Evans going to fire me. He's definitely going to fire me. Oh god, oh god, oh god..."
"Mercedes, slow down." She placed her hands on my shoulders. "Speak English, slowly. Very slowly."
"I accidentally sent him one of my complaining emails...a complaining email that was one hundred percent meant for you."
"Was it worse than the one you sent me yesterday morning?"
"Way worse. I mentioned my fantasies about his penis in this one...I called him an asshole and said I used to fantasize about letting him bend me over his desk...among other things. Other awful things."
Santana's face turned red, and she opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of my phone ringing caught both of our attention.
I pulled it out of my pocket and damn near dropped it at the sight of Mr. Evans' name on my screen.
Unsure of what to do, I tossed it onto her couch.
"Is that him?" she asked.
I could only nod.
"Do you plan on answering it?"
"No." I stared at it until it went to voicemail. But then it rang again.
And again...
Rolling her eyes, Santana picked up my phone and hit answer before tossing it to me.
"Hello?" I answered, my voice was basically a whisper.
"Hello, Miss Jones." The sound of my name falling from his mouth made me take a seat. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"
I shook my head as if he could see me.
"Are you there, Miss Jones?" His deep voice sent warmth through my body. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"
"Not really..."
"Good. Where are you right now?"
"Oh, um..." I looked to San for help, but she was smiling, looking as if this shit was actually funny. "I just ran down to the copy room."
"So, you're still in the building?"
"You could say that."
"I saw you getting into your town car about half an hour ago." There was a smile in his voice. "You're definitely not in the building right now."
"Yes, well...is there something you need from me right now?"
"There is actually," he said, his voice went even deeper and sexier. "I came to your office this afternoon, because I needed to discuss something private and very important that pertains to you and me, but I missed you somehow. So I need you to come into work an hour early tomorrow so we can have this private and important conversation. Can you do that?"
I nodded, slightly turned on by the way he'd said the word private.
"Miss Jones," he repeated. "Can you do that?"
"Yes..."
"Good. I'll see you in the morning."
He ended the call, and a large glass of wine was immediately thrust into my hand via Santana.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
What the hell did I get myself into?
Santana tried her best to distract me from today's epic mistake by making me watch terrible Netflix shows, and letting me crash on her couch for hours.
But it was no use.
I woke up twice in the middle of the night, hoping this all was some type of bad dream.
And for a moment, it seemed like it really was, until I checked my phone and saw that Mr. Evans had sent me a message minutes before midnight.
Subject: Tomorrow
Arrive one hour earlier than normal. Don't forget. I won't.
Samuel Evans
CEO, Evans Publishing
Stay safe!