A/N: Technically, this is just another part of my Porn–Series, though I have to admit it isn't as spicy and straight to the point as I would have liked. It still has a little too much plot and story, but well. This is also less clichéd and stereotypical as planned, but I had this idea a few weeks back and figured it could fit into my ongoing series. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but got a little longer than expected and then I also kind of liked my storyline a little too much. PWP was never my strong trait. But before I could turn this into a long multi-chapter and less sleazy, I reigned myself in and cut it short at 2 chapters! I am a little proud of myself. I know you won't LOL

Enjoy!

Letting out a sigh, I stared at my rather empty screen. I had been doing so for probably a good hour. Or maybe ten minutes. Who knows? Supposedly, I was tasked doing something that did neither include staring nor an empty screen. I was supposed to go through E-Mails that dated years back to find a mistake someone who probably no longer worked here, did and was now threatening to halt contract negations for my current boss. Who, by the way, was hot. Like, majorly hot and handsome.

He wore suits all day, every day. And let me tell you, Carlos Manoso, in suits, in front of your very nose every day was an image you never wanted to go without again. That man was B-U-I-L-T and no amount of clothes could hide that fact. I was almost certain he wasn't even trying to look hot, appealing and like sex personified, which was even worse, since he just looked good, period. Without trying too hard, or trying at all. He was as close to a book-boyfriend in the real world as you could probably manage to find.

As well as grumpy and kind of non-verbal. He was a man of very few words and usually expected you to understand his entire message when all he said was 'Yo'. Obviously, he usually said a few more words than that, but trust me, there weren't that many.

If you overlooked the basically non-existing communication and sometimes the rough tone and almost bark-like orders, my job was actually not that bad. I was ridiculously overpaid for the little amount of work I did, but I was certainly smart enough to not voice that concern. As Carlos Manoso's assistant, I spent most of my days answering the phone and planning his work-day, scheduling meetings and very rarely I even get to bark at someone myself. Not that I did this often or enjoyed it particularly. Well, I did whenever I could bark at Joyce, but she was pretty much the only exception.

Since additional work around here was not that plenty, mainly because Carlos Manoso liked efficiency and therefore employed people that were just that -the exception once again was Joyce- being needed on some project or helping someone to meet a deadline was rarely the case. Staring at the attractiveness that was Carlos Manoso was only working for so long before someone might notice for real or things moved into creepy territory. So, I found a hobby that also turned into an additional income. I wrote fiction. Short fiction. And mainly steamy, kinky, hot fiction, where my male characters might maybe resemble my boss. Sue me!

I had published four books so far and while they wouldn't make any important bestseller lists, they generated a significant amount of traffic and money. Enough for a proper rainy-day account, anyway.

Since my desk was directly facing Carlos' office and he had glass doors that made me watch his every move, I was free to type away and be aware when I needed to switch to something less private and more job-related. I wasn't entirely certain what my boss thought I did all day, especially seeing as he probably knew how busy, or not-busy, I was often enough. But if he didn't ask questions, I certainly wouldn't provide answers. And even if he was to ask, my last resort would be the truth and admitting I write what was technically considered porn while on the clock. Nope. That had the word redundancy written all over it. In big, bold, red letters. All capitals.

So, I typed in silence, being slightly amazed at myself for how productive I seemed today, and kept a close eye on my boss, pacing his office and seeming occasionally annoyed with something.

"Stephanie, I just sent you an E-Mail with the signed contracts for our latest deal. Forward it to HR and Sales as well as print of copy for me, would you?" he asked, and I just nodded, finding the E-Mail on top of my inbox. The clock indicated it was about 5 minutes until another workday came to an end, so I figured this would be my last task of the day. As requested, I forwarded the E-Mail to all appropriate departments and printed a copy for him, collecting it a second later from the printer behind me.

When I turned around and placed the printout on my desk, I saw Joyce in front of my desk, placing a parcel on it. A parcel which looked oddly familiar.

"I think I ordered that about four weeks ago," I just said, pointing towards it. She just smiled arrogantly at me and then rolled her eyes.

"Things take time," she just snarled and held a clipboard in my direction for me to sign.

"I am aware of that. As aware as I am about the fact that the shipping date on that label displays a date almost four weeks ago as well. So maybe not things take time, but you do."

"What do you want, Plum? It's here now, isn't it? So what are you complaining about?"

"I complain about nothing," I said and saw her nod almost triumphantly. "Mainly because I placed a second order on the company card and with the retailer itself, forgoing you and your entire department and had the parcel two days later. Typical case of work smarter, not harder," I shrugged and saw her fuming.

It was our ritual. She hated me as much as I hated her. If you asked me why, I wouldn't be able to explain. She was just one of these people who you instantly dislike upon seeing her. And she said probably the same about me. Or she hated me because I actually worked and didn't spend my day gossiping, something she was supposedly excellent at.

We kept going back and forth for a few moments, bickering and insulting each other when she finally left without taking the parcel back with her. Great, what was I supposed to do with that?

Carlos, supposedly ready to leave as much as I was, stepped to my desk, threw a bunch of papers in my tray for what needed to be done, grabbed his printed contract, which I handed him, and was out the door. I followed him a moment later after I had gotten rid of Joyce's parcel, grabbed my personal papers I had printed out earlier, and my coat.

Getting takeout on my way to my place, I had a busy night planned. I needed to go some more through my manuscript for my latest book, which I had started correcting earlier today at work. I also had gotten some spontaneous ideas for scenes things happening in the story that I wanted to implement. I had a weird writing process and usually started to write in the office, but brought the story together at home, going over details and making sure I wasn't contradicting myself somewhere along the way.

Just…when I pulled my papers from my tote, they didn't look like mine. They looked like …a contract. A contract which should be with someone else.

Oh…fuck!

While busy bickering with Joyce, I must have handed my boss the wrong papers, which meant, when I had his contract, he had my…latest chapter, which also was probably the spiciest one yet. Fuck. Oh, I was so fired for this. There was no coming back, no explanation, which made this less of a clusterfuck than what it was. Crap! Crap. Crap…

An hour had passed since I realized my mistake and I had checked my phone almost every minute, wondering whether I had received a message about my employment. When after three hours still no message appeared, I started really freaking. More relaxed people might have been able to work under the assumption that it hadn't been read yet, that the papers were in some trunk of a car, forgotten and safe until tomorrow morning. I wasn't one of these people. Mainly because I knew my luck, which was not the best. With my luck it wasn't just read by him but also two dozen more people because he was at a fundraiser or some company dinner and it came up. In whatever way that was supposed to work. It wasn't important. Hell, details didn't matter at this stage anymore, since… well… I was almost certain that by the end of tomorrow, this secretary/personal assistant/executive receptionist was fired. No doubt about it.

Eventually I dragged my tired ass to bed, figuring there was nothing that could be done and the least I could do was show up refreshed and awake for my moment of being let go. Needless to say, I didn't feel like I slept at all, and my way to work was excruciating. As was the fact that I was in before my boss. Which never happened. And it was already 9am.

Oh god, maybe he was doing this through HR directly, not even wanting to look me in the eye and have people deal with me. It isn't as if the fact that my main male character was literally him was anything worth denying. I gave him tattoos which I knew for a fact were to be found on Carlos Manoso. Well, the ones I could catch a glimpse of, anyway. Or that the physical description didn't portrait the man perfectly. And by the length I used to describe his looks and imagined everything that wasn't visible to me, there was very little leeway for me to build a case that this wasn't creepy on a whole new level.

Opening my email program, there was nothing there. No email from HR and no email from my boss either. I dared to hope. But only for a moment, since Carlos Manoso marched into the office a second later, looking like he was going to war. I figured I might be the one he was going to war with, but was surprised when he stopped at my desk, seeming surprised himself, and just looked at me for a long, agonizing moment. Then he went on into his office. The way he had looked at me could only be described as odd. Like he was seeing me for the first time, despite the fact that I was working for that guy for the past four years. There was very little doubt that he hadn't read what I had so foolishly given him by mistake. Or had he just taken it? Or Joyce had given him? I was still a little hazy on the exact detail of how the mix-up happened, but I also figured it didn't matter.

Maybe it was my insanity, maybe it was the fact that my doom was impending, but I couldn't help but notice how immaculate he was looking today and how that suit of his seemed to cling to every inch of his impeccable body. Not that I knew anything about his body, per se. Just…my imagination liked to run crazy every once in a while. And let's be honest, you didn't just look gorgeous, and all chiseled and brooding and didn't have a body to back it up. I also knew that he ran. Every morning a whole hour. And then he went to the gym. How did I know? Guys talk, especially his BFFs Bobby, head of research, Lester, head of Marketing and Sales and Tank, head of HR. They happened to be his gym buddies and while they obviously didn't have a coffee party at my desk each day, you hear things every once in a while. And for the rest there's the rumor mill and gossip, which makes it even up here, to the top floor.

"Stephanie, if you have a moment, come into my office," I heard something that could be described as a bark from his office. His request pulled me effectively out of my thought and right back into the present and the possibility that this was it, this was the moment I'd get fired.

"You called?" I asked, stepping into his office a second later, trying to go along the nonchalant route. Maybe I was being paranoid. Looking at him, and seeing a paper that had in bold letter the title of my current of fiction popped any nonchalant bubble I might have believed in until now.

"Take a seat," he commanded or suggested, pointing towards a guest chair in front of his massive desk. "Do you like your job? Working for me?" he asked, and I wondered for a second how to actually answer that? Was this a rhetorical question before he let me go?

"I…um…yes," I replied, uncertain. It wasn't a lie. I liked working for him and I also liked my job. It just got occasionally a bit boring. But he didn't need to know that as such.

"You realize that amongst all the companies I own, there's also a publishing house as well?"

"I…do," I replied, cautiously. What was his angle? It seemed like a very weird setup to telling me that my services were no longer needed.

"So, is this you telling me you want a change in career?" he asked, holding up my papers. "Though, from what I gathered and could find, it seems like you don't need the services of Manoso Publishing to help you."

"I… can explain," I rushed as a reply, not sure how to actually explain anything. I mean, it was pretty straightforward. And very little room for misinterpretation. Instead of interrupting me, like you'd expect and some harsh 'Save your explanation', he didn't say anything. Carlos just leaned back in his plush chair, looking at me expectantly, and didn't say a single word. He just nodded.

Fuck. Why did I have to say that? What was there to explain? It was exactly what it looked like. I was bored at work and instead of browsing porn sites like my male counter parts would maybe revert to, I actually wrote porn. Not sure what was actually worse from a company's point of view.

"I...I…needed the money," I started and couldn't think of anything better. Sure, I could have started with 'I'm sorry' or anything that showed regret, but no, I rather went with a money-angel. And it wasn't as if that was ever the truth. He knew as well as I did now much money he paid me monthly, and it wasn't small. So, unless I needed to support a drug habit or any other form of addiction, that excuse was one of the worst. And it isn't like I made millions with my writings. Judging by the way he looked at me, Carlos was buying my lousy excuse, as much as I was certain about it. "Okay, maybe… I didn't. I just… I can't explain it, okay? I just scribbled something down one day and somehow scribbled some more once I was home and then some more when a meeting was going back and forth about the same topic we had debated about for the previous six meetings and I just… needed something to do." It was the truth. And also, technically, the plot of my first story, in which a meeting had turned incredibly boring until the main male and female character turned things around and each other on. It was more porn than story, born from a meeting when Joyce had assumed she was important and that anyone actually cared what she had to say and it was going back and forth between her and someone from accounting, I believe.

"Oh, since last night I know all your opinions about meetings, trust me," he just stated, and it was odd, seeing as the parts he had gotten were not from that story. Which meant….no, surely not. This had only been a lucky -or unlucky- guess, and he had surely not read anything else.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled quietly, and that probably was the first smart thing I had said since entering his office. I saw him nod, get up a moment, and I wondered whether this was the moment I'd loose my well-paid job. Maybe something I should have thought about sooner.

"Tell me, Stephanie," he started, moved around his desk and sat down on the edge closest to me. "Is there a reason why I seem to be the main male character in all five of your books?"

Would I have had a drink, I was almost certain I would have spat everything across his desk. Not only had he made the connection about who my male character might have been, he also had just confirmed that he had read all of my books. I believe this was the moment to admit I was royally screwed, and that there was definitely no way out of this. "And how is it that female character holds a certain resemblance to you?"

Oh, there was definitely no saving from this. Before I could come up with any sort of response, he went on, surprising me a moment later. "Is this your way of coming on to me?"

"I…what?" I asked, confused. Did he just really say that? Did Carlos Manoso think this was a scheme of mine? That I dropped my manuscript, or at least scenes from it, in his hand as if to say 'read it and find me'? "No. Definitely not. I mean, is there a certain resemblance to people in this very office? Yes. Do I find you incredibly hot? Yes. Do you probably not even notice me most of the days? Yes, as well. But this wasn't an elaborated plan or anything. It was a mix up and nothing else." I sputtered, almost in rage. While the whole thing was embarrassing, it was even worse if he thought this was a plan or me making a move.

"What makes you think I don't notice you?" he asked, seeming surprised and equally confused. "You work for me. I walk past your desk several times a day and am almost certain whenever I need a change of scenery that I look out of my office and see you. I can guarantee you I definitely notice you. All day, every day."

Okay then, this was definitely not what I had expected and somehow this 'I will so get fired' conversation didn't turn out quite like that. Or maybe that was still to come.

"I…um…thank you," I mumbled, uncertain what to actually say to that. He nodded again, seeming amused for no apparent reason, and pushed himself off his desk to walk back around and sit down in his chair. And then the most irritating thing happened, he gave me requests for today.

"Could you see if you can get Jake Haper from Harper Investments on the phone? And also, see if you could get me four tickets for the upcoming game of the Knicks. There's also an invitation for some gallery opening of a distant friend of my mother somewhere. See if you can somehow get me out of that, will you?" And that was it. I was dismissed. Looks like I had a job for at least another day.

Before he could change his mind, I got up and started on his requests. No surprise, within an hour, I had it all completed. That would be the time for me to actually get back to my hobby, if these were normal circumstances. But, no. For today, I was going to be a model-employee and doing only company-business on my computer. My cellphone, however, was a whole different story.

I am not entirely certain how I managed to make my day go by as fast as it did, but somehow, I kept busy and when the clock struck 5pm, I was ready to go. So was my boss, as it seemed.

"I forgot to return this to you," he said in passing, placing my writing on the desk, and then he was gone. I crammed the papers in my tote bag, the second time in as many days and left as well. Maybe instead of takeout, I should grab a bottle of wine and call that dinner. After the day I had, it only seemed fair. So, without much further ado, I got a bottle of what I figured was a good wine, went home and poured a generous glass.

Taking the wine with me to my couch, I found my newly retrieved papers and got to work, planning to go through them and noting things that needed to change. Only…someone had beaten me to it. I was staring at pages and pages of my writing and red comments and notes there had certainly not come from me.

It didn't take a genius to know who this could possibly be. I knew that handwriting well enough, seeing as I found plenty of post-its at my desk throughout the timeframe of four years. Carlos Manoso, my boss, had taken it upon himself to proof-read the manuscript of my book he had been dealt mistakenly.