Come Fly with Me: A Collection

by Whitney G.

  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.”

  “You couldn’t have,” Cynthia said. “They weren’t on his desk when I delivered his memos minutes ago. Maybe you’re imagining that you did it.”

  This bitch. “You’re right, Cynthia. Maybe I’m just imagining that I delivered his short list and coffee.”

  “Well, I’m not paying you to play make believe, Miss Lauren,” Preston slowly looked me up and down, turning me on against my will. “I would like the shortlist on my desk within the next half hour, and I would like my suits to stop being late every week. No other assistant has had these delivery issues as much as you.” He left the room.

  Cynthia headed to my door right after him, coughing. “Three months max.”

  I quickly rewrote the short list and made sure I placed it in Preston’s hand before leaving his office. I wasn’t completely sure, but I thought I felt him staring at my ass as I walked out.

  I overheard Cynthia laughing as I returned to my office, and an idea suddenly hit me. Cynthia and the stylist were best friends. I’d seen them laughing over lunch on several occasions, and they always glared at me whenever I walked by.

  No wonder his suits are always late. They're trying to sabotage me.

  Livid, I pulled up my job description and called George to make sure I was interpreting the “chief of staff” clause correctly. When he assured me that I was, I took the elevator to the lobby and waited for her to arrive with this week's wardrobe.

  “Good evening, Miss Lauren.” She smiled at me as she rolled the rack inside at exactly seven o’clock. “I was telling the driver that it’s been great to finally have a consistent EA around here. I was also telling him how it’s unfortunate all the designers and tailors are so late these days, you know? Must be a red-carpet season.”

  “Save it,” I said. “Save all of your bullshit for someone who will believe it.”

  “What?” Her eyes went wide.

  “Don’t play dumb.” I rested my hand on the rack. “Do you know that as Mr. Parker’s executive assistant, that I have the power to hire and fire his auxiliary staff without asking for his input? That you are a part of that auxiliary staff?”

  “No.” Her face went white. “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, now you know. Nonetheless, since I'm not petty like you, and I'm not allowed to fire your best friend upstairs, I'm going to do you a favor.” I glared at her. “I'm going to give you another chance. From here on out, you’re going to deliver his suits in the morning, not the evening. You're going to allow me to look them over and approve them, so we can see him in something other than Tom Ford all the time, since you strike me as the type of person who probably has a payoff with a clerk at that store.”

  She looked away from me, confirming my theory.

  “I thought so. As of today, you're going to be the best stylist and runner he's ever had because you're not going to make his executive assistant, who is levels above you, look bad anymore. Are we clear?”

  She nodded.

  “I need you to say it.”

  “I won't make you look bad anymore.”

  “Thank you.” I reorganized the suits on the racks, moving the ones I liked best to the front. “I heard about the employee betting pool, so how much longer do you think I’ll last?”

  She looked down and shook her head. “I'd rather not say.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “If you're bold enough to attempt to sabotage me, you can at least tell me how long you think I’ll last here.”

  “One more month. Three months tops.”

  Six Months Later

  Seven

  Preston

  Hiring Tara Lauren is officially the worst thing I've ever done.

  “Hiring Tara Lauren is officially the best thing you've ever done, Preston.” George passed me a binder. “At least, she was, and I really appreciated her while she lasted.”

  “Um hmmm.” I flipped through a report and pretended to read.

  I hadn't been able to get my daily work completed up to my standards since Tara started working for me. Everything about her was a distraction, and I'd lost count of how many times I'd envisioned her bent over my desk with her ass up, begging me to fuck her deeper.

  The hardest working executive assistant I’d ever hired, she was good at her job, and with each passing day, she became even better. Despite her lack of hotel experience, she’d caught up in no time. As opposed to my other assistants who simply waited for me to tell them what to do, she was always ten steps ahead of me. She studied all the tiers of my hotel brand to the letter, and she could recite the mantras and amenities better than some of the people who’d been working for me for years. She was even changing the culture for my top staff—firing and hiring people who she thought would help me best.

  Still, there were three things about her that drove me absolutely insane. One, she had a smart-ass mouth, and unfortunately, the sarcasm that dripped from her seductive lips only made me want her more. Two, she couldn't whisper worth a damn. At least she acted like she couldn't whenever she was muttering about how much she hated me under her breath. How much she thought I was an “asshole.” Three, she had a tendency to refrain from wearing
panties under some of her dresses, and I couldn't help but notice every time. On those days, I insisted she come into my office every half hour for small tasks, so I could get a front seat view.

  “Her hiring came at a pretty good time, too.” George’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “Her performance gives me hope that we’ll be able to really nail someone who’ll last nine months or even a year next time. She really was good.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” I looked up at him. “Why are you saying that she ‘was’ a good hire? As in past tense?”

  “Because I just got a call from The Greenwich Firm—you know, the place where most of your previous executive assistants end up going. He asked me if I could give her a good reference before she came in for a final interview today.”

  “And what did you say?” I clenched my jaw, livid that she’d gone on a job interview behind my back.

  “Well, I told him I’d have to call him back since I was heading up here to meet with you, but I’m pretty certain that it’ll be a great reference. Unless I’m missing something?”

  “You are missing something,” I said. “Miss Lauren has a non-compete clause in her contract.” In addition to some other clauses I’ve added …

  “So? Your other assistants did, too. It was never a problem when they wanted to leave.”

  “Well, it is now, so don’t give her a reference. Ever. If they ask you why you can’t give one, have them call me.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” I said. “I think it’s time that we start implementing all the terms in our employee contracts. We need to set the tone and make sure people aren’t using this as some type of launching pad for another job from now on.”

  He shut his folder. “Do you want me to tell her that she’s wasting her time by going on all these interviews, then?”

  “How many has she had?”

  “At least five that I know of, so far.”

  What the fuck? “Five, George?”

  He shrugged. “I get what you’re saying about the new enforcement, but maybe she didn’t read the fine print of her contract.”

  “The non-compete clause isn’t in the fine print,” I said. “It’s on the second page in bold black ink, along with a lot of other basic terms. I’m sure she read it.”

  “Her interview is at three o’clock, Preston.” He looked at his watch. “It wouldn’t kill you to tell her that she doesn’t need to go across town for it.”

  “She never told me she had an interview, so actually it would kill me.”

  He rolled his eyes and stood up. “Thank you for reminding me how petty you can be.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “I’ll be back in an hour with the Von Strum files,” he said. “It’ll take us all night to go over them, so I’m going to get some lunch.”

  He left the room, and I immediately sent Tara an email.

  * * *

  Subject: New Meeting Today

  Miss Lauren,

  I will be going over the Von Strum files with George at three o’clock today. This is the most important deal I’m about to pursue, and you’re required to help.

  Preston Parker

  CEO & Owner of Parker International

  * * *

  Her response didn’t come back immediately like normal.

  I refreshed my inbox seconds later. No answer.

  I waited a full five minutes and scrolled down to her name in my phone.

  Before I could hit call, she walked into my office wearing an olive colored dress that perfectly hugged her curves, with a pair of nude colored heels that made me envision her wrapping her legs around my waist.

  She’s definitely not wearing panties today …

  “I’m finished with everything on today’s short list,” she said, placing a folder on my desk. “I’ve added some things I think you should say during our first meeting with the Von Strum family. Two of those words are thank you. I’m also preparing to set up your upcoming travel notices to your closest friends and family, but I can’t seem to find a list.”

  “That’s because I don’t have any family members to update.”

  “No one?”

  “No one.”

  “Okay, then …” She looked as if she wanted to say something more, but she held back. “I also finished reading over the proposed amenities list for the new Harrison Hotel and gave you my thoughts. Is there anything else you need me to do before I take a late lunch?”

  “I sent you an email.”

  “I didn’t open it.”

  “Now would be a good time to do so, Miss Lauren.”

  “I think later would be better, Mr. Parker,” she said, mocking me. “Is there anything else, except that, that you need me to do?”

  “I would like some more coffee.”

  “I’ve already sent someone out for that.”

  “I would like my schedule updated to reflect all of next week’s meetings with Sonoma. I want it color coded.”

  “I did that this morning. Anything else you’d like?”

  I would like you to cancel that goddamn interview.

  “No.” I tapped my fingers against the desk, thinking of all the ways I was going to handle this shit over the next few weeks. “Have a great late lunch.”

  She smiled and headed to the door. “I will.”

  Eight

  Tara

  A few days later

  “Miss? Miss, your coffee is ready.” The Sweet Seasons barista made me look up from my phone.

  “Thank you.” I grabbed it and took a sip. Then I shook my head and gave it back. “This is one hundred and twenty degrees at best. I need it to be one hundred and fifty-five. Oh, and I can barely taste the caramel in that, can you add a bit more?”

  “I’ll remake it right away,” she said. “Are you still buying the coffee for everyone who is currently in the store like you’ve done all month?”

  “Absolutely.” I handed her Preston’s credit card. I waited until she remade his cup, and then I ordered a fresh cup of my own before getting back into my town car.

  I was shocked to have an empty errand list this morning, and I was arriving to work an entire hour early so I could nap at my desk. I wasn’t sure why I ever thought that this job would get any easier to handle, why I thought I would ever get used to this man’s demands, but I was clearly wrong.

  Last night, Preston called me at midnight to nitpick my report for over an hour, and although I was pissed at his intrusion on my personal time, I’d shamelessly held my vibrator against my clit the entire time he spoke. Even though I was currently using him as a muse for sex every night (since he’d ruined my social life), that was the only positive thing I could say about him. Well, that, and the meaner he was, the more jobs I applied to during my breaks.

  Why haven’t I gotten a single job offer from any of my final interviews yet? It’s not adding up …

  “We’re here, Miss Lauren,” the driver said, opening the back door for me. “Do you need me to do anything for you?”

  “Can you take this coffee up to Mr. Parker’s office, please?” I handed it to him. “Set it on the glass warming tray we bought him yesterday. Make sure it’s set at his favorite temperature.”

  “Of course.” He laughed.

  I made it upstairs to my floor and stopped dead in my tracks.

  “Michael?” I spotted my boyfriend sitting behind Cynthia’s desk. “Michael, is that you?”

  “Long time, no see, huh?”

  “Not exactly. I called you the other night.”

  “At three in the morning, Tara.” He shook his head. “Have you not noticed our new relationship pattern over the past few months, or are you okay with how it’s going?”

  “I have noticed.”

  “Oh, really?” He crossed his arms. “So, why don’t you find it strange that I have to come to your job extra early, just to catch a glimpse of you?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t
respond to that. He just looked me up and down—admiring my fitted black and grey dress, then he looked around the lobby.

  “I stopped by your new apartment before coming here. It’s one hell of an upgrade from where you were before, you know?” He smiled. “What’s the monthly rent on that place? Five thousand?”

  “Nine thousand, but I’m only paying four. I get a huge discount because of my boss.”

  “Yeah, well, speaking of your boss, can we—”

  My cell phone sounded, and as if I was on alert, I answered the call before he could finish his sentence.

  “This is Tara Lauren of Parker International speaking,” I said.

  “Miss Lauren, this is Daniella. We have Mr. Parker’s suits ready for a nine o’clock pickup as you requested. As you know, I’m only coming in that early for this reason, so will your representative be on time?”

  “Yes, she will be.”

  “She’d better be.” She ended the call, and before I could put my phone away, it rang again.

  “This is Tara Lauren of Parker International speaking,” I answered.

  “Miss Lauren, this is Raymond Oliver with Buvette. I apologize for calling you so early, but I saw that you recently changed Mr. Parker’s breakfast order. I wanted to make sure that it was correct before asking the chef to make it.”

  “It’s correct,” I said. “One almond croissant with butter, two crepes, and whatever egg dish was featured in GQ last week. He wants to try it, but don’t overdo it on the pepper. His doctor doesn’t want him to have too much of that.”