Boss

by Scarlett Ross

  Aunt Colleen is so taken aback she knocks over her coffee cup, and the hot liquid splashes out onto Chelsea’s wrap dress. Chelsea shrieks, and Aunt Colleen begins to howl for Riff Raff to come with cold towels immediately. Manuela comes out of the kitchen to see what the commotion is about and visibly rolls her eyes as Chelsea begins to sob about third-degree burns and scarring.

  “You bitch! You forgive me! You pity me? What a joke coming from the most hated woman in New York. You don’t even deserve pity. You deserve nothing but to end up in the gutter, you trashy whore. I hate you, Ainslee, and no amount of self-righteous spewing of words will ever change that. Just you wait, you’re going to get yours. And I will be there front and center to enjoy every single second of your humiliation.”

  “Chelsea, again I forgive you. Aunt Colleen, I forgive you too. I pity you both because you don’t realize what you have. You can’t be happy with who you are as a person, so you tear everyone else around you down and deem them as weak. But thank you, your extreme animosity toward me since I walked in the door made me realize I am a lot stronger than I give myself credit for. I wish nothing but the best for you both, truly. After Friday, you won’t be plagued with the pariah anymore.” Taking a page from my mother’s book this time, I slide my Jackie O sunglasses on and glide out the door with as much grace as I can.

  Mr. Barrett stands waiting for me, and I go to him. This will the second and sadder order of business. “Miss Ainslee.” He opens the door, and I shake my head. He looks puzzled.

  “Mr. Barrett, thank you, sir. But I won’t be needing your services anymore. I can never express how grateful I am to you. I doubt I could have faced going into work every day without your reassurance. You are a kind man, and I will always be honored to have met you. But I’m capable of getting myself to the office on my own. The subway is only a block away.”

  “Miss Ainslee, I really admire your liberated attitude, but honestly, it would make me feel better if I could continue to escort you back and forth.”

  Shaking my head, I go to embrace him and kiss him on the cheek. He seems genuinely shocked and conflicted, but this isn’t about anyone but me now.

  “Miss Savannah, does she know of your new plans regarding transportation? She hasn’t reached out to me directly unless she was advised to let you make me aware of the change.”

  “Savannah does not know about the change of plans. If you see her, could you let her know I forgive her? And also, to return my call?”

  Mr. Barrett nods and steps back to allow me to pass, and I practically skip down the sidewalk. Self-reliance is a powerful drug, and I am high as a kite.

  Walking into the office feels different. Everything looks different, smells different. I smile at a few people, and oddly enough, they smile back. My mind starts to wonder if my isolation from the other employees of Monroe Enterprises was self-imposed. The elevator pings, and the ride to the thirty-eighth floor is undoubtedly the least stressful one I have endured. I feel like Tony Robbins has briefly inhabited my body. But caution also lets me know that despite my new outlook, the men will not be miraculously changed too. Stepping off the elevator, I proceed to my desk with extreme caution. The interns look up at me, and I give them a brief nod. All I get in return is the usual smirks and walking away the quiet chatter. However, this morning I am sure the topic of conversation is my perky demeanor and what possible drugs I’m taking.

  Jamison’s door is askew and surprise sets in. He’s never here before me. His calendar didn’t show any early morning meetings or calls. Deciding to continue my cautious stand, I knock briefly and more than a little quietly so as not to disturb him.

  “Come in.”

  I walk into his office, and he’s not anywhere to be seen. What is he? The Great and Powerful Oz? I distinctly heard him tell me to come in. He also had to know it was me knocking surely?

  “Um, Mr. Wells?”

  Silence. Where the hell is he? Panic sets in, and I start to worry that maybe he’s hurt. I hear a shower running, and I make it to the back of the office. Steam is pouring out from under the door, but other than the sound of the rainfall showerhead beating down it’s completely silent.

  “Mr. Wells? Jamison? Are you alright? Please answer me.”

  Crickets.

  Grabbing hold of the handle, I swing open the door. Jamison is standing there, in all his naked and wet glory. Water sluicing off his toned shoulders and arms, washing down to the abs and deep V of his perfectly sculpted torso and coming to rest in his bush of pubic hair with an enormous dick sticking out. He is watching me, watching me, watching him.

  “Ainslee? Did you need something?”

  “I . . . I called out for you several times but got no answer and was concerned.”

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  “You must have. I heard you say ‘come in’ when I knocked. I would never have come in otherwise.”

  “You may have heard someone say come in, but it certainly wasn’t me. Showers tend to be private matters, and I tend to do them alone, without the office being privy.”

  Okay, I know I have decided to be all Kumbaya since my talk with Dad last night, but I call bullshit. It was clearly Jamison who told me to enter, and he clearly wanted me to see him naked. Granted, I’m not complaining, but still, this just another of his games. Unlike the other men, he seems to enjoy making me want to want him but always in a way that seems fake. Like if I called his bluff and hopped in the shower, he would reject me. All talk and no action. He loves fucking my mind. But I’m betting he isn’t as interested in fucking my kitty.

  He turns off the shower, and I quickly retreat. I got enough of a peep show through the glass walls of the shower, I don’t need the up close and personal version.

  “I will just be at my desk if you should need me!”

  “Wait, I’m coming out.” Jamison comes out in a robe—thank God because the sight of that much penis this early would have made my day completely unproductive. He towel-dries his hair and moves to his desk chair.

  “Please sit.”

  I take a seat, and he sits. Wow, I think this is the first time I have seen him sit other than in a meeting. He’s always leaning or stretched out. It’s actually a little intimidating truth be told. But he’s still gorgeous with that wet hair and unshaven face. He definitely gets my heart racing. But today is a new day, and I’m here to work, be a dutiful assistant, learn as much as I can for personal growth, and not my revenge fantasy.

  “My father is coming into town this weekend. He’s bringing his latest girlfriend.”

  “Do you need me to make reservations for them at a hotel? Dinner reservations for the weekend or perhaps taking in a show?

  Jamison chortles. “They will be staying with me at my apartment. Dinner reservations for Friday at nine o’clock at a restaurant of your choosing. As long as it has a Michelin star and an impressive bar, dear old Dad will be happy and I frankly couldn't care less where we dine at. Dad will only want to drink, and from I hear, the new girlfriend doesn’t eat anything. As for a show, if Disney on Ice is playing, then by all means, since said girlfriend is younger than you.”

  I totally would go see Disney on Ice but refrain from saying that. I pick up a notepad from his desk and jot down a note about the restaurant.

  “My main issue is this. Dad always stays with me when he’s in town since he doesn’t maintain a permanent residence anywhere since he retired. He does, however, always bring in his latest little treat. The guest room closet was stocked with an impressive selection of clothing and shoes. However, shall we say a dalliance, I had a few months back decided to take the contents when she left in the middle of the night. Lesson learned, never let them spend the night, right?”

  I so want to angrily reply to his little comment but take the silent approach.

  “I haven’t had a need to replace anything until now. I may be the consummate shopper and male fashionista, but my knowledge of women’s clothing is limited at best.”

  “W
hy worry about the clothes when you’re just trying to get them off anyway, right?” Shit, I slipped, but my remark only earns me an approving grin.

  “I need you to go on Barney’s website and pick out ten to fifteen outfits with matching accessories and shoes. They all seem to be the same size and frame. Ironically you look a lot like his type. He may be a pathological womanizer, but he has great taste.”

  “I really don’t know much about fashion either. I’m a novice when it comes to accessorizing. Perhaps someone else would be better suited, or maybe even just have your father’s new girlfriend pick out a wardrobe for herself? No woman could resist a Barney’s shopping spree.”

  “Ainslee, you always look very stylishly dressed. Granted, that one pair of shoes you favor is getting a little worn, but you pull it off. I trust your choices. My week is fucking crazy, and the last thing I need is to spend half a day in a department store with a personal shopper picking out women’s clothes. Please, I need your help.”

  His words are way more shocking than the peep show from earlier. Jamison just said please and that he needed me all in one breath.

  “Okay, I’ll do it. What’s the address to have the clothes delivered, and what’s the budget?’

  “Thank you, Ainslee. I owe you one. Just have the clothes delivered here to the office and you sign for them. I will be out of the office every day this week during varied times, so it makes sense for you to receive the parcels. Here.” He reaches into his desk and hands me an American Express card. Jamison Wells, Monroe Enterprises is printed on it. A company card? To purchase personal items?

  “Um, this is a company card.”

  “I know. I left my Amex in a rental car last week, and it’s never resurfaced. Don’t worry, Sophia from accounting agreed to let me use my company card for expenses this week. I will reimburse the company from my next paycheck. Payroll has been instructed to autodraft the amount at the end of the week. No budget, just get what you think she will need.”

  His office phone rings and he picks it up. “Yes, I am handling it now, I just need to pull up the files. Give me a moment.” He moves to turn on his computer and looks at me expectedly.

  “I’ll take care of it today.”

  “Thanks again, Ainslee. You’re the best assistant I ever had.” He winks at me, and I roll my eyes. He’s incorrigible. But also sexy as hell when he’s wet.

  I plonk down at my desk and pull up the Barney’s website. There are definitely worse ways to spend your day then living vicariously through another. Jamison takes off shortly after noon, so I literally spend the whole day designing the most lush, fashionable, and trendy collection of clothes and shoes. I add a few fun scarves, handbags, and necklaces to complete the set. The total was a little staggering, but then again, it’s Jamison, and he did say just get whatever I thought his dad’s girlfriend would need.

  As the day ends, I decide it’s time for my third order of business. This will be the most challenging. I walk out of Monroe Enterprises and hit up the trendy bar next door where I sit, order a martini, and try not to act terrified that I am alone without a buffer. The people are milling about, networking. I sip my martini and do a little people watching. By my second drink I am mellow and feeling quite good.

  “May I join you?”

  And just like that my buzz starts to wane as Merrick Monroe settles down on a barstool next to me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “MISS ADAMS, FANCY SEEING YOU HERE.” Merrick is actually next to me, talking to me like we’re just two colleagues out for a drink after work together. It is completely unnerving. He eases his tie down a smidge and signals to the bartender.

  “Another round? What are you drinking?”

  “Vodka martini, but really that isn’t necessary. I was actually about to be on my way.”

  His eyes twinkle, and for one brief moment, he looks easygoing. Okay I may have prepared for new positive life changes, but this is taking me to another level entirely. My anxiety begins to creep in. The bar was enough of a challenge, walking in alone and sitting alone. But Merrick Monroe, next to me in such close proximity? Offering to buy me a drink? This isn’t just unreal. It is surreal. Has my positive outlook and day spent online shopping propelled me into such a happy place that I am in an alternate reality where everyone is pleasant? I’m waiting to see rainbows and unicorns. Shit, maybe I’ve just had too many drinks.

  “You seemed to be quite settled when I walked over. Allow me to buy you a drink. If you prefer to be alone, I can go back to my table over there.” He points to a dark corner table near the back of the bar. I can’t see anyone seated there, so my guess is he’s on his own too.

  The bartender approaches and wipes down the bar in front of us, clearing my nearly empty martini glass away.

  “Same for you, love? And Mr. Monroe, another Highland Park?”

  Merrick looks at me and gestures with both palms out to indicate the choice is mine.

  “Yes, please for me another Highland Park but the lady may wish to have her drink solo. Please add her drinks to my tab and send my whiskey to my table. Good to see you, Miss Adams, enjoy your evening.” Merrick slips off the barstool and retreats to the back of the bar.

  “What do you say, love? I can bring your drink over if you like. Or you can stay and keep me company.” The bartender winks but not in a lascivious way.

  “Mr. Monroe? Does he come in here often?”

  “I would say just about every day. He sits in the back and has a few drinks. Always very polite and one hell of a big tipper. But . . .” The bartender trails off.

  “But?”

  “Well, I've always found it sad he is always by himself. I mean sure he gets quite a bit of attention when he walks in, and he’s always having to say hello to this business contact or that one. But for the most part, he just sits back there. Funny, you know? One of the wealthiest, well-known men in New York and he seems like the loneliest. Of course, that’s just my opinion from a lot of years of seeing people in bars and watching them.”

  Merrick Monroe, lonely? It isn’t an idea I can fathom. It’s like trying to comprehend eternity or the possibility of time travel. This man who seems to have everyone at his beck and call, a man who rules Manhattan like a tyrannical king, can actually feel an emotion like loneliness.

  Glancing back, I can only make out his tall frame sitting in the dim lighting.

  It was supposed to be a new day for me. The new Ainslee who goes for what she wants and isn’t concerned about being independent. I know I could easily finish my drink and leave. But that isn’t what I want. I want right now more than anything to have a normal conversation with Merrick. I want to see if all my years of hatred about him are founded or not.

  Standing, I pick up my glass and head to the back of the bar. He looks up at me and stands to pull out a chair in a very PJ type of move. Perhaps there is more than one gentleman amongst the men.

  “Thank you.” I feel slightly self-conscious trying to ease into the seat and do that thing where you cross your ankles at an angle to look sophisticated. Thankfully Merrick doesn’t notice but just sips his whiskey. I follow suit and sip—okay, more like gulp—my martini.

  “How was your day, Miss Adams?”

  We really are going to have the “how was your day” conversation? What’s next? The “well the weather sure has been nice” conversation. Maybe I’m not the one who’s had too much to drink, but Merrick is.

  “It was fine, Mr. Monroe. And you?”

  “Productive, which is the only way to spend a day in my opinion.” He looks at me in a speculative manner as if asking me to agree or not.

  “Yes, I suppose it is.” Gulping the last of my martini and sneaking a peek at my watch, I begin to think this was a mistake. We are having a conversation, but it’s so artificial I can’t bring myself to carry on much more. I am thinking the best thing is that he was polite to me and that may just have to be enough.

  “Do you need to be somewhere?”

 
“Excuse me?”

  “You’re looking at your watch and pretending not to be bored out of your mind in my company. If you want to leave, Miss Adams, please do so. We’re not on company time here. But if you want to stay, why don’t we dispense with the formalities?”

  “Dispense with the formalities? Okay, in what capacity?”

  “You treat me like a colleague, a friend, a stranger you just met. You don’t address me in a formal manner. You call me by my given name. Talk to me about your interests and inquire about mine. Sound simple enough, or am I overstepping your sensibilities?” He looks at me like I’m a complete moron.

  “As lovely as that sounds, Mr. Monroe, you would have to do the impossible and treat me with the same respect. We both know that is out of your capabilities since I have yet to see an ounce of respect directed toward me from you since day one, barring the day after the party when you were less chilly than normal. Have a good evening.” Standing up to leave, I knock into what’s left of my martini and grab it before it spills. Downing it, I grab my handbag and head carefully into the lighted part of the bar.

  “Ainslee. Sit down.” Merrick’s voice booms, and the whole bar lapses into silence. Embarrassment would threaten to overtake me, but the fact he said my name, my given name shocks me. And damn, the sexiness of him saying it in such an authoritative tone is core-shaking. I backtrack to the table but don’t sit. Pulling a Jamison, I merely lean against the table, praying it doesn’t overturn in the process.

  “Yes, Merrick?” I admit I’m a bit giddy being able to speak his name in his presence.

  “Ainslee, sit down. Let’s drop the bullshit and for one night just be two people who are in need of some company and conversation. I promise to be respectful if you will as well.”

  “Fine by me.”

  “Good, it’s settled. Brian!” he yells to the bartender, and again the bar is plunged into silence. It must be pretty amazing to have such an effect on a room of people, most who only know you by reputation.