TWO WEEKS' NOTICE

by Whitney G.

“Yes, I have a few things to ask. I need to know everything that the job entails.”

  “That’s why you’re seconds away from talking to Human Resources,” he said. “I don’t know the job description by heart, Miss Lauren.”

  “I meant that I have a few questions for you.”

  “Allow me to assume,” he said. “Answer number one, no. Your breakfast is not included. Answer number two, the salary is three hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year.”

  My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. Apparently, I’m a rather intense boss and I tend to stress people out whenever they’re working for me.”

  “Are you saying the word ‘stress’ or ‘stretch’?”

  “Whichever you prefer.” He smiled.

  “Miss? Miss?” A voice down the hall forced me to look away from him. “Miss, if you’re not here for employee business at Preston International, you need to leave this floor immediately. Are you here for that?”

  I turned my attention to Preston and he raised his eyebrow.

  “Are you?” he asked, letting the elevator doors shut before I could answer.

  “Miss? Miss?”

  I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, that I really was seconds away from landing the job of my dreams.

  “I’m here for a job,” I said to the woman. “Preston Parker’s executive assistant.”

  FOUR

  Preston

  HOURS LATER, I STARED outside my restaurant’s windows and watched Tara let up a black and gold umbrella under my hotel’s awning. Looking slightly confused, she walked against the flow of traffic and held her bag close. I watched until she disappeared into the crowd, noticing that every man who caught sight of her did a slow double take.

  I immediately sent my Human Resources director an email.

  SUBJECT: MY EXECUTIVE Assistant Position

  Walsh,

  Did the applicant I sent downstairs this morning have the necessary qualifications?

  Preston Parker

  CEO & Owner of Parker International

  His response was instant.

  SUBJECT: RE: MY EXECUTIVE Assistant Position

  Mr. Parker,

  I’m happy to let you know that Tara Lauren is more than qualified for your executive assistant position. I personally think she’s your best hire to date.

  I’m including her “short-list” below and will be happy to answer any further questions regarding her employment which will start next Monday, pending my question below.

  Tara Lauren’s Shortlist:

  B.A. from Princeton University

  MBA from Princeton University

  J.D. from Harvard University

  Miss Lauren has also studied various trades abroad in France, Australia, & Japan.

  She speaks three languages (Spanish, French, & German)

  She asked if she could have a nine hundred dollar advance to pay her rent. Should I approve this amount? (Also, I hate to accuse her, but I’m pretty sure she stole my umbrella ...)

  Best,

  Walsh Jones

  Human Resources Director, Parker International

  SUBJECT: RE: RE: MY Executive Assistant Position

  Walsh,

  Approve nine thousand. (I’ll make sure she gives it back when she starts.)

  Preston Parker

  CEO & Owner of Parker International

  I SET MY PHONE DOWN, amused. Then I wondered where the hell she was staying in this city for nine hundred a month.

  I couldn’t stop replaying the way she looked in my office, the way her soft words slipped from her sexy, pink lips. With one look at her coffee colored hair that fell past her breasts, her almond brown eyes that were a bit too trusting, and the way her navy-blue dress clung to her curves, I knew I shouldn’t have hired her.

  I’d never been this attracted to a woman after a first encounter in my life, and I knew having her close to me again was going to be a problem.

  “Sorry, I’m late.” George sat across from me and handed me a folder. “We have the first interview with a former resort director in thirty minutes, and the second interview with the legal advisor from Broadway right after that. Your international schedule for meetings starts in three weeks, so how do you want to play this?”

  “I canceled those interviews an hour ago.”

  “What?” He sat up in his chair. “Why?”

  “Because I just hired my next executive assistant.”

  “Without my input?”

  “I went with my gut,” I said. “I was quite impressed with her creative means of survival.”

  “Your gut, and her creative means of survival?” He looked like his head was about to explode. “Is this some type of joke, Preston?”

  “Not at all.” I picked up my coffee and took a long sip, mentally rewinding thoughts of Tara walking into my office.

  “What does she look like, Preston?”

  She’s sexy as fuck. “I’m not sure how you expect me to answer that question, George. Does she look like she graduated from an Ivy-league school? I’m not sure how someone can ‘look’ like that, but she did indeed graduate from Princeton. She has a law and a business degree as well. She also speaks three of the same languages that I do.”

  “What does she look like, Preston?” He glared at me. “As your top lawyer, I need to know what type of hire this was. One with your dick or one with your brain.”

  It was both. “It was the latter, of course.”

  “I’m sure.” He snatched away my folder. “Since we already know how this is going to end, do me a favor and have Cynthia schedule those other interviews for three weeks from now so we can make sure that someone in the administration is on the international meeting trips with you.”

  “You think the woman I hired is only going to last three weeks?”

  “From the ‘I’m definitely attracted to her’ look on your face, I wouldn’t bet on her lasting longer than two.”

  FIVE

  Tara

  I TOOK MY TIME GETTING back to Brooklyn in the rain, my mind spinning in a million different directions. I’d spoken to the HR team for over an hour, insisting that this must all be a dream, but when they gave me an official employee number and handed me the entry badge to my new office, I finally accepted that it wasn’t.

  I signed every contract within seconds of them placing it in front of me, calculating the salary again and again. The executive assistant position at The Russ Stock Exchange was for one hundred and fifty thousand a year, and the others I’d interviewed for were between seventy and eighty thousand a year.

  Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year? After taxes, that’s still over twenty thousand dollars a month. A month!

  When I made it back to my apartment, I decided to walk through the front entrance. As suspected, my landlord changed the locks while I was away, so I slid a condom packet between the loose lock frame and used my bobby pin to jiggle it open.

  “Hey there, roomie!” My roommate Ava rolled across our oversized bean bags, setting aside her glossy gossip magazine. “How are you today?”

  “Great! I’ve got good news!” I shut the door and stuffed a towel under the gap. “Guess what it is?”

  “I’ll guess, but you have to listen to my good news first. I’ve got two amazing things!”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Okay.” She sat up. “You know how I’ve been stealing toilet paper from my job for our apartment?”

  “Yeah ...”

  “Well, the manager just switched from the terrible sandpapery brand to the two-ply soft kind, so we are about to be wiping our asses with some grade-A sheets from now on.” She smiled proudly. “I already nabbed six rolls and put them in the closet, so let me know when you notice the difference.”

  “Will do.” I laughed. “What’s the other thing?”

  “I paid our rent this afternoon, but that asshole had already changed the locks, so he says he’ll get us a new key if we pay the next m
onth on time.”

  “He’s not going to get us a key to the current lock at all?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “He says we seem to do just fine getting in and out without the right keys. He did ask me if he could borrow a few packs of condoms, though.”

  We both laughed, and I plopped onto our couch.

  “Anyway, you look like you’re about to burst with your good news.” She stood to her feet. “Let me try to guess some smaller things before you explode with it, though.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Guess one. Did you finally break up with your boyfriend, whom I hate with every fiber of my being because he’s not good enough for you?”

  “No ...”

  “Doesn’t hurt to ask.” She smiled. “Guess two. Did you figure out the new password to our neighbor’s wifi?”

  “Actually, yeah, I did.” I nodded. “It’s Stop stealing my shit, you thieving ass bitches.”

  “Are there any spaces in that, or is that all one word?”

  “It’s all one word.”

  “Let me try it.” She picked up her phone and tapped the screen a few times. “Perfect! It works! Now, what’s your real good news?”

  “I got my first career job today!” The words fell out my mouth faster than ever. “Like, an actual salaried job with benefits, relocation expenses, and paid vacation time. And on my way home, the HR director sent me an email saying that they’re going to give me a nine thousand dollar advance against my next check!”

  “What?” She jumped up and down. “Really?”

  “Yes!” I wiped a few tears from my eyes. “I was hired on the spot, and my salary is so ridiculous, that I still can’t believe it.”

  “Is it eighty thousand a year?”

  “No, higher.”

  “One hundred and twenty?”

  “Even higher.”

  “Um ...” She looked stunned. “One hundred and fifty?”

  “Three hundred and fifty!”

  We both screamed at the same time, and without any prompting, we did what we always did whenever there was a rare cause to celebrate. She took out a bottle of cheap champagne, and I took out our freezer’s most prized possession: Dean & DeLuca cookie dough.

  “Give me the play by play,” she said, uncorking the bottle. “Did The Russ Stock Exchange make you think they weren’t going to hire you before they brought out the contract? Was there clapping once you signed it?”

  “This isn’t for The Russ Stock Exchange. That’s a story for a different day.” I waited until she’d poured both glasses, until she’d raised hers for a celebratory sip. “You are now looking at the new personal assistant—No, wait. The executive assistant to Preston Parker, the CEO of Preston Hotels.”

  “What?” She spat out her champagne. “What did you just say?”

  “I’m the new executive assistant to Preston Parker at Preston Hotels. Or is it Parker Hotels?”

  “It’s definitely Parker Hotels.” She set her glass down and didn’t look so thrilled anymore. She looked terrified.

  “You’re not happy for me now?” I asked. “I know the title isn’t exactly legal advisor, but being his executive assistant covers a full realm of responsibilities and they require a business or law degree. They even said that if I do a good job, I can move to his legal department within three years.”

  “Look.” She shook her head and let out a breath. “As your best friend, I’m beyond happy that you finally got a job, but I don’t think we should be celebrating this one.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re about to work for Preston Parker. Preston. Parker.”

  I gave her a blank stare.

  “You had no idea who he was before today, did you?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Is he more than a CEO?”

  She sighed and walked over to her extensive magazine collection, tossing me five copies of Mister New York and three copies of Page Six.

  His beautiful face was plastered on each cover—making me realize he was even sexier in person, but the headlines on Page Six were far from flattering.

  Mister New York wins big again, but one of his former assistants tell all. Mister New York tramples his competition, leaves another assistant in the dust. Mister New York makes every new assistant sign an NDA after leaving latest one stranded in Paris.

  “So, he’s a celebrity?” I asked.

  “No, he’s a mogul. A filthy rich and completely arrogant mogul.” She flopped onto the bean bags. “If you would ever join me in reading the gossip rags here and there, you would’ve run like hell the second he offered you that job.”

  “Even when he offered three hundred and fifty thousand a year?”

  “Who says you’ll last a year?” She pointed to the magazines. “Read them. Now.”

  I flipped through the pages of the first magazine, feeling my chest tighten with each printed word, feeling my heart race with uncertainty.

  “He’s a ruthless asshole. Coldhearted boss. Worst boss I’ve ever worked for. The only good thing about him is the view, until he opens his mouth.”

  I flipped through an issue from a couple of years ago where he was giving his “final interview” and I thought for sure it would cast him in a better light, but I felt my jaw unhinging as I read the first few lines of the transcript.

  INTERVIEWER: How does it feel to be a top-five finalist for the Mister New York award again, Mr. Parker?

  Mr. Parker: I feel like I should always be in the top two, and I should never be number two.

  Interviewer: Well, Reeve Henderson of NYB is also having one hell of a year, sir.

  Mr. Parker: Reeve Henderson is a multimillionaire. I’m a billionaire.

  Interviewer: Well, at this stage in your career, surely you know money doesn’t buy everything.

  Mr. Parker: When you finally get some, you’ll see that it actually does.

  I TOSSED THAT ISSUE across the room and opened another, then another. Then I realized that I’d just signed on to work with the cockiest asshole in all of New York City, that I’d sealed my fate with a man who once told a male interviewer, “I hope your fucking is better than your ‘in-depth’ interview questions. If not, I would highly consider working on improving the former, as the latter is completely hopeless.”

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  TWO MONTHS LATER ...

  SIX

  Tara

  “The miserable middle”

  PLEASE DON’T SOUND yet. Please don’t sound yet...

  Mornings like today made me wish I had access to a time machine so I could go back and slap the hell out of myself for making whatever decisions led up to this very moment. It was only three o’clock, but the skies were releasing a relentless rain over the city, and I was forcing myself to “enjoy” the only time of the day that I ever got to myself.

  I was sprawled across my bean bags, my feet wrapped in pain-relief ice packs from running around New York in designer stilettos. A thermometer protruded from my lips—showing a traitorous “normal” temperature, and I was watching the alarm clock like a hawk. Waiting for the second hand to land on five so I could toss back my next set of stress medication and deal with my “dream job” for another day.

  Over the past couple of months, I’d taken a crash course in the world of hotels, and it was far more complicated than I ever thought. Every day brought a new round of crisis meetings, a new goal of “Parker level excellence” to meet, and for guests who were paying a minimum of five hundred dollars a night to stay in any of Preston’s properties, disappointment wasn’t an option.

  To ensure perfection, Preston stopped at nothing to make it right. He was utterly ruthless, and everyone knew that he’d fire you in a heartbeat. In my short time working for him, he’d never taken a day off, never mentioned needing a break, or traveled away to spend time with his family. In fact, rumor had it that he didn’t have a family at all.

  He was a machine, and I was certain he never slept. (He was als
o an asshole, and I was more than certain that I wouldn’t be his employee for too much longer.)

  Ding. Ding. Ding!

  The stress medicine reminder on my phone sounded, and I washed the pills down with water.

  Scrolling through my texts, I sent my boyfriend Michael a quick message.

  Me: Hey. I’m up thinking about you before work. Hope you’ll still be able to help me look for a new apartment this weekend?

  He answered me right away.

  Michael: Oh, you’re still alive? LOL Sure, babe. If your boss lets you have a life outside of your job this weekend, I’ll be there. Are you coming to my Happy Hour tonight?

  Me: I’ll try, but I can’t promise since my boss is hosting a shareholders meeting. Raincheck just in case?

  Michael: Always. I’ll email you something during your workday to make you forget all about him. (Looking forward to finally getting you alone again once you get off probation [raindrop emoji] [eggplant emoji] [raindrop emoji].)

  I sent him kiss emojis in return and smiled. We hadn’t spent more than a few hours together since I started this job, and although a part of me was upset about that, another part of me—one I couldn’t explain—was perfectly fine with the new strain.

  When I checked the time again, I felt my smile slowly slipping away.

  And in three, two, one ...

  My phone buzzed in my hand, and my inbox came to life for the sixty-first day of my new career.

  Subject: Mr. Parker’s Breakfast Order: Please Confirm Before Pickup

  Subject: Meeting Request for Mr. Parker

  Subject: Notes for Sarasota Meeting

  Subject: Schedule Change—Jones Opening Moved to Monday

  Subject: Cancellation Confirmation Needed: Private Flight to Rome Next Wed?

  Subject: Mister New York Interview Request

  I groaned and got off the bean bags, taking a quick shower and slipping into my favorite nude dress and a pair of red-soled heels.