The Good Assistant
Cynthia Sax
Billionaire John Powers doesn’t mix business with pleasure. Until now.
* * *
My boss, John Powers, represents everything I want in a man. He’s the CEO and founder of a powerful company, that position having made him a billionaire, striking in an I-survived-a-bar-brawl sort of way, and too clever for my sanity.
I’m his assistant and desperately in love with him. I’d willingly serve him both in the boardroom and in the bedroom.
There’s one problem.
He doesn’t mix business with pleasure.
Ever.
The Good Assistant
Copyright 2015 Cynthia Sax
Ebook design by Mark's Ebook Formatting
Email [email protected] for more info
Discover more books by Cynthia Sax at her website
www.CynthiaSax.com
All Rights Are Reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First box set edition: May 2014
First ebook edition: October 2015
For more information contact Cynthia Sax at
www.CynthiaSax.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About The Author
Chapter One
As I push through the revolving doors and enter Powers Corporation’s glass and marble lobby, my phone hums against my hip. It can’t be my too-sexy-for-any-woman’s-sanity boss. He called me two minutes ago.
I drape the dry cleaning bag over my shoulder, unclip my phone from my skirt’s waistband and groan. It is my boss. John Powers, billionaire, CEO, and unabashed control freak, is calling me yet again. I sigh. He goes a little crazy whenever I leave the building.
“You have a conference call at five thirty with Rexton Bass, Mr. Powers,” I answer, skipping the formalities. My boss has no patience with small talk. I quicken my pace, my heels tapping against the fine basket weave tile.
“I know where I’m supposed to be.” John’s growl sends a shiver of excitement rolling down my spine, tightening my nipples and heating my skin. He’s the only man who can turn me on with his voice alone. “Where the hell are you, Grant? And where the hell is my shirt?”
John calls everyone by his or her last name. I wouldn’t mind this quirk if my last name was at all feminine or sexy. “I have your shirt, sir, and I’ll be in your office in five minutes.” I avoid the receptionist’s pleading gaze as I pass her desk, turning toward the bank of elevators. Men and women in dark suits crowd around her. All of these visitors want a meeting with my insanely busy boss.
“Get that perky ass moving. I don’t have all day,” John barks. “I’ll be waiting for you in my briefs.” The phone clicks and there’s silence.
My hot-as-hell boss is waiting for me in his briefs. I stare at the small screen, visions of tanned skin, hard muscle, and dark brown hair flooding my overworked, sexually deprived brain.
John doesn’t mean anything provocative by his statement. He doesn’t see me as a woman. I attach the phone to my waistband and press the button for the elevator. He doesn’t see me at all. I’m a resource, an extension of his office like his desk or laptop.
The elevator doors open and I step inside.
“Miss Grant, wait up!”
I hold the doors open and Stacie Moore, the company’s newest, most aggressive marketing coordinator, flounces across the threshold, her large breasts jiggling. She’s blonde, beautiful, and generously endowed. If she wasn’t an employee, she’d be a perfect candidate for John’s next one night stand. I select the button for the top floor.
“Is that Mr. Powers’ shirt?” Stacie plucks at the dry cleaning bag. “My, he has wide shoulders, doesn’t he?” Her blue eyes glow.
I know all about my boss’ potent affect on women. I fell in love with him during my job interview. That was three years ago and my obsession with him hasn’t dimmed, not one bit. “Mr. Powers doesn’t mix personal and business matters, Miss Moore.” I jab the button for the marketing floor.
Stacie lifts her eyebrows. “You get straight to the point, don’t you?”
I don’t say anything as I do get straight to the point. Working for John has trained me to cut through the bullshit.
“I like that.” She grins. “So you and Mr. Powers aren’t together?” She dances in place, her short skirt hiking up with each wiggle. “You aren’t a couple?”
A couple? John and I? I glance at my reflection in the mirrored walls. I remain a plain, flat-chested brunette. I haven’t magically become a curvy blonde, a woman worthy of these outrageous assumptions. “He’s my boss and that’s the extent of our relationship.”
Lines appear between Stacie’s finely arched eyebrows. “Mr. Powers doesn’t look at you like a boss looks at his employee.”
I stare at her. “How does he look at me?”
“Like he wants to lock you in his man cave. He’s super protective of you.” She tilts her head. “But maybe that’s because you’re his assistant. He relies upon you.”
John Powers doesn’t rely upon anyone. He built his real estate empire on his own, having no industry contacts, overcoming poverty and a lack of a college education.
“I always speak before I think.” Stacie laughs. “Forget I said anything.”
She talks about switching jobs and her new roommate and the movie she saw last night, her conversation not requiring any contribution from me.
This is a good thing as all I can think about is her observation about my boss. She has to be wrong. John doesn’t want me. He doesn’t even lust after the gorgeous supermodels and actresses he dates, his attitude toward the women apathetic.
The elevator doors open at the marketing floor. “This is me.” Stacie laughs again. “It was good talking to you, Miss Grant.” She exits, her skirt flipping upward, revealing more of her tanned legs.
I gaze at my reflection. The hem of my black skirt suit reaches my knees. I impulsively reach under my jacket and pull my skirt three inches higher.
My cheeks heat. I’m a fool. John won’t notice the length of my skirt. I’m his assistant, a woman who picks up his dry cleaning, manages his schedule and arranges his dates.
The doors open, revealing the slick, stylish executive floor. I smile at Nancy, the receptionist, as I pass her antique desk. She wears a headset, her lips moving, her words hushed. Although it is five thirty-five in the afternoon, four men in dark suits wait in the brown leather chairs.
They aren’t waiting for John. My boss is attending a charity dinner tonight. His meetings for the day are done.
I hustle along the hallway, my heels falling soundlessly on the padded brown carpet. Gold-framed pictures depicting Powers-owned real estate hang on the beige walls. The desks are spaced widely apart, the corner offices claimed by board members. Every meeting room is filled with corporate decision-makers.
The ultimate decision-maker has his door open, uncaring about his state of undress. I rush into John’s personal domain and skid to a stop, my heart squeezing, my body humming with awareness.