THE ASSISTANT

EMILY

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I leaned against the town car’s window early the next morning, taking small sips of Mr. Wolf’s coffee while scrolling through my latest emails.

Subject: Is The Wolf dating supermodel Samantha Hendrix? Page Six says so!

Subject: I heard The Wolf was looking at engagement rings for her yesterday ...

Subject: Give us the details ASAP, Emily!

I sighed, feeling a slight pang of jealousy in my chest. I’d assumed he was dating her long ago, since every Monday afternoon was reserved with a “phone conversation with Samantha,” and he never allowed me to intercept those calls. They went straight to his private video line, and no one was allowed in his office during that time.

Even though Page Six was pretty accurate when it came to all things for “Mr. Bachelor of the Year,” I’d never actually seen him with anyone else since I started working for him, and I’d never heard him mention anything about his sex life. I honestly didn’t see how he could ever find the time.

Then again, if anyone can find the time for random sex, I’m sure he can ...

I responded to each of my coworkers’ emails with an “I’ll find out as soon as I can,” but regardless of when I discovered the truth, I wouldn’t say a word about it to them. I vowed long ago that I would never share any details about his personal life with anyone. That, asshole or not, I would keep his secrets like I hoped my future executive assistant would hold mine.

“We’re here, Miss Johnson.” Vinnie opened the back door for me. “Should I say a prayer for you before you go inside?”

“Say a prayer for us both.” I stepped out of the car. “I’m taking you down with me if I get fired.”

He laughed and waited for me to walk inside the building before returning to the driver’s seat.

I rode the elevator to the top floor and held my access card against the key panel for his penthouse. Then I took a deep breath before pushing the doors open.

I walked through his kitchen, parlor, and his living room—finally stopping once his blue gaze met mine. He was leaning against the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked Fifth Avenue, looking beyond sexy in a white T-shirt and blue jeans. His dark hair was slightly messier than usual, as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

“You can have a seat now.” He motioned for me to sit on his sofa.

He sat across from me and reached for his coffee. “Should I assume that you didn’t steal any sips of this today like usual?”

“I’ve told you countless times before that I don’t drink your coffee. I don’t like the extra vanilla you always request.”

He spun the nearly empty cup around in his hands, tapping the part where remnants of my red lipstick stained the lid.

“That’s Vinnie’s lipstick,” I said.

“I’m sure.” He returned the coffee to me and tapped his fingers against his knee. “I wanted to talk to you privately because I have a proposition for you.”

“Yes, I would like to quit my job as your assistant as of today,” I said, hopeful. “Thank you for your offer.”

His lips curved into a smile but he didn’t laugh. “I’ve been very lucky throughout my career, and I think I’ve reached a position where I can afford to go after only the things I want. Would you agree?”

“I would.”

“Good.” He poured a glass of water and handed it to me. “Because I’m willing to let you out of your employment contract, if you agree to help me land this particular deal.”

I sat up, completely intrigued.

“However, there are some conditions that come with this.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, first, I’ll need you to help me appear like a more family-friendly CEO to the public. I’ll need people to think I’m a man of commitment and that I’ve been secretly committed to something private for a long time.”

“You want me to send out some positive press releases about your undying commitment to charity work?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. I’ll need your personal services for a few consistent weeks.”

I blinked, waiting for him to get to the good part. The ‘I’m finally getting out of this contract’ part.

“You’ll also need to sign a new, separate non-disclosure agreement so we can ensure that we’re both being loyal in reaching the same end-goal. Understand?”

“No.” I sipped my water. “I’m actually quite confused right now.”

“Emily, I need you to—” He hesitated, looking as if the next words were painful to say. “I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend. Actually, I need you to be my fiancée for the next thirty days.”

I dropped my glass to the floor, and it shattered into pieces.

I waited for him to laugh. To tell me that this was some type of joke and he was simply testing my sense of humor.

No laughter came.

No further explanation came either.

He set a stack of papers next to me. “Agree to this, and you won’t have to work for me anymore when we’re finished.”

I remained silent.

“Are you going to say something, Emily?”

I blinked.

“Fine.” He sighed. “You’ve always seemed like the hopeless romantic type, so I guess I can oblige since I’m asking you to do this.” He handed me a pen. “Emily Johnson, will you marry me?”

“No.” I stood to my feet and smoothed my dress. “Hell, no. Would you like your morning updates here or in your office?”

“I would like your signature here, on this paper.”

“I’ll pass,” I said. “I don’t recall seeing ‘pretending to be the boss’s wife’ in my job description. And trust me, I have that description down by heart.”

“You’d be playing my fiancée, not my wife. There’s a difference.”

“Doubt it. You’re undeserving of both,” I said, more than ready to change the subject. “Anyway, what time would you like the Claxton proposal on your desk?”

“I’m offering you the chance to leave. Isn’t that what you want?”

“That’s not enough to put up with you outside of work for thirty days.” I shook my head. “I thought you were happy about being a single CEO. You were Mr. Page Six’s Bachelor of the Year eight times in a row.”

“It was ten, but I’m not counting.” He stood to his feet. “I personally think this would be rather easy for the both of us, since we’ve spent so much time together anyway. I know you just as well as you know me.”

“No, you don’t.” I picked up my purse and started walking toward the door. “You don’t know me at all.”

“I know that you hate your job.”

“Because I tell you that every day.”

“I know that you’re a lightweight. You can’t drink more than two drinks in an afternoon without getting a headache.”

“Oh, wow.” I turned around to face him. “That’s practically soul-mate material.”

“I figured you’d be difficult about this.” He rolled his eyes. “So, I included a financial bonus in the contract.”

“How much is it?”

“Why don’t you come back to my couch and read it?”

“Because I don’t want to.” I crossed my arms. “How much is it?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“Fifty thousand?” I scoffed. “You’re wearing a watch that’s three times more expensive than that.”

“My watch has never taken secret job interviews behind my back.”

“That’s not enough money for what you’re asking me to do.” I turned away again and opened his door. “I’ll have the Walter-Claxton proposal on your desk by two o’clock this afternoon.”

“One hundred thousand.”

“No,” I said. “Is there anything else?”

“Five hundred thousand.”

“I’ll also be sure to have the Carter case study on hand so we can see if their predictions have any merit,” I continued to ignore his offer. “I think they’re fine, but it won’t hurt to be one-hundred percent sure.”

“One million.” He glared at me. “Final offer.”

“I ...” My voice caught in my throat. “Make it five million, and I’ll consider.”

“You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

I shrugged and rushed out of his condo—stepping onto the elevator before he could come after me. As the doors glided shut, I cursed under my breath for not accepting the million.

Hell, I should’ve accepted the half ...

I debated going back upstairs and telling him that I changed my mind, that I wanted to read over the contract and negotiate the terms. Before I could make up my mind, I heard his signature ringtone sounding from my phone.

It was an email.

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Subject: The Deal

I think it would be in your best interest to accept my offer. I highly doubt the man you eventually marry will be as well-endowed as me ...

—Nicholas

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Nope! I clearly made the right decision.