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Page 7
THE ASSISTANT
EMILY
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I hit ignore on Mr. Wolf’s twentieth call of the morning, sending him a nice “Whatever you need (as long as it’s not about THAT), let me know about it via email” message instead. I was in disbelief that he’d asked me to marry him, and I should’ve known something was up when Brenton sent me a text message about my ring-size last night.
I would’ve never guessed that, though.
Opening my laptop, I logged into our portal of pending contracts. I wanted to see which of them was supposedly worth going through a month of lies for.
It took me all of a minute to find it.
The $5B Watson deal with the family-oriented CEO ...
I shut my eyes and sighed. We’d worked on the math of that deal together right after his previous CFO left, and it was clear that without that deal and the pieces that came with it, new deals would falter in the years to come.
Still, there has to be a better idea than getting a fake fiancée to seal that deal ...
“Savannah?” I pressed my intercom button a few hours later.
“Yes, Miss Johnson?”
“Could you bring me a fresh printout of the Watson files?”
“Absolutely. I’ll bring it in five minutes.”
I ended the call and sent a quick email to our research department. As I was organizing my notes, Savannah walked into my office with a cup of coffee.
“Here you are, Miss Johnson,” she said, placing it on my desk. “Would you like anything else?”
Coffee? “That’s not a printout of the Watson files, Savannah.”
“I know.” She lowered her voice. “Mr. Wolf said the only thing I was allowed to bring you today was coffee.”
“Excuse me?”
“He made it very clear that he would fire me if I chose to do otherwise. Would you like some more coffee, maybe?”
“No, thank you.” I waited for her to leave my office and called Vinnie.
“At your service, Miss Johnson.”
“Vinnie, are you in the garage by chance?”
“I am.”
“Great. I left my briefcase and a box of files on your backseat this morning. Can I meet you down there so I can get them?”
“No need, Miss Johnson. I’ll bring everything to you.” He hung up, and I spotted a note on the sleeve of the coffee cup Savannah brought in.
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Come to my office and read the contract. NOW.
—Nicholas Wolf
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I tossed it into the trash and shook my head. I couldn’t wait to see the look on my sister’s face when I told her the reason why he wanted to meet with me this morning.
Seconds later, my door opened, and Vinnie walked inside with a different cup of coffee.
“What the ...” I crossed my arms.
“Sorry, Miss Johnson.” He set it on my desk. “I have orders from Mr. Wolf today in regards to anything you ask me for, and I’m not allowed to drive you home until he gives me a verbal okay.”
“Are you serious? Did he send out a company-wide memo or something?”
“Um.” He smiled. “Yeah, he did, actually.”
“May I see it?”
“Of course.” He pulled out his phone and handed it to me.
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Subject: Important—EMILY JOHNSON
Miss Johnson is working on a high priority task for the company this afternoon, and since you are a member of my team who has direct daily contact with her, you are NOT to do anything that will distract her from this task at hand.
Should she ask you for anything, you will immediately deliver her a cup of coffee. (That’s all she needs from you today.)
Failure to comply will result in your immediate termination.
Nicholas A. Wolf
PS—One of you needs to bring me my lunch ... and my goddamn updates.
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Ugh!
I picked up my phone to send him a scathing message in response, but he’d emailed me first.
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Subject: The Deal (Again)
Miss Johnson,
I rewrote the terms of this agreement and adjusted the financial compensation to the amount you requested.
I highly suggest you come to my office to pick up the contract. I also suggest that you give me an answer by the end of the day.
Otherwise, the security team will not allow you to leave the building.
Sincerely,
Nicholas A. Wolf
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I rolled my eyes and stood up.
“Thanks for showing me that email, Vinnie,” I said. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave later today.”
“Looking forward to it.”
I waited until he left the room, and headed over to Mr. Wolf’s office.
When I walked through the door, he looked up from his desk and smiled.
“I see you’ve re-considered my offer,” he said, holding up a manila envelope. “Good decision.”
“I haven’t reconsidered anything.” I walked over and snatched it from his hand. “I already gave you an answer.”
“You gave me the wrong answer.”
“I don’t want to marry you.”
“Hence the word, fiancée. And then, pretend.” He looked at me. “It’s only for thirty days, and I’m willing to rewrite any part of the terms that you don’t like. Minus the obvious fiancée part.”
“How much time do I have to read this?”
“As much as you like,” he said. “You just won’t be allowed to leave the building until you do.”
I took a seat on his couch and pulled out the papers. “Did Brenton help you write the contract, or did you attempt to write it yourself?”
“I wrote it myself. Why?”
I gave him a blank stare. “Because you tend to put sarcasm and personal thoughts into every contract you write. That’s why I always have to go over them long after you’re done.”
“I think you’ll be surprised,” he said, smirking. “I was pretty straightforward in this one.”
“My answer is still no.”
“For now ...”