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No matter what I threw at Julia, she handled it. It was almost annoying how easily she took to this job. Someone from the journalism field coming in and handling a high-pressure assistant’s job was almost unheard of, but doing it as well as she could? Impossible.
Yet, there she was, standing in the large file room with some of the other assistants, cracking jokes and keeping the mood light, while simultaneously becoming their de facto leader. It was as impressive as it was puzzling. Julia was a born leader, and at the same time, the most incredible number two I had in many, many years. She was, in fact, even threatening the memory of Macy.
I had done everything to break that cheerful veneer. I had sent her on menial task after menial task, running her all over the city for the silliest quests, starting from the second she arrived at the office in the morning until she was making it back to the office hours after her normal clock-out time. And every single one she met with a smile, a nod, and an attitude like she knew she was beating me.
It was a competition. And I was losing.
How was this possible?
Domineering hard-ass. That was a description given about me by a former assistant on one of the professional social media sites. It was an accurate description of how I approached breaking assistants. I had been that and more, trying to avoid outright cruelty, but only just. Yet, she kept coming back, unfazed.
She also seemed to have a psychic link to the coffee shop, and now I had sworn off pod-based machines or even slow drip makers in the office for the concoctions she was getting from down the block. It was enough that I had already seriously drawn up plans to buy their shop out just so I could move it into the bottom floor of our building and install a dumbwaiter to bring me a steady stream of caffeinated heaven on a regular basis.
But then I wouldn’t get the joy of shouting at Julia and telling her I needed something, giving her increasingly strange and complicated coffee orders that I didn’t even want just to test her. Turned out, I was a sucker for pumpkin spice. I had never even bothered with it before. I assumed it was something only those pictures of inexplicably laughing white women with a salad liked. I saw those stock photos all the time and they bugged me, but it felt like that was exactly the audience that pumpkin spice was geared toward.
Then Julia brought me one. I had asked for something fall-like, as I was in the process of setting up a fall purchase of a company that wouldn’t close for months because the owner wasn’t going to relinquish until the end of the quarter. I wanted to surround myself with sensory things for the season so it would help me visualize what I wanted to do in that time frame. Julia heard me say that and went to work, casually kicking me out of my own office for an hour.
I had been happy to go, I wanted the fresh air. Julia had worn a rather low-cut blouse and her skirt was short enough that when she reached for something high on a shelf, I caught a glimpse of her garter. It was enough to make me cross my legs and think of baseball.
As I walked downstairs, I figured the thoughts would cease, but they never did. I kept imagining her on a ladder, and me running my hands up her legs. I could feel the silkiness of her pantyhose, and then the softness of her skin. In my image, she wore a thong or nothing at all under her skirt, and my fingers would brush the soft wetness between her legs before she would climb down and into my arms.
Then, I’d fuck her brains out.
Walking seemed to do nothing to get the thoughts out of my head, and I ended up going down to a park to sit for a while. Slowly, my thoughts calmed, and when I returned, Julia had turned down the lights, put up some Halloween decorations she must have found in a dusty bin somewhere in the building, and I had a pumpkin spiced coffee from the shop waiting on me. I had no idea how she worked her magic and I didn’t ask.
Now I was devotee to the most cliché coffee imaginable, and my interest in Julia had only risen along with my respect for her talents. It was dangerous. I both wanted her to be my assistant for the rest of my natural life and wanted to bend her over my desk, experience the fantasy come to life, and then probably run away with her to an island somewhere and not come back until I was several pounds lighter and dehydrated from all the physicality.
Six weeks.
She had been my assistant for six weeks and I had kept all that bottled up inside. How much longer was I going to make it? One? Two more weeks? I certainly wasn’t going to be able to handle a Christmas party with mistletoe and spiked eggnog. I’d have to avoid her like the plague that night. Or if we had a costume day for Halloween, like Bobby often insisted we do, and she came in wearing something any more revealing than the red dress she wore once last week that showed off the shape of her breasts in a way that made them seem incredibly enticingly touchable.
If any of those things or a million more happened, I was going to have trouble controlling myself.
I was proud of myself for being as good about it so far as I was at it. I damn near deserved an Oscar.
“Julia,” I commanded as she waltzed through my office like she owned it. She straightened up immediately, turning gracefully on feet I was sure had danced in front of audiences before, and changed direction so she could approach my desk. It was art watching her move. She was incredible.
“Yes?” she asked.
And that voice. Deeper than my other assistants when they tried to be cutesy or meek. But not so deep as to seem like she was trying to be sultry or manly. Just a rich alto, silky smooth and full of commandment, charisma, and character. I could listen to her speak for hours and lose myself in that voice. I wanted her to answer every phone call forever.
“I need you,” I began, and realized I could just stop right there, “to take a look at this draft of a press release. I don’t trust the spellcheck and I don’t have time to go over it again.”
“Sure,” she said, coming close to the desk and winding around it. She bent and hovered near my shoulder and her perfume wafted over me, making me dizzy with hunger. I wanted to just pull her into my lap. To run my hands up her leg and…
“Here,” I said, shoving the paper toward her. “You can go over it in your office. I have sensitive documents up.”
I clicked the minimizing window on my computer screen and turned toward her with an angry expression that was masking my true feelings underneath.
She needed to go away. Not because I didn’t want her there, but because I was having trouble trusting myself if she stayed. As she reached for the paper, her body brushed my shoulder, and I shuddered. It was her ribs, just below her breasts that brushed against me, and her shoulder, bare because of the cut of the dress, was so close to me that I could just slide my tongue out and touch her skin. Taste her.
I didn’t, of course. I held it together while my mind danced with the idea and when she left, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. I stood abruptly and crossed over to the bathroom, the private one that only I had a key to. I unlocked it and went inside, rushing to the sink to turn it on and get some cold water going.
My cock was nearly bursting out of my pants, and I unzipped them and pulled it out. It relieved some of the pressure, and my immediate thought was to stroke it. To relieve myself so I could focus. But I couldn’t do that at work. I couldn’t pleasure myself on the clock, even if it would help me concentrate. I was going to have to beat this problem another way. I had to gather my strength. Be the best version of myself. One who could resist this temptation.
I glared at myself in the mirror. I needed to calm down. Think about something else. Anything else.
I decided to focus on dinner.
