My name is Grace Porter, and I am the personal assistant to Gabriel Ferrara, CEO of Ferrara Media in New York. And it’s the perfect job, great pay, beautiful office, everything I ever dreamed of, if not for one small detail. I am utterly and hopelessly in love with my boss.
Every day it starts the same, at precisely 8:20 a.m. I make my way into his office. By this time, he’s already run on his treadmill, had an infrared sauna and showered. We run through his day while he dresses.
Watching Gabriel put on his suit each morning is the highlight of my day—who am I kidding, it’s the highlight of my fucking life. I pick up my notes and knock softly.
“Come in,” his strong voice calls.
I tentatively open the door to see him standing at his coffee machine, white towel around his waist. Tanned muscles, broad back and dominance for miles, the lethal trifecta.
“Morning, Gracie.”
“Good morning, Gabriel,” I reply, my eyes drink him in while he has his back to me.
I know most PAs make their boss’s coffee, but each morning he likes to make mine, and besides, it’s the only time I can stare uninterrupted.
He turns and passes me my cup and saucer. “Your coffee, madam.”
“Thank you.” I take a sip, warm and delicious, even his coffee is smooth.
He goes back to making his coffee while I take a seat at his desk. I open his computer and log into his diary.
My eyes flick over the screen to his sculptured back. Damn it. Why is he so delicious? How could any female work in these conditions and not be completely besotted with him?
And then he opens his mouth…and I remember why.
“Did you sleep at all last night? You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as I refocus on his day.
“I didn’t sleep much either, actually, can you remind me later to send flowers.” I bite the side of my cheek. Fucker.
Not only do I have to watch him date every beautiful woman in the world, I send them fucking flowers too.
“Of course,” I reply as I act unaffected.
I’m positive that I could win an Academy Award for the acting of casual that I do.
“What have we got today?” he asks as he disappears into his large closet.
From my peripheral vision, I see the white towel drop as he puts his briefs on. Focus.
I exhale as the screen jumbles, he’s busy. Even reading his schedule is exhausting.
“Board meeting at nine.”
“Let’s run through that agenda.” He walks out of the closet in black briefs, his suit and shirt on hangers.
“You are talking about the flow-on effect from the defamation case against Noble Industries,” I reply.
“Yes, that’s right. Did we get that information?”
“Bryce has sent it to your email, and it’s saved in your Noble Industries file.”
“Thank you.” He pulls on his white shirt and slowly does up the buttons.
“And do I have the graph?”
“Uh-huh.” I bite my bottom lip as I try to focus on the screen.
Something about him standing there in his briefs doing up a white shirt…it scrambles my brain.
Every.
Single.
Morning.
“Okay, so what then?” he asks.
“You have a meeting with Roger at ten fifteen.” My eyes flick up to him.
“Why do you have a meeting with Roger?”
“I’m letting him go.” He pulls up his navy suit pants and zips up.
“What?”
He shrugs. “He’s not performing.”
“You can’t fire Roger; he’s going through a lot right now. His wife left him.”
“Probably wasn’t performing in bed either,” he mutters dryly as he puts his gold cuff links on. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Now is not the time, can you just give him a warning, please?”
“It’s amusing that you think you have a say in this matter.” He pulls his suit coat on.
“Next appointment?”
“You have a phone conference with Holly, you are closing on the land for the shopping mall at one p.m. today and she needs to run through a few details.”
“Uh-huh.”
“At eleven you have a walk through the finance department to see the new refurbishment of their office.”
He screws up his face in disgust. “Why?”
“Because you do,” I snap in frustration. “You paid for it, the least you can do is be excited.”
“You’re getting a bit lippy this morning, Grace,” he mutters dryly.
“Don’t piss me off before nine.”
He walks back into his wardrobe and the scent of his aftershave wafts through the office.
Fuck it…why does he spray that when I’m in his office?
It’s morally wrong.
I keep reading through his calendar. “You have lunch at twelve thirty with…” I frown and my eyes rise to meet his, “…Veronica.”
“Uh-huh,” he says casually. “Drink your coffee so I can collect your cup.”
I sip my coffee as I plot his death.
Is it Veronica Rothchild?
It’s a new name. I don’t know a Veronica other than Veronica Rothchild the supermodel, and I know that they met two weeks ago at a charity event.
I’m happy with his regular women because I know that he sees them just as that…regulars. But every time he meets someone new, I panic a little, knowing this could be the woman he finally falls in love with.
As well as acting, another job I excel at is as undercover detective. I know who he is sleeping with before he does.
“Well, you don’t have long for lunch, you have to be back at the office at one thirty for a very important meeting.” I focus on the screen.
“Cancel it.”
“Impossible.” I keep typing and try to change the subject. “Who am I sending flowers to today?”
“Hmm.” He purses his lips as he thinks. “Melissa.”
“The card should read?” I act uninterested.
“You were incredible last night.”
I clench my teeth so hard I nearly break my jaw. “Is that it?”
“Umm.” He walks over to the window and looks down over New York. “Come away with me this weekend.”
My eyes linger on his back as sadness sets in.
I can’t do this anymore.
Every time I send one of his girls flowers or gifts, I die a little inside.
I’m twenty-nine years old, and for seven years I have hung on Gabriel Ferrara’s every word, waiting for him to notice me. Waiting for even just a shred of his attention, for him to admit
his undying love and sweep me off my feet. But it’s never going to happen, is it?
He doesn’t see me like that, he is never going to see me like that. I run through the rest of his day on autopilot, my mind off in another place, and I know that while he is away with Melissa this weekend, I will be at home, wishing the time away until Monday so that I can see him again. So that I can be a personal assistant to his full and exciting life.
Pathetic.
“What are you waiting for?” he snaps.
I glance up. Huh? Was he talking?
“I beg your pardon?” I ask.
He gestures toward his door. “Leave, I have work to do.”
“Oh…right.” I stand, embarrassed. I walk toward the door.
“Gracie,” he calls and I turn back to him.
“Yes.”
“Don’t wear that perfume again.”
I frown in confusion.
“I don’t like it.”
I bite my lip to hold my tongue and make my way out of his office. I take a seat at my desk, deflated. He doesn’t like my perfume. Well, fuck him!
I do, asshole, and I’m going to slather it all over myself tomorrow until he throws up.
I might even spray it in his eyes for added effect.
One by one, the office fills up, and then, like clockwork, right on nine, his office door opens, and he marches out like the king of the people.
Gabriel Ferrara in all his bossy glory.
“Gretel,” he barks.
“Yes, sir,” she stammers.
“Why isn’t the advertising report in my email?”
“I…I…”
“You what?”
“I haven’t finished it yet, I thought you didn’t need it until tomorrow.”
“You thought wrong.” He strides through the office and stops in front of Allen’s desk and his eyes roam over it. “Why does your desk look like a fucking dumpster fire, Allen?”
“Ahhh.” Allen begins to nervously collect the coffee cups and stacked papers.
“Sorry, Mr. Ferrara. I’ll clean it now.”
Gabriel glances up and his eyes meet mine. He strides back to my desk. “Miss Porter.” He calls me Miss Porter in front of everyone, I’m only ever Gracie in private.
“Cancel my one thirty appointment,” he demands.
He wants to extend his lunch date with fucking Veronica.
“Impossible, Mr. Ferrara, I told you that already. Please listen,” I fire back.
You have one hour with her, motherfucker.
That’s it.
“Then you can go in my place, because I won’t be at the meeting.” He marches back into his office and slams the door.
The staff all let out a collective sigh of release that the tyrant is gone. I tap my pen on the desk while my blood boils.
Asshole…
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