Eva

My summer vacation officially started today, but I don't have the luxury of sleeping late or going to the beach with my pals since I have a dictator for an uncle.

I've been made to work at Uncle Eric's business for two weeks in order to prevent me from growing up "spoiled" rather than relaxing as any fifteen-year-old girl has the right to.

Ha! As if it were even conceivable.

As soon as the elevator doors open, I flinch off, and smiling faces from my past welcome me. I joyfully greet them and return the greeting, but I abruptly come to a halt when I see a strange person seated behind Mr. Johnson's desk.

I would never in a million years have predicted that the new secretary at M&M, who is on probation, is a woman, according to what my mother informed me. What changed if Stone Verhoff, Uncle Eric's closest friend and business partner, is adamantly opposed to employing a female secretary?

I'm more intrigued as I watch the other female. She may be in her early twenties, but given her clothing choices, she seems to be closer to thirty. They're completely respectable, but they're also monotonous and shapeless.

Hmm.

Could this be the reason Uncle Eric is willing to hire her?

There is only one way to learn, therefore...

Hello there.

I'm the kind of person that nobody can resist because I'm so, so brilliant at winning people over. In only five minutes, we're already conversing over coffee at the trial secretary's desk for M&M.

I just learned her name is Sara Lauren, and I think it fits her. If you know what I mean, she has a Madonna-like face that is somewhat similar to Natalie Portman's. She can be stunning enough to turn attention if she wants to, and with her hair a stunning copper color and her eyes a sexy-smoky gray behind her spectacles, I'm prepared to bet she can.

But judging by her current fashion sense-and those heels, holy cow-she certainly doesn't!

Can I ask you a question?

Even if I answer no, Mary continues with a small grin, "I think you'll ask it anyway."

"Aww." I squint my eyes at her. You are already so familiar with me.

When Mary snorts, I can't help but laugh. You can understand why I need a few additional seconds before I can control my laughter; it's like watching the Blessed Virgin Mary burp.

I pause before saying, "So..." Uncle Eric is opposed to employing a female secretary, I don't know whether anybody has told you this.

I gasp. "How did you learn? "

Mary says, "Mr. Johnson is an acquaintance of my aunt. I'm chuckling once again at the way Mary air-quotes the final two words: "He told me that this job could be ideal for me, but if I want to be hired, I'd need to be certain things--if I want to win Mr. Jonson's approval."

How is Uncle Eric doing? I jokingly enquire. Don't you also have to get his approval?

Mary responds in an unexpectedly dry tone, "I don't think so.

The question "Why not?"

Mary seems instantly regretful as I chuckle, "Your Uncle Eric approves of all women--" "I shouldn't have mentioned your uncle in that way,"

You don't have to apologize when you're stating the truth, I chuckle as I shake my head. Uncle Eric has always been, and likely always will be, a playboy.

What's up with Mr. Jonson? Mary queries. Has he always been anti-women?

He does not despise women.

"I see."

I restrain a grin. You clearly don't think I'm telling the truth, but it is. Since I'm a female, he adores me. Of course, on his sister Zee as well.

So, Mary says, "He cares about female relatives and almost relatives, but what about the rest of the female population?"

Did Mr. Johnson not explain to you the reasons for Uncle Eric's emotions?

The only thing he said to me was that Mr. Jonson and Mr. Verhaege had good reasons not to hire a woman.

"It's true," I reply. The first secretary of the firm they founded right out of college spent more time flirting with the founders than working. The situation deteriorated to the point that they need the assistance of their legal team.

Mary is astonished. "Are you claiming that there was sexual harassment involved?"

I lean forward and whisper, "Don't quote me on this, but the last straw for Uncle Eric was coming back to the office and finding Ms. Fuller lying naked on his desk."

"Oh."

Isn't it nearly like something from a movie?

Jane nods. All the "certain things" I was ordered to perform, though, make a lot more sense now that I know what transpired.

Unintentionally focusing on her shoes, I find myself cringing. Are they among the "certain things" Mr. Johnson requested from you?

Mary laughs and says, "They're not that horrible.

They certainly are, I shiveringly reply. "Those shoes appear to be nothing more than leather Crocs."

If Mary thinks I was kidding, I'm so not. She snorts, laughs, and almost chokes on her coffee. It hurts me to look at her shoes since they are such an awful sight.

What concerning those? I indicate her eyeglasses. The question is, "Are they even real?"

The elder woman beams. "Don't you think wearing fake glasses to work is a little excessive?"

I slap my forehead. "The more nerdy you are, the better. Make Uncle Eric forget you're a lady if you want to maintain your job. I stop. Actually, it would be preferable if you also forgot that you are a female.

"Noted."

Mary agrees to this so swiftly, which astounds me. Is it really that simple? No of their age, every woman I know has a thing for Uncle Eric and Uncle Eric.

They are not my kind, I said.

My brows furrow in response. What is there not to like? They are both beautiful and wealthy, and unlike other billionaires, they are also Erice people.

Mary reassures me, "I realize that, but I simply have a type, and they can never be it.

My curiosity is now beyond limits. Please let me know what kind you are.

I'm surprised by how much Mary's lips slant reminds me of the grin on the Mona Lisa.

The other girl responds, "It's a secret," and her comments only serve to highlight how much she resembles the lady in Da Vinci's famous painting.

Oh boy.

Should I tell Mary that, once upon a time, Uncle Eric used to be drawn to females like her even if I am confident that Uncle Eric likes a different sort of girl?

Mary gives me a weird look. Is there a problem?

I gently shake my head, deciding it would be better to keep my lips shut than to run the danger of turning mole hills into mountains.

I tell myself, "It's nothing," and I mean it when I say that.

Right?

Stone

It's the last day of Mary's trial period, Eric says as he bangs on my office door and peers inside. Should we keep her or let her go?

Damn.

I can't believe a month has gone by so quickly, and I wince because I know what Eric will say when I tell him about my choice.

"Well?" Eric insists.

Maintain her.

My pal chuckles. "I warned you,"

I knew he would say that, but even knowing it would happen doesn't make the remarks any less grating.

Mary's job contract is placed on my desk by Mike as he enters the room. "With your signature, she will formally start working as the full-time secretary to two of the most workaholic CEOs in the world."

My signature is scrawled on the dotted line. "Any other things?"

Want to deliver the wonderful news to her on your behalf?

"Seriously?"

"Before her, both of us interviewed and tested other candidates, but none of them were successful in getting the job. While Mary hasn't voiced any objections yet, you know she's the finest of the lot, and it's just a matter of time until your ogre act bothers her.

I growl, "I seldom talk to her.

"Exactly," responds Mike. "You do that the few times you speak to her,"

The question is, "What the fuck is that?" I snarl.

Again: ogre fuck act. You're either growling at her or snarling at her.

Damn.

According to Mike, "This girl is a keeper."

Why is Mike being so damn adamant about her?

"Are you up for fucking her?" I ask hurriedly.

"What?"

"You caught me,"

Mike seemed startled at first, then furious. "Nah, Stone. I'm against fucking her. She's not really my type, as you are aware. But Mary is the secretary I've been looking for because she doesn't see her position as a stepping stone to becoming the next Mrs. Sandra.

While his remarks have made me consider something else and I'm now happy that Mike doesn't have a thing for Mary, I can't help but wonder, "How do you know she won't change? Or that what we are experiencing right now is not an act?"

I frown as lines appear on my forehead. The question, "Your niece?"

"You understand Scarlett, don't you? They all adore her.

My turn to smirk now. We all do, with the exception of her uncle.

Mike snarls. I don't mind her at all as long as she follows my instructions, but that is irrelevant.

What's the purpose then?

A few weeks ago, Eva overheard Mary chatting, and it seems that Mary let out that she doesn't like either of us.

Eva believes she is speaking the truth, right?

Even though Eva and I often disagree, I am aware of my niece. She is quicker and better than any of us at sniffing out liars and money-hungry individuals.

If so, I suppose it proves neither Mike nor I are Mary's type in real life. I should be glad now, but for some reason, I'm not.

Are we now in agreement about Mary?

Mike accepts my grunt as an answer, and the other guy informs me Mary will be coming in shortly after.

In a few seconds, there is a knock at my door, and Mary enters at her normal leisurely manner.

Mike had a reasonable first impression of her when she initially came in for an interview, and I told him that was also true of me.

But it was a lie.

I have a hard time seeing what other people see in Mary both back then and today. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sandra." Her voice is seductive as fuck as usual, and my jaw clenches. Everyone keeps saying she's the image of efficiency, but every time my sight lands on her, all I see is a present that I'm intended to unwrap...and eat. Mary is going to be our full-time secretary soon, so I need to fucking contain myself. "I was told you wanted to talk to me?"

I make a sign toward the two leather seats across from my desk. "Ms. Cavendish, please take a seat."

I agree, sir.

Fuck.

Every time Mary says those words, I get a fantasy about her in the bedroom, where she is on her knees, nude and shivering, repeating "yessir" as I urge her to suck on my cock. I know she simply meant to be polite as usually, but it makes me want to fantasize about that fantasy every time.

Fucking hell no.

I wriggle in my seat, trying to get the sexy picture out of my head. Thank god my desk is big enough to cover my swelling, painfully aroused cock, which is now hidden beneath my jeans.

I keep my eyes on her while I control myself, but she doesn't seem to mind. When Mike or I gaze their way, the other females we had previously interviewed for the position have resorted to blushing and tucking their hair behind their ears. Mary, on the other hand, has sat very calm and poised with her hands clasped in front of her.

This implies that Eva is speaking the truth, I assume.

Mike and I aren't Mary's type.

I sternly remind myself that this is a positive thing, so Stone Sandra, speak what you have to say.

I remark brusquely, "Today is the last day of your probation, and if you'd still like to work for us--" "I do."

"The job is now yours, then."

Her eyes enlarge. "Exactly that?"

I grin as I see Mary's surprise. Did you anticipate being fired by us?

"Yes."

Her candor surprises me, but maybe I should have anticipated it. Mary may be many things, but I don't think she has the personality to be coy.

"If you require more evidence..." Mary takes particular care not to let our fingers contact when I deliver her the contract, which is something I notice.

"I appreciate it, Mr. Sandra. You and Mr. Verhaege can be sure I won't reverse your choice.

I add gruffly, "I know I haven't exactly been the easiest employer to work for, but you've done a terrific job, and I'm delighted Mr. Johnson brought you our way.

I'm grateful, sir.

"That's all, then."

As I watch her go, I can't help but notice that despite always having clothing that fit loosely, she has never been able to conceal the lovely plumpness of her ass.

Mary's lovely, hot bottom has my cock throbbing so goddamn hard that I know I'll be jerking myself off as soon as the door shuts behind her. I know I shouldn't be fucking staring, but I've always been an ass person.

FUCK, FUCK, and FUCK.

It's been a very long time since I've felt this drawn to a lady, but it doesn't matter.

I still vividly recall how much it felt when Jocelyn passed away, and I don't want to let anything similar to occur once again.

Since then, all the women I've fucked have been after me for my money, and even at this early stage, I can tell Mary isn't one of them. She may not be as foolish or naive as the other twenty-two-year-olds in the world, but I am also aware that she is not the kind to engage in sex without being at least somewhat touched.

It won't be simple, but all I have to do is find a way to perceive Mary only as my secretary.

Mary three years later

In addition to being tremendously enjoyable to spend out with, they are also Erice and never catty.

But what happens when erotica writers decide they need to give you a surprise birthday party?

"I believe I'm returning home-"

Being the devoted best friend that she is, Francesca just starts laughing as her mentor Elaine issues a directive. "Young lady, stop right there!"

I'd want to ignore the older lady, but I was brought up by an old-fashioned aunt who instilled in me the value of respecting the elderly, so I grudgingly turn around to see that dozens of guys are once again glaring at...me.

Have compassion, Lord.

"Do you know how much I paid for this place to be rented?" Elaine shouts.

My brows crease. Since it's peak hour on a weekday and this is the rooftop pool of a five-star hotel, I'd say-- "That was a rhetorical question," the elderly man says. My point is that I put a lot of effort into making this happen.

"What is this exactly?" I wretchedly inquire.

You recognize those guys, right?

"Yes, I did see them." Since the most of them are wearing swimsuits, I'd prefer not to glance in their direction again.

Elaine blusters, "I hired a speed dating agency for this event, and all thirty of them are here to ask you out."

My mouth drops.

Alice gives Francesca a nod. "You can take her to change right now."

I exclaim, "But--" "It's time for you to spread your legs--"

"Wings," he said. The malicious sparkle in Alice's eyes tells me she meant what she said the first time, despite the fact that she corrects herself quickly. Sara Lauren, you're already 26 years old, she remarks arrogantly. The moment has come for you to find a partner.

"But I don't want a boyfriend," I object.

The question "Why not?"

I'm already in love, that's why!

That's also true, but I also realize that if I spoke it out loud, Alice and Francesca would simply keep asking me who I'm in love with. I shrug and reply clumsily, "Just because."

Alice averts her gaze. Is that the best you can manage?

I firmly state, "My motives are irrelevant. The fact that I don't--is what counts.

My companion is told by the elder lady to "take her away, Che-Che."

"Alice, hurry up!"

I keep saying how absurd this is all, but my best friend-turned-traitors simply begins taking me to a private cabana.

Just make her laugh, Francesca implores. She made an extra effort to make this for you, I must say.

I counter, "I really do appreciate her efforts, but isn't this too much?"

"When Alice learned that you were still a virgin, she was just incredibly worried-"

"Che-Che!" Despite the fact that the elder lady is like a second mother to both Francesca and me, I've never spoken to Alice about my V-card. The question is, "You told her, didn't you?"

Francesca grinned sheepishly. Sorry, that accidentally slipped.

"Yeah, that's right!" How did discussing another woman's virginity "slip" into conversation?

My buddy makes an apologies gesture by clapping her hands together. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry.

What about those guys? I awkwardly interrupt her and inquire. Do not inform me that they are also aware of-please.

The expression on the face of my best buddy tells it all.

"Oh, my God."

I don't tend to use exclamation points every few lines, but when I consider that all of those folks now know that I have no experience with sex, I suddenly find myself saying, "Oh my God."

Winces Francesca. "Sorry."

I moan, "This is going to be the end of me."

It's not necessary, Francesca replies abruptly. I squint my eyes at her and say, "I mean, it's just five minutes--" "What do you mean, five minutes?"

My buddy explains, "Each man gets five minutes to talk you up. "So, five minutes, thirty guys-"

I'm already calculating the numbers in my head as Francesca pulls out her phone, and the result makes me sigh once again. Che-Che, two and a half hours! That's 150 minutes of having to speak with males.

But after tucking her phone back into her shorts' pocket, Lucia just stares at me in astonishment. "I always overlook how intelligent you are."

"Not the point here," I snarl.

Lucia exhorts, "Let's just think positive." "Don't you think it would be better if we could finish this up sooner?"

I don't want, however. When I observe Lucia removing a variety of recently acquired swimwear from one of the cabana's built-in cupboards, I had to stop talking. What is it used for?

Lucia smiles. They're all so lovely, aren't they? They were purchased for you by Alice.

I stare in fear at her. "She must have spent a fortune on them!"

Lucia gives me a startled expression. "Do you know the brands?"

"I used to purchase-" When I realize who I'm speaking to, my mouth immediately closes, but it's too late.

Crossing her arms across her chest, Lucia. Was what I heard accurate? You already made this purchase?

"For myself," I immediately lie.

"Oh, really?" you ask. Lucia's grin is a little too endearing.

I make a beeline for the assortment of swimsuits Lucia has arranged on the bench. "Should I put one of these on?"

Are you attempting to alter the topic?

I ignore what she says and seize the first one-piece I come across. I airily say, "Off to change," but as soon as I step inside one of the cubicles, I quickly pull out my phone and send a text to Mike, who is now both my employer and the guy who swept my best friend off her feet in a passionate relationship.

Just to let you know, I sort of unintentionally said to Lucia that I used to purchase swimwear for your previous mistresses.

Me: I'm sending you our address in case you want to make a scene.

I pressed Send and, after a little pause, I said, "Sir."

I'm not sure whether he'll arrive in time, but whatever. My superiors are now in a crucial meeting with the Emir Sheikh of Ramil and his American queen.

I convince myself that I tried my best.

It's not like I intended to reveal his history to his wife.

Right?

When I exit the changing room, Lucia still seems eager to question me about Mikeolaas, but I have already left the cabana to feed the wolves and submit to Alice's plans before she can even speak.

I return, I reply glumly.

Alice laughs. "Stop pretending you're about to undergo torture."

But this is torment, I mumble to myself.

Oh, quiet. I'll request that the agency send another thirty this way if you keep behaving like a baby.

Since I know Alice isn't the kind to pull a fast one, I swiftly reply, "Now that I've had time to think about it, you're right, this isn't torture, and I'm so ready to find the love of my life among them."

"Ha!" However, Alice continues to chuckle, and I sigh in relief in the background.

Alice grabs my hand, and I obediently comply as she forces me to sit on a throne that seems to have been plucked off the set of a beauty pageant.

They'll approach you one at a time, and you may chat about whatever you like, Alice says. You don't even have to keep track of their names. You may easily call them out on video since the whole event is being recorded.

When Lucia sees me start to object, she looks across at me and shakes her head in caution.

Just go along with it, she says.

I hunch my shoulders.

Oh, okay.

Alice is well-intentioned, but I need to keep in mind that she was the one who gave me the greatest support when my aunt passed away from a heart attack four years ago.

So long as this is how I can make amends to her.

Five minutes, thirty guys.

That's not so horrible, is it?