You're My Boss.

𝕿𝖔𝖔 𝕮𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝕱𝖔𝖗 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖙

ᏒᎥᏋᏝ

Drrring-drrring.

I hate the sound of my phone ringing later than 10 pm and earlier than 8 am. The ten hours between these two times were meant for me. It's 3 am right now, and the person ringing my phone refuses to give up so I get out of bed to pick up the call.

Shaw Harlow.

I sneer at his name flashing across the screen. I nervously put the phone in my ear. Shaw Harlow doesn't speak nicely to anyone so I knew that my day was off to an upsetting start.

"Did I wake you?" he asks, his voice sounding coarse like he hasn't slept.

"Yes," I whisper against the speaker.

"Good," he breathes." I have a job for you."

Good? he said good. I couldn't stand the man but being his assistant meant that he could call me anytime and I followed whatever order he gave.

"What is ?" I ask him calmly.

I'm getting paid thirty-one dollars for every hour I work for him outside of my regular 9 to 5. So, I won't worry about it.

"I can't find my MP3 player anywhere in my house in the Hamptons. I need you to come and find it," he says in his usual cross manner of speaking.

His manner of talking would have set my teeth on edge if it weren't for the deep seductive timbre in which he speaks each syllable.

"Okay, sir," I whisper."Just text me the address."

"No," he tells me."Go get a pen and paper to write it down."

Pen and paper? He does enjoy finding the simplest of ways to make my life that much harder.

"Pen and paper ready." I lie, instead I open the notes app on my phone.

"17 Ocean Avenue East Hampton," he gives me the address.

"And how will I get inside the house, sir?" I ask.

"I'll open the door," he says.

"Wait," I argue."If you're there, why do I have to come and search for it?"

"Do I pay you to ask me questions or work?" He gruffs in a tired tone.

I stick my tongue out at the phone in response to his question.

I wait for him to hang up on me but I hear faint snoring at the other side of the call. I catch myself smiling and I realize that find the sound cute. I press the red button with haste.

I shudder at the thought of finding my boss cute. He's an egotistical; boorish man.

I motion into the bathroom, passing the emptiness of the apartment I had planned to fill with furniture from the flea market.

After my shower, I rummage through my still-packed suitcase for something decent to wear. In my three weeks of moving to NYC, all I have is an empty apartment and neglected laundry, all things that would've been able to fix if Shaw Harlow had just given me a break.

He is a billionaire for crying out loud, surely there's something better to do with time than goading me to quit my job.

With nothing else to wear, I squeeze into a tight black shirt and tuck it into my pants.

I grab my jacket from the counter and hurry to catch the Lyft waiting for me.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

I cross the bridge, open-mouthed at grand the house that is before me. I still refuse to believe that there's an actual bridge leading up to the house.