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I should never have hired him. I'd fire him as soon as I figured out what to say. The truth wouldn't impress Human Resources: "He's the most efficient and organized assistant I've ever had." Followed by: "My department has never run so well, but, I can't keep my hands to myself anymore. Every time I see him enter the office I smother a moan. I want him to nibble on me not the pen he's holding."
Sure, that'd go over well. A lawsuit just waiting to happen. So until I thought of a good reason to get rid of him or forced him to quit on his own, I was stuck.
Stuck lusting after my assistant, who wasn't interested and even if he was, I wouldn't touch him. Dating co-workers was never a good idea. Dating subordinates went way beyond "not good" and hit "worst idea in the history of ideas."
So, why had I hired him? If only I had a good answer. All I could say was: hubris. Sheer hubris. I thought I could handle it. I'm a tough girl. I've got will-power to spare. Chocolate cake? No problem, I'll pass. Double shot latte with caramel syrup? Thanks, but no thanks. Tall, dark and handsome assistant? Please, I'm not that kind of girl.
Except, it turned out I was exactly that type of girl. And today, my personal version of the fiery depths of hell would be increased by a thousand percent for I had, for some inexplicable reason, agreed we could have an office party. And that meant I'd have to watch him casually work the room and worse, watch the hangers-on drool over him.
I'd spent the day off-site to fortify myself for the hour to come, but I'd barely walked into my office when she appeared. The worst of his fan-club. A perky, cheerful, perpetually simpering annoyance.