Page 18 of Based on You

A beat of hesitation hung on her end. "I'm not a writer, Simon. It was just an idea I put together. I can't do half of what Ashby does."

"Why are you comparing yourself to Ashby?" I leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. "However popular she is, writing is subjective. Ashby gets applause, but plenty of people find her prose flawed. Others love it. If you put your own work out there, you'd find people who'd enjoy it." I paused. "I know I did."

"What?" she stammered. "You… you enjoyed it?"

I set the phone on the nightstand, switched to speaker, and folded my arms behind my head. "I did. And I understand I was the inspiration for the character Nicholas. I can't blame you. I'm your first and only boss."

"Mr. Beckett⁠—"

"Don't lie to me." I was smiling. "Nicholas is what, six-foot-three, gray eyes, wavy hair, dressed in a suit? If not me, who? Do you have another job somewhere?"

She laughed. "It's not about you. And I do have another job, actually. My other boss is very handsome. Six-foot-four. Blue eyes."

I snatched the phone off the nightstand and pressed it to my ear. "What, does he have tattoos as well?"

"Oh, yes. He's covered in them. And when he smiles, he's got these dimples. He wears frameless glasses that make him look ethereal."

I shifted against the headboard. "And I'm sure he rides a bike."

"He does!"

"Violet." I kept my voice level. "Do you work for the mafia?"

Quiet stretched between us.

I listened to her steady breathing a moment before her laughter bubbled through the phone. She laughed for a good while, and I waited. When it died down, she cleared her throat.

"Mr. Beckett." She was still catching her breath. "Yes. I may have gone a little overboard with the descriptions."

"May have." A smile tugged at my mouth anyway.

"But—"

"Stop lying." I teased it out. "I'm your only boss. The only one you've ever had and the only one you'll ever have."

"Is this a formal proposal to keep me as your assistant for the rest of my life?"

I chuckled and turned onto my side, propping my head on my hand. "Yes. You're destined to be my assistant for as long as you live."

"This should be romantic, but it isn't. It's just you refusing to let me advance in life, keeping me stuck in one position forever."

I looked at the dark ceiling. "Not everybody's meant to be an entrepreneur. As long as the company grows, you grow with it. You're one of the highest-paid people here. That's why HR hates you."

She gasped. "Are you serious?"

"Of course not. Are you always this gullible?" I laughed and held the sound long enough to hear her huff on the other end.

"I see. Why would I want to be an assistant to a man who teases me?"

"Because who else would build such an easy place for you to land?"

"You're acting like you're special, Mr. Beckett. Other men being terrible doesn't make you better than them. You're supposed to build a good workplace. That's just called being a decent person."

"Oh, really? So any other employer would let you write fiction based on your working relationship?"

"Mr. Beckett!" Her voice climbed, the laughter plain underneath it. "That's a bit much."

"I'm not the one who drew my characters to look like my boss." I kept my voice steady. "Anyone who saw that would think you had certain feelings for me. Wouldn't be great for your reputation."