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No. Just…no!
Chapter2
Izzy
“Your dry cleaning has been dropped off, the meeting with Ling-Tao Corporation has been rescheduled for after the holidays and it’s been entered into your planner, you sent flowers and a get-well card to your Aunt Sue, who’s recovering from gallbladder surgery, and…” Here goes. This is something I’ve wanted to do for over three years, but today it will be official.
I swallow down the lump of cowardice lodged in my throat and, as I hand Mr. Steele the piece of corporate letterhead neatly typed and double-spaced, I try my hardest to avoid gazing at his perfectly shaped lips. Or his chiseled jawline. Or, heaven forbid, into his deep brown eyes.
“What’s this?”
“My resignation, sir.”
“Your… Say what?”
“Res-ig-nation, sir,” I enunciate, subtly attempting to breathe out of my mouth and avoid taking in the delicious scent of his cologne. It’s an aroma that reminds me of autumn leaves, waterfalls, and leather jackets. His scent alone weakens my knees and dampens my panties.
There are several seconds of silence during which I assume he’s taken aback, but when I do finally brave a glance at his handsome face, his features are schooled, expressionless.
“You’re quitting?” His voice is monotone.
You have to do this, Izzy,I remind myself.You promised yourself. Do not be swayed by his orgasmic aroma.
My boss, Cameron Steele, is the absolute hottest man on the face of the planet. He has the kind of looks that make women swoon. Yes,swoon, I used that word. I’ve worked as Mr. Steele’s executive assistant for four years.
Four years of swooning. I think that’s long enough, thank you very much.
I don’t even like the man. He’s arrogant, tyrannical, dismissive, and domineering. Unfortunately, he’s also tall and has broad shoulders, narrow hips, mesmerizing eyes, and a voice like crushed velvet.
“I see.” He scans the resignation letter in his hand, and I brace myself to stand strong. He may offer me more money, a larger office, a paid vacation, or some other perk to get me to stay, but I won’t bend. No matter what he offers.
“May I ask why you are leaving?”
Because working for you is a 24/7 job.
Because I have no life.
Because my little sister, who I practically raised, is a hair’s breadth from wearing an engagement ring on her finger, and not only do I have zero marriage prospects, I also haven’t even gotten laid in… I can’t even remember that far back.
Because being your executive assistant, aka personal servant, has ensured I remain pitifully alone.
That’s not entirely fair. I take responsibility for my own choices, but all I’ve ever wanted, for as far back as I can remember, is to be a mom.
It’s true, here in an environment where the women I’m surrounded by are full of professional drive, career ambition, and business savvy, I dream of carpools and minivans, of shuffling kids to playgroups and dance classes, volunteering for the PTA, and preparing Pinterest-worthy meals for my family.
A family I don’t have. And therein lies the problem. I can remain working this job and forfeit my heartfelt dream, or I can leave. I don’t say any of that to Mr. Steele, of course.
“That’s personal, sir,” I tell him.
In the back of my mind, I wonder. Am I being impulsive? Yes, I’ve dreamt of leaving this job, but is now the right time? It’s the damn holidays. They make me crazy. I love Christmas, but this year it feels like just another year of being reminded I have no family, no house in the suburbs, no white picket fence, and I’m miserably single while the corporate shark I work for fails to both notice and appreciate the fact that he has me running around in circles so much it’s impossible to maintain any sort of personal life.
I’ve turned down two dates in the past four weeks because my whip-cracking boss had me staying late doing ridiculously menial tasks.
True, one was from the middle-aged guy in the mailroom who recently divorced his fourth wife and the other was from my neighbor, Craig Lawson, who lives with his mom, supports himself by doing occasional odd jobs, and has perpetually stale breath and a bad combover.
“Will there be anything else, Ms. Miller?”
“Um…no, no, sir. That will be all.”
