Page 2 of The Grump’s Assistant

Jennifer’s phone rings and she answers right away, holding her hand up to cut me off. “Hey, babe. Yeah, I’m just finishing up here. Be home soon!”

She stands up, swiping the cash from my hand in one fluid motion.

Adjusting her sunglasses, Jennifer blows me a kiss and sashays out of the bakery.

I look over my shoulder at the woman behind the counter, who looks about as impressed with Miss Thang as I am.

Sienna winks at me and I smile back. If I get the day shift at work and make better tips, I’ll have to come here more often.

I finish up my drink and thank Sienna again before heading back out into the chaotic New York morning.

The exchange with Jennifer took all of ten minutes, and while she was rude, I’m thankful it didn’t drag on and on.

I’m exhausted, my feet throb, my bones ache, and I feel like I’m eighty, not twenty-two.

I make it to the nearest bus stop and pull out my new phone, pleasantly surprised that it has a full battery.

Jennifer didn’t give me much time to inspect the phone, but everything appears to be working just fine.

I Google the bus schedule, sighing with relief to see the next one heading back to my neighborhood comes in just a few minutes.

I’m about to shove the phone back in my bag when it rings. Startled, I hit the answer button without thinking. I just wanted it to stop making noise.

“Hel—”

“Where are you?” a rough voice cuts me off.

“Um, I think you have the wrong number.”

There’s a brief pause, as if the man had never even considered that possibility. But then he grunts out, “No, I’m right. You were supposed to be here to fill out paperwork thirty minutes ago, Jennifer.”

Oh crap, this guy is looking for the lady who just sold me her phone. “Actually, this is Juniper, and I?—”

“Juniper. Jennifer. Whatever your name is. Did you read through the contract HR emailed?” I’m about to jump in and tell him he’s got the wrong girl, but the arrogant, growly man won’t let me get a word in edgewise.

“Being late on your first day isn’t the way to impress me.

I need an assistant who will anticipate my needs and meet them before I even have to say anything. ”

“That seems like a ridiculously high standard,” I mumble. My hand shoots out to cover my mouth, as if I could somehow pull back the words and keep them locked inside. Why did I say that? I should hang up. I really should. But something he said has a plan forming in my mind.

“And I don’t intend to lower them for you, Juniper.”

Oh, Lord, why did I feel each syllable of my name as it rolled off his tongue? The low, gravelly tone of voice settles somewhere deep in my core, and I swear I can feel my erratic heartbeat in my clit. I mean, what the actual hell is going on ?

Clearing my throat, I try to shoo away inappropriate thoughts about the man on the other end of the phone.

I don’t know anything about him other than he’s grumpy, growly, and a perfectionist. Oh, and he needs an assistant.

If this is the job Jennifer skipped out on for spring break, I can understand.

This guy is definitely a jerk, but I think I can handle him better than my current boss, who tells me to wear tighter shirts to make more tips.

“Of course not,” I say, putting on my best waitress voice.

The one I use with difficult customers who are determined to find something wrong with their food.

“Nor would I ask you to. Just an observation.” My tone is light, and hopefully it’s working on him.

I can’t see his face, but I swear I can feel the tension, even through the phone.

“Keep your observations to yourself, Ms. Harper.”

“It’s Ms. Leigh, actually,” I correct him without thinking.

He grunts, a sound I think he makes more often than not. “Fucking HR screw-ups,” he mutters.

I hear what sounds like a pen scratching across paper, presumably crossing out my name.

“Did they even tell you where to show up today?”

I feel bad throwing anyone under the bus, but I’ll go in and explain everything at the end of the day. Hopefully, I can convince this man, whoever he is, that I can be the best assistant ever.

Silence stretches between us, though I can still hear his breathing.

“It’s not their fault. I, uh… I lost the email with all of the information,” I lie.

It rolls off my tongue easily enough, though my stomach twists at the thought of deceiving anyone.

“I’m so sorry. I was trying to find my way to your office but got a bit turned around,” I ramble on as I watch my bus roll away from the stop.

I have a new destination now. As soon as I get the address.

He still doesn’t speak, but I can feel the weight of everything he’s not saying. It’s a long shot for him to give me a chance to make a good impression, but I have to try. An executive assistant job surely pays more than overnights at the diner.

“You have one day to prove yourself worthy of a second chance.”

I bite my tongue, swallowing back all the things I want to say. Prove myself worthy? Who does this guy think he is? The man answers my silent question when he continues.

“As the owner, CEO, and brainpower behind Sloan Investments, I need a reliable assistant. One who will show up on time and do what they’re told. Without sassing me,” he adds. “Is that something you’re capable of?”

You don’t even know me! You have no idea what I’m capable of, what I’ve been through, what I still go through every day. Also, did you just say you’re the brain behind the company? How arrogant can you be?

I don’t say any of that, of course. Instead, I focus on the pieces of information he gives me.

Sloan Investments. I’d have to be living under a rock not to recognize that name.

It’s one of the biggest financial institutions in the city.

The name is plastered all over buildings and the news is always reporting on stocks going up and up and up.

I don’t even pay attention to that stuff, but it’s successful enough to be a household name around the city.

“Vincent Sloan,” I whisper to myself, remembering his first name.

I also remember a photo of the man himself on the cover of Forbes.

He topped one of those lists about the most stupidly rich and handsome men in the country.

As if they need more praise and bigger egos.

Vincent stood tall, proud, and unshakable in that photo.

Like nothing could touch him. He didn’t need to tell anyone he was powerful; his stance and dark, perceptive eyes said it all.

I remember thick, dark hair that matched his beard, which is uncharacteristic for the slick business people in the upper echelons of society.

A half groan, half snarl leaves his lips, and I wonder if he’s mad or in pain. Maybe he thinks I’m being rude by using his first name.

“I-I mean, Mr. Sloan.”

Another tortured sound comes through the line, though it fades away as if he’s pulling the phone away from his face.

“Good, at least you remembered my name. Maybe not so worthless after all.”

“How d—” I inhale deeply, forcing the reprimand back down.

Instead of asking him how dare he insinuate I, or any human being, could be worthless, I switch gears.

“How can I be of assistance today, Mr. Sloan? I’ll get everything sorted with HR when I get there, then I’m all yours. ” I’m all yours? Why did I say that?

Another rough, jagged sound rumbles through the phone, and I press my thighs together, trying to rid myself of the tingly feeling coursing through my body.

“Don’t bother coming into the office,” he snaps.

“Please, Vincent. Uh, I mean, Mr. Sloan. Let me prove my… worth. ” I choke on the word, hating that I’m groveling. This job could mean serious money. Money my mom and I need. Money that could save her life. So, if I have to suck up to the most arrogant brute in the business world, so be it.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath. After heaving out a huge sigh, he rattles off an address.

I place my bag on the bench at the bus stop I’m still standing at, digging through it to find a pen and something to write on.

“That’s for dry cleaning. I have an account there.

Don’t let Mr. Santori rip me off. That’s your first task. Let me know if you’re successful.”

Then he hangs up.

Bastard.

Looking down at the scribbled address, I take a deep breath and scurry toward the train station.

It’s a long ride to the Upper East Side, but I’m determined to keep this job.

For the money, of course. And maybe a little bit so I can rise to every single one of Mr. Sloan’s challenges and show him he can’t just treat people like trash. Seems like a win-win to me.