Page 16 of The Assistant
Harper
I tapmy finger impatiently on the desk while cautiously looking toward Dawson’s office. My eyes move from his door to the clock at the front of the room. It’s been hours since he’s left his office, and everyone else here has already gone home.
Having to see every other employee wave me goodbye before packing up their things to drive home and have dinner is like a slap in the face. I can’t do anything if I don’t have Dawson’s approval.
It’s 9:30 p.m. We should have been gone almost five hours ago. This is unethical by every definition of the word. Sure, he practically owns my soul with the contract we have, but that doesn’t mean he should get to keep me here this late.
I don’t know all of the details, but his last meeting did not go well. It was with one of his new overseas clients, and he didn’t want me sitting in on it. It struck me as a little weird at the time because he always wants me to sit in on these meetings. That’s the majority of my job here.
He slammed the door and sat on the phone for hours talking to him. I heard him raise his voice a few times, and I heard his fists slamming down on his desk, but I didn’t say or do anything.
I thought that Dawson and I were making some progress with our relationship, but he’s been on edge all day. Every time he’s walked by me, he’s scowled and snapped at me to do stuff for him. If I can’t predict what he’s thinking, I’m not doing my job right. He’s impossible.
Last night in the kitchen was a fluke. If I thought for a moment he wanted to get to know me and establish some sort of relationship, I was a fool. If anything, all he wanted to do was get information about my mom so he could use it against her. I’m sure he’s less than thrilled about someone new swooping in trying to steal away his father’s money—money that is sure to be his in his father’s will.
I’m starving. I’ve hardly had a chance to eat since breakfast, and I know as soon as I get up to microwave my lunch, Dawson is going to peek his head out of the door and demand I help with something. I can’t risk that right now.
The moment he sees that I’m not at my desk, he’s going to explode. All the frustration he feels right now is going to be taken out on me in a moment’s notice. I’ve grown up with this, so I know exactly how it works.
Dawson may think I’m bending to his will, but I know I’m not. If this is anything like what I’ve been through with my mother, I’m just avoiding the inevitable. He might think he has control over me, but I am far too savvy in situations like this.
My stomach growls loud enough that I feel embarrassed, looking around nervously for anyone that might have heard it. For thefirst time all night, I’m glad everybody else left hours ago. The nighttime cleaning staff haven’t even shown up yet.
I’m tired of walking on eggshells around Dawson. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to make it through this year in one piece, if I’m being honest.
I lean back in the chair and take a deep breath, closing my eyes and envisioning myself in art school. I’ll finally be able to have the schooling experience I’ve always dreamed of. I’ll have my own dorm room, decorated with bright colors and different patterns, friends coming over and binge-watching TV shows while we work on our art study homework. Maybe I’ll even get a chance to date finally.
The intercom on my phone beeps, and I jump up, immediately leaning forward and pressing the button to answer it. I can’t let him think I was slacking on the job in any way.
“Yes, Dawson?” I hold my breath waiting for him to tell me I can go home. I want him to tell me he’s called a car, and it’s outside waiting for me so I don’t have to wait here in this hellhole any longer.
“Come in here,” Dawson snaps. His voice is thick with tension, and I know something is wrong. My shoulders slump, and I close my eyes, nodding as if he can see it through the intercom.
“I’ll be right there,” I say, standing up and straightening my blouse before taking a deep breath and approaching his office. As much as I would love to hesitate, I can’t.
Let’s face it, my mom’s going to cheat on Henry within the next couple of years, and I’m never going to have to see Dawson again after that. But until that time comes, things have to be amicable.
I push open the door to his office and see him leaning back in his chair, his tie undone and the top few buttons of his shirt open. His hair, which is normally perfectly in place, is disheveled and pushed around like he’s been running his fingers through it aimlessly.
An empty glass sits in front of him, and a bottle of amber liquid is beside him. It doesn’t have a label, but I can only imagine it’s not apple juice. He’s clearly been drinking.
“You needed me?” I ask, folding my hands in front of me and making myself as polite as possible. Dawson’s eyes move up and down my body, lingering on the bit of exposed cleavage on my blouse.
“Come here,” Dawson says, not moving. I take a few steps closer, and he straightens up in his desk chair. He points at the desk with his finger and pushes the glass bottle aside. “I want you to bend over my desk so I can fuck you.”
I stare at him blankly for a moment, not blinking as I try to figure out what kind of joke this is. This has to be a joke, right? He can’t actually be serious right now.
I laugh and shake my head, thinking that this is just his weird, twisted sense of humor. “No.”
I guess a part of me is expecting him to laugh and brush it off, but he doesn’t. His face only grows more serious, and I am hit with the sudden realization that it wasn’t a joke. He genuinely wants me to “bend over his desk so he can fuck me.”
Aside from the fact that he’s my stepbrother and sleeping with him would be immoral in so many different ways, I can barely stand him. Why the hell would I want to sleep with him?
“Are you serious?” I take a step back, and Dawson nods, gesturing to the desk to silently tell me to do as I’m told. “We don’t even like each other. Why would you want this?”
Dawson laughs, and I see genuine amusement on his face. To be honest, it’s patronizing, and I feel myself getting more annoyed with the situation.
“Trust me, we don’t have to like each other to fuck,” Dawson says, standing up. Now that he’s standing, I can see that he’s already aroused, and it makes me uncomfortable.
