The Billionaire's Curvy Conquest

By: Lydia Layne



“Jarrod from IT came and took your computer and then the Wicked Witch packed up all your papers and personal things.”

“Shit. Did she say I was fired?”

Fay shrugged. “All she said was to tell you that she’ll be waiting for you in her office.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I was kicking myself for being late again, convinced that the Wicked Witch was going to use it as an excuse to let me go.

Then another thought crossed my mind. Was Mr. Reed having me fired because of my behavior in his office yesterday?

Knocking on the Wicked Witch’s door, I poked my head in. “Hi Laurie, Fay told me that you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, come in.” I took a seat opposite her desk and saw my personal affects sitting in a box in the corner.

“I don’t know what you did yesterday—“

“Let me explain!” I pleaded, cutting her off. She raised her eyebrows, which meant that I should pipe down and let her finish.

“As I was saying, I don’t know what you did yesterday, but Mr. Reed and Alice were very impressed with your work.”

My jaw dropped. “They were?”

That’s not what I expected to hear. Not at all.

“Yes. They were so pleased, in fact, that they have promoted you to the Special Projects team. Effective immediately.”

“They did?” I couldn’t believe what Laurie was telling me!

“What did you do up there, anyway?” My now ex-boss asked, leaning over her desk and eagerly waiting for my response.

“I wish I could tell you, Laurie,” I said with a vindictive smile. “But everything Special Projects does is confidential.”

“Right.” She sat back, clearly disappointed. “I guess you should grab your box of personal items and head on up to Special Projects.”

Laurie stood and held out her hand, a gesture she had never made toward me, even when I was first hired. “It was a pleasure working with you, Cassie.”

“Thank you, Laurie,” I responded, shaking her hand with a satisfied smile on my face.

Then, I picked up my box and left without another word.

~~~

I set my box on the Special Projects reception desk.

“Cassie James reporting for duty,” I said a bit too cheerfully.

The receptionist was on the phone and waved me toward the chairs. Covering her headset microphone she whispered, “Someone will be right with you.”

That someone was Greta.

“Cassie! So good to see you again.” Impeccably dressed, just like yesterday, she led the way to her office where I took a seat. “Are you excited to become a fulltime member of the Special Projects team?”

“Oh yes,” I replied enthusiastically. “But I have no idea what to expect. I don’t even know what my new title is.”

“Let’s see,” Greta said, reading from the paperwork she held in her hands. “Your new title is Personal Communications Specialist.”

“What does that even mean?” I wondered out loud.

“Honestly, I don’t quite know. It seems to be a new position developed just for you. With your English degree, my guess would be that Mr. Reed wants you to handle his person correspondence, although there isn’t a detailed job description here.”

I nodded. That sort of made sense.

“The paperwork does say that you should anticipate spending quite a bit of time in Mr. Reed’s office, working with him one-on-one,” Greta continued. “Your position also has a dress code with a very generous wardrobe allowance. Ten thousand dollars has already been direct-deposited into your bank account. Mr. Reed has taken the liberty of drafting a shopping list for you.”

She handed me a sealed envelope marked Confidential and a delicious shiver ran up my spine. I was beginning to realize what, exactly, my new position entailed.

“You’ll have a more formal Special Products orientation in a few days that will get you up-to-speed on how we operate. For now, you should probably focus on Mr. Reed’s shopping list. Do you have any questions, Cassie?”

“Not so far,” I replied, barely able to contain my excitement.

“Well then, let me show you to your desk!”

Greta took me down the hall, but instead of stopping at the cluster of cubicles, she turned right into a private office with a giant window that offered a panoramic view of the city below. “I hope this meets with your approval.”

“I’ll say!” I exclaimed, twirling around in a space that was large enough for a desk, an easy chair and a loveseat.

“Well then,” Greta smiled, “I’ll let you get settled.”

“Thank you,” I said, giddy with excitement as I closed the door to my very first office.

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