Copyright © 2011 Jaime Samms
All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.
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When Tyler knocked on Jake’s door, said assistant, a new, doe-eyed, fresh-out-of-school kid with blond hair hanging in his pale face, opened it, muttered something about being delivered, and scampered from the room. Tyler couldn’t help but notice he had already ditched his jacket and his tie was crooked
“What did you do to that poor thing?” he asked, setting Jake’s coffee on his desk.
The other man was standing at the window glaring down at the traffic. “Took you bloody long enough.” He snatched up the coffee and punched the tab open. “I haven’t done anything to him. Yet.”
“Maynard’s going to have a fit if you scare off another assistant.”
“Go fuck myself?” Maynard’s voice held just enough sarcasm to bite.
Both Jake and Tyler turned as their boss entered the room.
“Morning, boys,” Maynard said.
Tyler nodded; Jake glared.
“I just had a conversation with Adam, Jake.”
Jake grunted and turned back to the window.
“If you might refrain from molesting your assistants, it would be appreciated.”
“Excuse me?” Tyler took a small step forward. “I’m sure there’s some misunderstand—”
“It was a little tap on the ass,” Jake said. “He needs to get over himself. Send him back here, Maynard. I’ll behave.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Maynard turned to Tyler. “And you. I want to talk to you about Steven Jessop’s party tonight. I’ll come by your office.”
Tyler managed to hold in the heavy sigh he felt building. “Sure. I’ll be there in a few.”
Maynard left, and Tyler waited a beat, hoping Jake might explain what had just happened. When the silence stretched, he finally spoke up. “Tap on the ass?”
“You need to not make a thing over this, Ty.”
“I’ll be in my office.” Tyler took his coffee and his pricked ego and left Jake staring out the window.
His gut told him there was more than one grope behind Adam’s hasty retreat, but his head told his gut to shut the fuck up and get to work. He had no interest in his heart pleading not to be a damn fool. Instead, he buried himself so deeply in a new ad campaign that Maynard’s knock on his open door a half hour later made him jump.
“Tyler. Got a minute?”
“About this party. I assume you’re going?” Maynard sauntered in and perched on the corner of the desk. His cheek pinched up the corner of Tyler’s draft, causing a pulse of irritation to pump through Tyler and leave behind a grimace.
“Well, go. I want you to feel Jessop out. Or up. Whatever it takes. He has a lot of advertising money to spend, and I want him to spend it here. Get him to consider our firm, sell him on us, and the account’s yours.”
“And here I thought you were just out to take a load off my mind. Tell me to go out, have fun, relax.”
“Good. Let me know how it goes.” He didn’t wait for a response, no doubt fully expecting Tyler to just agree. At the door, he stopped, turning with a twisted smile on his face. “And have fun, Tyler. Maybe even get laid. Be good for you.”