I think my dick is broken.
I haven’t fucked in three months.
That’s how pathetic the situation has become. I haven’t had a dry spell like this since...well—never.
People like me don’t have dry spells.In New York, if you’re twenty-six, richer than God, and still can’t get laid…that’s just fucked up.
Except this isn’t even my fault—I can’t help that hours of nothing but old geezers in suits talking about negotiations and acquisitions bores my dick to dormancy.
I fucking wish I was bi-polar. Then one of my alter egos could have a better libido.
Instead, I’m given the personal assistant from hell.
The only thing worse than being a personal assistant is being one for your high school nemesis.
But if this is the only way I can escape the family business, so be it.
I can bite my tongue and shit on my pride for a few months…I hope.
EXCERPTExcerpt- Connor’s POV
When we were finally in my office again – surprise, surprise – Trevvy was already inside. Sitting in my chair.
“Miss Trevelynn,” Franco smiled.
“You don’t have to be so polite to her.” I rolled my eyes. “She eats the goodwill of others for lunch.”
“I already had my lunch, thank you.” She stared down at my desk.
My eyes almost bugged out of their sockets. Empty candy wrappers and chocolate boxes lay massacred like a battle zone on my desk.
“Y-you,” I stammered. “How did you find my secret stash?”
She smirked. The closest I had ever seen to a smile. “Like your panic button, it wasn’t so secret.”
“Those were specially ordered from Belgium. You can’t just buy them whenever you want.”
The little She-Devil licked her lips. “Belgium, huh? No wonder they tasted so good. Too bad there’s none left.”
I was going to kill her. I lunged forward, but Franco tripped me with his leg before I could even take a step. I fell flat on my face; my forehead having the pleasure of hitting the floor first.
I stood up quickly and dusted the white specks off my pants.
“In Ancient Rome, traitors get capital punishment.” I narrowed my eyes at Franco, who was too busy whistling to pay attention to my glare.
Trevvy leaned back in my chair. “I want to declare a truce. We got off to a rough start, and I want to clear the air.”
“Why? Did you just fart?”
“Connor!” Franco yelped. He turned to Trevvy. “I am so sorry, Miss Trevelynn. He’s just being a smart—“
Trevvy raised her hand, and Franco quickly shut up. If I’d known that was all it took for him to close his yap, I would’ve tried that years ago.
“I am well aware of Shaw’s many, many faults.”
“At least I don’t repeat words like a five year old,” I mumbled.
“At least I don’t mumble under my breath like an eighty year old,” she spat.
Franco’s head was bouncing back and forth between the two of us, like a tennis ball getting lobbed back and forth. For fuck’s sake, Franco, pick a side already.
“As I was saying, before Shaw so rudely interrupted me,” her eyes snapped back to mine. “I am going to continue my position as your PA, so I want us to get along to ensure the success of our partnership.”
“A personal assistant is barely one step up from a desk jockey. I’d hardly call it a partnership.”
She kept her eyes on me, while her hand reached into my desk drawer. She pulled out a slick gold wrapped bar. Most likely my last chocolate bar.
Her fingers slowly travelled around the wrapper. It would’ve been an incredibly seductive act, if it weren’t being done to one of my most prized possessions. The lengths I went through to smuggle these chocolates past Meredith—I would’ve had an easier time escaping out of Alcatraz.
“Stop molesting my chocolate!” I yelled. “They’re worth more than you!”
“Our chocolate,” she countered. “We can either share the bar, and each get half, or,” she peeled back the gold wrapping and held it precariously close to her annoyingly sexy lips, “you get none.”
“You’re a sick twisted woman.”
Trevvy broke the bar in half. “Truce?”
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