The Boss & The Assistant - Rewritten Edition of "The Boss"

Chapter 20 - Lafayette

"No," I said. "No, we can call another cab."

"We already waited ten minutes," Michael said.

"He's not sitting on anyone's lap, okay?" I said, firmly.

"I can sit on Marion's lap," Carla said.

"No, my hip, remember?" he said.

"It's fine," Em said. He locked eyes with me. "It's okay. Can I just sit on your lap?"

"Are you sure?" I asked, searching for any resistance.

"It'll be fine."

"That settles it," Michael said. "Everyone in."

I stood close to Em, putting a hand on his lower back. "You don't have to if you don't want to," I whispered.

"It's fine, just as long as it's you," he whispered back.

I nodded and climbed into the back of the cab. It was a tight squeeze. Em came in and sat on my right thigh, turning a little so his leg was over my knees. "You good?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, just fine."

It was only a minute in when we were stuck in traffic already. Everyone else was talking over each other while Em and I sat silently. I couldn't tell if he was uncomfortable, but he was staring off to a far away place. I put my hand on his back and rubbed it in circles. He looked over at me and smiled softly, easing into me. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the fact that he was still cold, but as we started to move again he was leaning against me more with his legs over mine so he was truly, comfortably sitting on my lap. My arm was around his lower back. The blue hair from his wig kept brushing against my collarbone. We were sitting too close, but I didn't want to get out of the cab.

We arrived at the club and stumbled out of the cab, tipping the driver well. The club was one that had a line out the door, but we could use the VIP door in the alleyway, meaning we also had access to a private booth in the back corner. We squeezed around the circular table and ordered a round of drinks. Feasibly, the booth could fit six people, so we were all close. Em was against me, my arm around his lower back again. No one seemed to notice and he didn't seem to mind. I knew I shouldn't have, but he was just so soft. I still didn't understand how he was so soft and warm. It felt like holding a pillow against me.

"Let's go dance," Sasha said. Sasha, Sydney, Michael, Carla, Marion, and Em went onto the floor to dance. Emilio and I sat behind, watching them tear up the dance floor.

"Are you having fun?" Emilio asked me.

"Yeah, it's been a long time since I've been out," I said.

"Good, you look like you're enjoying yourself. It's good to see." He took a drink of his beer. "Emerson looks very cute as a girl."

"He's quite convincing, that's for sure," I said, watching Em flip his hair around like it was second nature.

"I like Emerson. I'm glad you hired him. He's brought out a side of you I haven't seen in a long time," he said.

"He's great, but I fear the line between boss, assistant and friend has been crossed."

"So what? We're friends and work together," Emilio said.

"Right, but I can't fire you and you can't fire me. I can fire Em if I wanted to. The power dynamics will always be skewed in my favor," I said. "We had a bit of a fight a few weeks ago. Personal feelings got in the way. I was close to firing him."

"So make it so you can't fire him. Add in a clause to his contract that states the c-suite would need to approve a request for termination," he said, shrugging.

"I shouldn't have to do that in the first place. I never should've let him stay with me or get close to me in a way that I can't stay objective," I said.

"Well, it's too late, so don't worry about what you shouldn't have done. Focus on what you can control. Also, it's okay to show some type of care towards your employees. Bosses should be more humanized. They should show compassion and sympathy instead of not caring about their employees."

I sighed. It didn't feel like the type of care a boss should show towards his employees. It was a different type of care, one that muddied the line between a healthy work and life balance. I didn't tell Emilio this, though. Still, his suggestion to add a clause was smart. I had anger issues. Even though Em listening in on my phone call was a fireable offense, he wasn't doing it maliciously. He acted impulsively because he also cared about me in a way he shouldn't. Emilio was also right in the fact that we shouldn't focus on what was already done. We could only care about what we could do.

I ordered a round of shots for everyone when they came back to the table, sweaty from dancing. Emilio and I hopped on the dance floor the next time the rest of the group went out. We danced for what seemed like hours, until it was well into the middle of the night. We left the club, walking to a bodega and getting some snacks. Sasha and Sydney lived close by, so they walked back to their apartment. Carla and Marion lived in the opposite direction, so they got their own cab to their house. The rest of us got a cab together. Emilio and Michael were dropped off first, saying their goodbyes as Emilio practically carried Michael up to their front door. Even after they were gone, Em still sat close against me in the back seat as we went to his apartment.

"Your place is closer, you should get dropped off first," he said quietly, looking up at me. His face was very close.

"No, I'd rather make sure you get back okay," I said, also quietly. I brushed his blue hair out of his face and behind his ear. My arm seemed to be glued around his lower back any time we sat next to each other. My hand rested on his hip.

"You're so warm," he said, resting his head on my shoulder and closing his eyes. He had put my jacket back on when we left the club.

"It's the alcohol," I said, smirking, moving my hand up and down his hip and thigh without even thinking.

"No, I'm always cold," he said. "Alcohol doesn't warm me up."

"You're always warm. I mean, you're cold, but you're warm to the touch."

Em glanced up at me under his false lashes. The way he looked at me, it sent a flutter through my chest. He was intoxicated. So was I. If this had been any other night, any other person, anyone other than my assistant, I would have kissed them. I couldn't do that, though.

"We're here," I said. "Do you need help getting up?"

"No, I think I should be fine," he said.

I got out first and helped him get out of the car. "Text me when you make it into your apartment," I said. I watched him walk up the stairs of his apartment, making sure he got in without anyone following. Then I got back into the cab. "Can you take me to a different address?" I asked the driver. I told him the new address, reading it off of my phone.

A few minutes later, I was knocking on an apartment door I had never visited before. Footsteps sounded on the other side. A latch was unlocked. Then the door opened to Marcus, who looked the same as he did five years ago. He was only wearing a pair of underwear, his hair wet, water droplets still sliding down his chiseled torso. Before he could say anything, I pushed him into his apartment, slamming the door behind me. I grabbed him from under the chin, kissing him. When he put his hands on my hips, I grabbed his wrists and held them down to his sides, against the wall I shoved him against. He liked it rough and he liked to be told what to do, so I told him to get onto the bed and take his underwear off while I stripped down. Marcus was ridiculously handsome. Strong jawline, dazzling smile, ripped body. He was a model, after all, but he was arrogant and selfish. Sometimes I thought I actually hated him because of how annoying he was, how passive aggressive he could be. Still, the sex was always good.

When Michael said he was moving back into the city, I had no intention of contacting him, but after the events of the night, and after what Emilio said about controlling what I could, I knew I had to take matters into my own hands. I couldn't think about how soft and warm Em was, or how kissable his lips looked, or the bedroom eyes he was giving me in the cab. I never really had to get over anyone because I never cared that much about anyone like that, not even my exes. So, the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else. In this case, though, Marcus was under me.