A Weekend with the Boss

"Jessica, can you please join me in my office?"
The smooth caress of the voice from the intercom sent a shiver down her back. Why was it that the men with the sexiest voices always seemed to be the biggest jerks? Jessica stabbed a finger at the talk button, noticing that the manicure she'd shelled out seventy five dollars for hadn't lasted twenty four hours.
"I'll be right in, Mr. Foster."
The mahogany door swept inward without a sound. Money sure had it's advantages. No squeaky hinges here. No way. At the first hint of the squeal of metal on metal, the maintenance crew would dash to the door and work their magic, all the while hoping the tyrant who lived behind it hadn't heard a sound. Jessica stepped into the lion's den and braced for the assault.
It wasn't long in coming. The man behind the desk lifted his eyes and she was struck down. The blue orbs glowed with the undercurrent of power that vibrated the air around Grant Foster. The dark hair was a little too long for the board room, but who would tell him that? Not her. If he could just look at her and never speak, they'd be the perfect couple. Well, he might do a few other things than look, but the perfection of his eyes and the sly smile that even now twisted his lips upward would be overshadowed by the weight of douche-baggery that seemed to flow unimpeded from his mouth.
"You're not doing anything this weekend, are you?" he asked.
Jessica flinched. He knew darn well she wasn't doing anything. He'd walked into the break room earlier that day just in time to hear her lament to her friend Cathy that the man she'd been planning to meet for a first date had flaked out on her.
"No, Mr. Foster."
"Good. You'll come with me to the premier party in New York, then." Grant shifted and pulled his wallet out of his pocket. He slipped a black credit card from a slot near the front and held it out. "Take this and go shopping. You'll need a gown and put other business-type clothes on it for the brunch on Sunday."
Nothing short of being held at gunpoint would move Jessica forward to take the credit card from those long fingers. He'd always been a self-serving egomaniacal jerk before, but this was just too much. What made him think he could order her to accompany him to some party half the country away?
The credit card wavered from it's horizontal suspension before slipping down to dangle from his fingers. The right eyebrow, always the sign of trouble on the rise, shot up.
"You don't want me to pay for your dress?"
"I don't want to go."
The left eyebrow joined the right one and Jessica's heart tripped into high gear.
"I don't recall asking your opinion, Jessica."
"And that's the problem. I'm your assistant, not your girlfriend. My job is to make sure your appointments don't overlap and your expense account balances every week. It's not part of my job description to be ordered to attend an event with you that would require out of state travel and special wardrobe options."
"I'm paying for all of that, so what's the problem?"
The effort to stifle the urge to stamp her foot and scream made Jessica's temples throb. He didn't see what was wrong.
"The problem is that it's inappropriate for you to ask me to attend such a function with you, let alone insist that I do so."
Grant dropped the credit card on his desk. His right hand shot into his dark hair, shoving it back with such force that Jessica was certain he yanked a good quantity of hair out. "Why are women always so difficult. Jeez. I would have thought most women would jump at the chance to go to New York, to have someone else foot the bill for the trip and the fancy wardrobe. But no. First Diane dumps me over some little slight she imagined at the club last night and now you want to argue semantics with me."
Grant leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Jessica watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and felt her resolve soften. He looked--well, vulnerable. When the blue eyes opened and locked with hers again, she felt her knees buckle and stumbled a little.
"If I ask you, will that change your mind?"
The soft tone of his voice raised the hair on her arms. It was a calm, calculated tone which carried just enough menace to let her know refusal wasn't an option. She could quit but why should she have to? The job paid well and she enjoyed the work. It was the man behind the desk who set her teeth on edge. Would it be so bad to travel with all the amenities Grant Foster was sure to have at his disposal? To stay in a fancy hotel and wear beautiful clothing while rubbing elbows with the A-List of Hollywood?
"Ask me, and we'll find out," she said.