one night stand with my boss

Ella The grocery bags dug into my forearms as I maneuvered them through Kenny’s absurdly large kitchen. I struggled with organic kale, imported cheeses I couldn’t pronounce, and enough sparkling water to quench a small army's thirst. This was my reality. Ella Morrison, personal assistant extraordinaire, at the mercy of Kenny Jones, CEO of Jones Industries. I slammed the refrigerator shut; its polished stainless steel gleamed mockingly. Kenny inhabited a realm of shiny surfaces and extravagant price tags, a world I could only catch a glimpse of through the filter of my modest salary. I glanced at my watch. Almost 2 PM. Time to return to the office. The drive felt like a blur of anxiety. After two years of working for Kenny, I knew he was demanding but usually fair. Lately, however, an undercurrent of tension lingered in the air. He had grown short-tempered, snapping at employees and creating an atmosphere thick with unease. Back at the office, the same nervous energy was palpable. I scarcely had time to hang my coat when my phone buzzed. It was Kenny. "Ella, get in here. Right now." I took a deep breath, gathered my thoughts, and reminded myself to remain calm as I approached his office. Upon opening the door, I saw him still seated at his desk, focused on the screen. His face was beetroot red; it seemed as though steam might erupt from his ears. "Is everything alright, boss?" I instinctively wanted to fidget with my top, a habit that reflects my anxiety, but I forced myself to concentrate. A man like him relishes this type of reaction, and I wouldn’t allow him to perceive any fear from me. "Care to explain this?" he demanded, pivoting his laptop so I could view the screen. I stepped forward and leaned down to read what was displayed. My brows furrowed in confusion as I looked back at him, saying, "I'm sorry, but I have no idea what this is." The email displayed messages between me and my best friend Jessica. The issue is that I don't communicate with her through email; we see one another daily and I prefer calling her. "Cut the bullshit, Ella. It's right in front of me. This clearly shows you talking behind my back." His furious expression was so overwhelming that I felt the urge to flee the room, yet I stood firm. Confrontations are always challenging for me, especially with an angry man. "Mr. Jones, I have been working for you for a long time, and I've never spoken ill of you. Why would I do that now?" He scoffed in disbelief. "So, you're suggesting this is fake?" I nodded. "That's precisely what I'm saying. Come on, sir, you’re intelligent. You can’t really believe this." "You have one minute to tell me the truth. If you don't, you’re fired." I have never lied. I learned that lying requires more lies to conceal the truth, creating an inescapable cycle. If he chooses not to believe me, that's his issue. Standing tall, I replied, "Mr. Jones, with all due respect, if you plan to fire me, then do it. I have told the truth, and it's not my responsibility if you can't trust someone’s word." It's hard to believe, but his face turned an even deeper shade of red. "Fine, you're fired. I’ll ensure you won’t be hired by anyone in this city." While usually calm, his words ignited a flame within me. Taking a breath, I asked, "And how exactly would you accomplish that?" The nerve of this man was astonishing as he smirked, saying, "All I need to do is give you a terrible reference and add that you're trying to seduce me." How revolting is he? I would never attempt to seduce him—he's old enough to be my grandfather. But it’s his word against mine, and I refuse to argue any longer. Continuing this confrontation would only worsen the situation and won’t change his mind. I silently gathered my belongings and made my way to the lift, my thoughts screaming, "f**k you, Mr. Jones." Once outside, the heavy rain soaked me immediately. I felt relief that I had a car and wouldn’t have to walk to the train station; I'd be drenched by then. Accelerating my pace to dodge the rain, I climb into my car. As I grip the steering wheel, I take a moment to confront the harsh reality that I've just lost the job that was paying for my rent and food. Tears cascade down my cheeks as I reach for my phone to dial Jessica’s number. Jessica Allen is the ideal friend everyone desires and needs. Her parents, Ange and Michael, were lifelong friends with my parents, Nicole and Martin. Both our mothers were pregnant simultaneously, and since we entered this world, we have been inseparable. Six years ago, she was an incredible support when my parents passed away, ensuring I was okay and had everything I needed. I owe her my life and more—not just for helping me through my grief but for saving me two years ago. If she hadn't intervened, I wouldn't be here today. It only takes two rings for her to pick up, but I speak first. Feeling defeated, I say, "I just got fired." She exclaims, "What? Why? How?" through the phone, causing me to briefly pull it away from my ear. "I don't know. He showed me messages he received that were supposedly from me to you. I tried to explain they were forgeries, but he wouldn’t listen. I have zero income. I’m in deep trouble. I need to pay my rent, and if I fail to do so, I could end up homeless.” With a sigh, she asks, "So what are you planning to do, sweets?" I throw my hands up, feeling utterly exhausted. "That’s the issue—I have no idea. I need to find another job, but now he’s threatened to blacklist me, and if he follows through, I won’t be able to find one at all." "Okay, how about I come over to your place? Let’s say in an hour, and I’ll help you search for jobs. We can tackle this together." "I can’t ask you to do that. You have work to handle. If I pull you away from that, you could lose business." "Don’t be ridiculous, Ella. I run the company. I have the best team here. They can manage just fine.” Biting my lip, I take a moment to think. I don’t want to disrupt anything for her; she’s put in so much effort to achieve what she has. “Alright, I’ll see you at my place then." "Go home. I’ll meet you there shortly. Drive slowly, keep your cool, and wait for me. I won’t take long. I need to finish this and then I’ll head out. I love you. El, stay safe." Once the call ends, I wipe my eyes and start the car, praying during the drive home that he reconsider his threat of blacklisting me.