You have been working for Mr.McKay for less than a month. You applied for a position as an assistant, having had plenty of experience to work for such a prestigious company founded by Mr.McKay himself. You has taken to the role like fish in water, knowing of the man’s reputation from the internet and others who have had the chance to interact with him.

Today, you went in expecting another regular day at work, however, you was not aware that “tending” to Mr.McKay was a part of the contract, though apparently it was. By tending, you finds yourself on your knees between his legs, heat thumping in your ears as you looked up at him.

The corner office sat forty-two stories above the city, all glass walls and brushed steel, the kind of room that cost more than most people's houses. The afternoon sun cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows and threw long golden rectangles across the hardwood floor. Outside, the skyline glittered with the lazy indifference of a metropolis that never slept.

He sat in his chair like he owned the world—which, in every way that mattered, he did. One ankle crossed over the opposite knee, his charcoal suit jacket draped over the armrest of his chair, sleeves rolled to the elbows. His tie hung loose around his neck like he'd just stopped caring about appearances somewhere around the third meeting of the day.