Greyson Parker, 25 At the top

***Greyson's POV***

"Thank you for coming. We will be in touch." I usher the sixth person that I have interviewed today out the door.

"Is it five o'clock yet?" I huff out to my best friend, Mark.

"I wish. Where did the staffing service dig these applicants up from? I have seen better candidates on CNN." Mark jokes.

"How fucking hard can it be to get a decent assistant?" I groan while falling back into my leather office chair.

"Harder than finding a virgin at a sex club." Mark shrugs.

"You would bring sex into this." I shake my head.

"Speaking of sex, when's the last time you got laid?" Mark raises an eyebrow.

Considering I'm a virgin, never.

"I literally would rather do interviews than talking about my nonexistent sex life." I slap Mark upside his head.

"Ow!" Mark whines dramatically.

"Don't be a pussy." I laugh loudly.

"Speaking of pussy." Mark starts again.

"You know I'm gay, ass wipe." I salute Mark with my precious friend, the middle finger.

"Fine, speaking of dick." Mark grins.

"Out!" I shout as I point towards the door.

Mark throws his arms out in mock surrender.

"Call the temp agency. I needed someone here yesterday. Pay whatever they ask." I shoo Mark away.

"Sir, yes, sir," Mark cackles.

Why did I offer him a position?

Because he is your best friend, he graduated top of his business class.

Slipping my sunglasses on, I shove my cell in my pocket. I snatch my keys off of the desk before heading out to lunch.

I unlock my Aston Martin, slip inside and throw it in reverse. I just need a break from the bullshit of another day as CEO.

I pull into the parking lot of my favorite Italian restaurant, Maialino.

I approach the hostess as she waves.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Parker." The hostess smiles.

"It's good to see you, Marcella." I wink.

She ushers me to my usual table as she sets down my glass of wine. I come here most days during the workweek. I don't even have to order. I sit. They serve. It's a cozy place with a hometown feeling during the lunch hour.

I scroll through my phone while I wait for my food. I'm flipping through my emails. I like to keep them current. If I ignore them too long, they become overwhelming.

Sometimes I play Words With Friends. They aren't my friends, but I like a challenge. It is something to do to pass the time.

I don't do social media, so Facebook is out.

Being the Owner and CEO of one of the top ten most successful companies in Manhattan comes with unwanted publicity. My personal life does not exist. I literally cannot sneeze without a tabloid whispering that I contracted the swine flu.

Parker, Inc. is my adopted baby. The company has investments in every industry ranging from auto parts, energy, metals, rail cars, casinos, food packaging, real estate, and every type of fashion.

We are successful and have been for decades.

I don't plan on that changing ever.

My food is placed in front of me. I say my prayer before bringing the holy grail of pasta to my lips. Fettuccine Alfredo, mmmm. Creamy and delicious.

After lunch, I head back to the office to finish my workday.

As I pass my receptionist, I throw her a smile and pat her on the shoulder. She's a sweet little lady that has been here for longer than I have been alive.

Patty Maples is an asset to my company. She brings me coffee. She keeps homemade sweets on her desk. She is professional and full of good-hearted advice.

I enter my private elevator and hit the button on my floor. I'm at the top of the building, away from the general employees.

I'm not the type to avoid others; it's just I cannot afford to be caught in the office drama that indeed ensues daily on the other 19 floors.

As I walk off of the elevator, I pass by the empty desk where my assistant should be sitting. Sigh.

If only the last one could have kept it professional, I wouldn't be scrounging through applicants to replace her.

She was great at her job. The problem was she preferred to work harder at turning me than she did at being my assistant.

I don't need to be turned.

I like men. Period.

There is nothing wrong with being straight. I'm just not.

I throw my jacket over the arm of my leather office couch and take my seat behind my desk.

Knock Knock

"Come in," I yell.

"The agency is sending over a temp. They will be here shortly. Try not to pick them apart on eye contact." Mark announces.

"Don't be an ass, Fletcher." I sneer.

"Sure, Parker." Mark sticks his tongue out at me.

Fucking idiot. I roll my eyes.

"I saw that!" Mark yells as he walks back to his office.

"Congratulations." I jeer.

He could have just picked up his phone to deliver the message. I think he likes the banter. Hell, I like it too.

I busy myself with analyzing our quarterly financials while I wait for my new temporary assistant. It's not a permanent solution, but, at the moment, I'm grateful.

I check the clock to see it's 3:00.

Where the fuck is this woman?

I pick up my office phone and call the temp agency.

"National Temps, this is Sara. How may I help you?" The receptionist answers the phone.

"Good afternoon, Sara. This is Mr. Parker. I'm expecting an assistant. Do you have an ETA?" I ask politely.

"Mr. Parker, it's great to hear from you. Your assistant should be arriving any" I hang up the phone.

As Sara is replying, I hear a loud bang outside of my office. I jump from my seat and rush out of my door to make sure everyone is okay.

"I'm okay." A young man shouts as he rubs his knee furiously.

All I can see is the top of his head, which is covered in a lustrous mop of chocolate brown locks.

I notice his resume is scattered on the ground. I move to pick it up. Bending down, I collect his papers as he straightens out to face me sheepishly.

"I believe these belong to you," I whisper as I hand them over to said young man.

"Thank you, Sir." The handsome stranger reaches out to grab the papers before offering me his hand to shake.

I give him a firm handshake while giving him a good look over.

Fuck. He's gorgeous.

My breath catches in my throat as I stare at his beauty.

He has stunning hazel eyes, the perfect nose, a strong square chin, and perfectly formed pink lips.

His skin is smooth as satin. He sports the sexiest pair of Black, Semi-Rim glasses.

His body is perfect. He's lean and stands a few inches below my 6'5" height.

"Greyson Parker," I breathe out as I catch my bearings.

"Makil Oliver" He flashes a devastating smile at me.

Holy mother of God, he will be the end of me.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Oliver," I ask while staring unashamedly.

"It's Mak." He blushes.

Oh my, he is fucking precious.

"Mak." I correct myself with a smile.

His name sounds lovely, rolling off my tongue.

"The temp agency sent me over." Mak states as he grins, showing off two perfectly placed dimples.

"You're my assistant?" I choke out.

Fuck.

"If you will have me." Mak offers.

Oh, the ways I would have you.

"Yes! Absolutely." I rush out my confirmation.

Get ahold of yourself, Grey.

"Okay." He laughs out.

"Grey? Have you seen the new assistant? She's late as fuck?" I hear Mark as he rounds the corner.

"Mark! Shut the fuck up, dude." I groan.

"Mak, this is Mark. He is our Chief Risk Officer. Please excuse his caveman behavior." I plead.

"Hi, Mark, nice to meet you, man." Mak offers his hand to Mark.

"And who is Mak?" Mark grins wolfishly.

I slam my elbow into Mark's rib as he groans.

"Mak is my new assistant. Permanent." I explain.

"Permanent?" Mak questions.

"If you will have me." I wink.

Mark sends me a suspicious glance. I shrug my shoulder. We can discuss it later.

"Yes, Sir." Mak shakes his head.

"Mark, call the agency to buy out his contract," I command.

"Anything else?" Mark smirks.

"We're all going to dinner after work," I inform him.

"Who?" Mark gawks.

"Me, you and Mak." I deadpan.

"If that's okay." I clarify to Mak.

"Yeah, sure. No problem." Mak waves it off.

Mark walks away while I offer to give Mak the grand tour.

I take him down my private elevator, which Mark uses, without permission. I let Mak know that he is welcome to use it as well.

I show him where the break room is. I introduce him to Patty. I walk him to the copy room, mailroom, and finally, the small cafe that sits to the left of the reception area on the first floor.

We make our way to IT, where I get his new laptop and cellphone. I program my number, Mark's number, my office phone number, and finally my home number into his phone. Then I request his number and hand my phone over to him to save it for me.

After that, I take him to Human Resources and get the hire packet, adjusting the numbers to suit my particular pleasure. They give him a key card for the office and security doors before heading back to our floor.

I ask him if he needs to run by his house and change before we go to dinner. When he confirms he doesn't, I dial up Keen's Steakhouse and make a reservation for three at 6:00 pm.

Mark comes back to let me know he will be ready to leave at five sharp. I roll my eyes. I knew that already.

"Are you going to drive, or do you want to ride with me?" I ask Mak.

"I use Uber," Mak confirms.

"You will ride with me. I can take you home later." I offer.

Mak agrees with another beaming smile, showing off his perfect white teeth and gorgeous dimples.

I smile back, taking the opportunity to glance over his backside as I walk into my office to grab my stuff and lock it up.

That ass though. Christ. It's like a perfect set of round globes waiting to nestle in my palms.

I adjust my pants quickly before locking my door. I usher Mak and Mark towards the elevator.

We wait patiently, making small conversation about office duties before the bell dings. As we walk out to the parking garage, I wave off Mark. Mak follows me to my Aston Martin.

I open the passenger door and lift my hand towards the seat to prompt Mak to sit down. I close his door, rounding the hood of the car before slipping into my side and starting the engine.

"This car is amazing." Mak whistles.

"A man of good taste." I wink.

Mak blushes. I throw my head back with a chuckle. I set the radio to a calm station and adjust the volume so we can talk if Mak prefers.

Sitting in the closed space, I get my first whiff of Mak's cologne.

Mouthwatering!

He smells fresh. I recognize the scent immediately to be Dolce & Gabana Light Blue.

We talk briefly about his major in college. I learn he just graduated. He took this job to get his foot in the door. He has a Master's in Communications.

"How old are you?" I ask Mak. He has to be older than he looks; if my calculations are correct, he should be 24.

"I'm 19," Mak responds. With that, mind is officially fucking blown.

"You're a genius?" I ask incredulously.

"Something like that." Mak shrugs.

"You're modest," I affirm.

"I graduated high school at 15 with my Associates in Communications and then took accelerated courses through college. I graduated from NYU in December." Mak explains, confirming he is, in fact, a god damn genius.

"Not that I'm complaining, at all, but you are severely overqualified for this position," I confirm.

"I know." He winks.

Now, I'm thoroughly happy that I doubled his salary. Not that he is aware of that. But, he will be soon enough.

I have a gut feeling Mak is more than meets the eye. So far, I'm not disappointed.

FONT DISCOVERY

***mature content, disclaimers will be noted, only once in most cases. After that, my readers should realize I am a graphic writer***

***POV change (because all my main characters need a chance to shine) will be marked clearly***

<<<<<<<< Scene change or page break indicating a lapse in time

Anything italicized is an internal dialect to personal character.

"Italicized dialect with quotes will produce internal thought spoken out loud by mistake."

***Flashback*** is noted as such, and all flashbacks will have italicized font.

Dreams will be italicized and underlined