Bending My Straight Boss

Alessandro’s point of view. Another beautiful but horrible day at work. Why beautiful? Because my boss is gorgeous. Why horrible? Because he’s an ass. An arrogant, cold Greek god. I buy our coffee from the coffee shop on the corner of the building because Mr. Gorgeous Ass doesn't drink from somewhere else, and hope that this time we won’t get into an argument. Otherwise, tomorrow I'll buy him black coffee again and blame the poor girl who didn't do anything wrong. But I need to vent somehow. When I have enough, I have my way of punishing him, and maybe I can't tell him to f**k off, but I can get my revenge in other ways. Because one thing is sure. Nobody walks all over me. Not even his gorgeous ass. Now, you may ask yourself why he doesn't fire me. That's easy. Because I’m the best P.A. there is, and nobody, ever, in human history, has worked as his P.A. for as long as I have and, to everyone's shock and disbelief, I still do. With a smile on my face, I open the huge door where his name is written in big, silver letters, CEO DARIO RUSSO, get inside his big office, and admire him for a second, hoping that he won’t open his gorgeous mouth and ruin my moment. Even if his name weren’t a giveaway, his looks tell you that the blood running through his veins is a hundred percent not American. He has a foreign halo around him. It's a mix of s*x on legs and danger. I wanted to ask him more about his origins, but as soon as I saw the coldness of Antarctica in his eyes and the 'I'll kill you if you disturb me for stupid things' in his voice, I gave up. Of course, he never asked about mine, although anyone can see that I'm a mix made of mixes. No, really. My mom is Caucasian and has Caucasian parents. Until now, everything normal, right? But on my Dad's side... well, that's another story. My grandad is African American, my grandma is Mexican, and my great-granddad was Asian. Yep, I have them all. So, I have a light caramel complexion and almond-shaped blue eyes that are way too bright, if you ask me. The color comes from my Mom, and the shape from my great-granddad. Well, more or less, because most of my family has round eyes. Full lips, which I inherited from my Dad, a button nose, which I inherited from my Mexican grandma, and also from her, I got my hair. Loose curls and very smooth. So the only haircut that suits me is a man bun. I cut my sides short, but I have to leave the top to reach my shoulders. Oh, and thank God that I got my physique from my Dad because if I had inherited my Mom's or the Asian genes, I would have most probably been dead from all the bullying. But, thankfully, I'm six feet two inches, and I have a lean but muscular body that can take a lot of hits. Anyway, back to his sexy self. His posture is, as always, immaculate, masculine, hot, and dangerous. He has square, big shoulders that fill the black suit and the white shirt just perfectly. The white and grey tie that he wears today makes me think of Christian's tie from Fifty Shades of Grey, and Goddamn, my body reacts in ways that I would rather not at this time and in his office to the dirty scenarios that my mind creates, and they all involve that damn grey tie and my gorgeous, straight boss. His jet black hair is complemented by the low-fade slicked-back haircut, and as usual, every strand is elegantly and perfectly styled, making me wonder if he goes to the hair salon before he comes to work. The rest of his ungodly body is hidden behind his big, long, black-and-white glass desk, but I can still see his black polished shoes between the two black chairs across from him. His office is nothing short of gorgeous and cold. Just like him. The walls are a mix of white and grey, decorated with a few black and white paintings, which honestly could have just as well been drawn by a blind man. I might be biased because I don't like abstract things. Anyway, there's a huge glass table with twelve chairs which completes the elegant but cold office. Now, even if the office is elegant and the view behind him is breathtaking, showing the Hudson River, tall buildings, trees, and green grass, it still doesn't compare to him. The man is simply a god. After a second passes, I make my way to his long, glass desk and place the coffee on it, turn around, and go. “How many times did I tell you to knock?” His deep, husky, but also smooth voice sends shivers through my body, but his words make me roll my eyes. Yeah, mixed feelings. He just had to ruin it. I turn around and plaster a fake smile on my face. “Well, if my memory serves me correctly…” I trail off, tap my index finger on my chin, and narrow my eyes as if I'm trying to remember. “162.392 times. Am I correct?” I ask with a cheeky, sarcastic grin, and he sucks in a sharp breath, then shakes his head in disapproval. Well, f**k, he's hot and annoying! “Are you looking to get fired?” he asks in an angry tone, but somehow, today I just can't find it in me to give a flying f**k. “You’d never fire me,” I reply with a smirk, and he raises his eyebrows and looks at me, surprised but also curious. “Really? What makes you so sure?” he asks, keeping the burning eye contact, and I almost lose myself in his bright, Caribbean green eyes. I mean, who gives Caribbean green eyes to a man like him? Who? I oftentimes wonder if there is a God, and if so, why in the name of God would he make such a specimen— Recover, Aless! The man asked you a question, and if you keep ogling him, he'll figure out you're gay, and you don't want that, do you? Okay, if he finds out and fires me, I wouldn't care, but if he finds out and doesn't fire me, he might be more aware of the looks I'm sometimes giving him, and that would be awkward and I'll have to quit. “First of all, I’m the best at what I do, and second… nobody would last more than one month with you. Okay, make it a month and a half,” I reply and do my best not to burst into laughter at the look of disbelief that covers his handsome face. “Meaning?” That you’re unbearable and any normal human being would quit! But I can’t say that now, can I? So, let’s change the subject. “Jenny from Miracle of Life called. She won’t make it today. I scheduled a meeting for next week, so you have the hour free.” I change the subject, and he clenches his chiseled-to-perfection jaw, which is slightly covered by his less-than-three-day stubble, giving him that little spark of a bad boy, just to drive us humans insane, and raises his right eyebrow, and oh f**k, he looks so good, then looks at me expectantly with his gorgeous emerald eyes, his eyelashes— “I asked you a question, Alessandro. Answer.” His voice pulls me out of my fantasy, but calling my name throws me into another one, so excuse the f**k out of me if I need a few seconds to remember what the f**k the question is. Oh, he's going to regret asking. And knowing me, I'm probably going to regret answering even more.