The Billionaire Nympho Secretary

"I am calm, sir," Teresa said evenly, pressing her headset tighter to her ear. "But shouting won't speed up the process."

The man on the other end of the line was practically foaming, accusing the finance team of theft, incompetence, and everything in between. His voice, loud and jagged, buzzed through her headset like static on a broken radio.

"I've been on hold for twenty damn minutes!" he barked.

"And now you're speaking to the right department," she replied, her tone cool as steel. "I just need your reference number to assist you."

"I don't have a damn reference number!"

Of course you don't.

Teresa muted her mic for half a second and sighed. The shrill cry of the answering machine echoed again behind her, like a chorus of chaos. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, her long nails clicking rhythmically as she pulled up the day's fourth overdue report. Her eyes burned, dry from hours of screen glare and stress.

"Sir," she said, voice clipped but professional, "please hold while I connect you to someone in Insurance."

Without waiting for his response, she hit the transfer button and leaned back in her chair. The fluorescent lights buzzed above her like a swarm of mechanical bees. She glanced at the oversized digital clock across the room.

10:47 a.m.

Only 10:47.

And already, she was ready to scream.

She sighed in frustration, combing her fingers through her chocolate brown hair.

Same desk and chair. Same coffee-stained mug that she got from the dollar store. Same beige walls, humming with fluorescent despair and lack of warmth. Her blazer itched at her shoulders, the old material harshly rubbing on her skin, but she didn't dare remove it because the dress code was unbelievably strict, and Mr. DuPont, her former boss, was always lurking, always watching for weakness. Or cleavage. Or both.

He was a sadist. Always looking for someone to insult or ridicule. He clung to the powerful and cowered when then spoke but when they were out of sight he felt like a king in his territory. He became harsh, rude and perverted.

But today was different. Today, Mr. DuPont had been fired.

Sexual harassment, of course. Everyone knew what he was doing but because he had high connections in the company. But this time was different. He messed with the wrong person. Apparently an investor brought his teenage daughter whose fashion sense was hippy clothing. DuPont tried to harass her and throw his weight but unfortunately for him she wasn't someone he could offend.

Teresa tapped the mouse absentmindedly as she staring into the screen. Her mind had already wandered. It always did. Daydreaming managed to keep her sane. Or at least functioning.

Lately, though, even her fantasies seemed more...intense and explicit. Her body temperature was rising and a wetness pooled in her lower region. She pressed her legs together and took a deep breath trying to control her urges. She shuffled in her sit and placed her hand on the mouse trying to concentrate on her work.

She clicked open another file. Graphs. Numbers. Percentages. Useless things. She existed the Word app and went straight to the Internet search engine. She began to browse about puppies and kittens when a voice came from behind.

"Teresa are you done with the report." She jumped out of fright and clumsily exited the kitten blog that she was watching and left the screen blank.

She turned to look at her supervisor. Mrs Demarco. A short harsh woman. She stool in front of Teresa with her usual scrunched up face and stern look. She crossed her arms across and chest and raised an eyebrow on Teresa's stunned look.