Printing Smut to My Boss

I tried to sneakily print my smut stash. Accidentally routed it straight to my boss's private printer.

He stared down at the twohundredplus page stack of Conquering the Billionaire Alpha CEO (NC17).

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Rowan, is this the trash rotting your brain?" But not even a week later, his knuckles rapped against my apartment door. "Rowan, there are a few glaring inaccuracies in your little story." His voice rumbled through the wood. "Open the door.

We need to go over the logistics." Chapter 1 The relentless grind had my cortisol levels off the charts.

My personal therapist took one look at my bloodwork and deadpanned, "What you need right now is a mindblowing, sweatdrenched hookup to blow off some steam." I stared at the lab results, completely dead inside.

My best friend helpfully forwarded a link to some hardcore smut, claiming it would jumpstart my hormones. Slacking off at my desk, I hit print on a downloaded copy.

Nothing happened. I clicked it again. Still dead. After spamming the print button a dozen times, I threw my hands up.

Half an hour later, that Wall Street vampire boss fired off a text: [ Rowan. My office. Now. ] I pushed open the heavy oak doors to the CEO's suite. Alistair stood by his desk.

A literal wisp of smoke curled up from the sleek laser printer beside him. He tossed my project proposal onto the desk.

A cruel smirk played on his lips. "Rowan, you put a password on this proposal?" I forced a stiff, corporate smile. "You specifically requested strict document security, sir." "I meant for vital documents." Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose and shot me a chilling glare. "Do you think a trash can needs a padlock?" My nails dug into my palms. "The password is—" "One, two, three, four, five, six." Alistair cut me off.

He gave me a look that made me feel three inches tall. "Rowan, stop wasting company time on pointless theatrics." I swallowed the ash in my throat. "Nice PowerPoint template.

Cost you a pretty penny?" He didn't even bother looking up. "Do you think slapping a Chanel ribbon on a pile of dog shit changes what it is?

This proposal of yours is like threedayold discounted microwave sushi from a gas station—cheap and completely toxic.

Rowan, are you experiencing a mental breakdown?" My teeth ground together. The urge to flip his mahogany desk bubbled in my veins. He let out a long, exhausted exhale.

He reached over to the smoking printer, grabbed a massive stack of paper, and slammed it onto the desk right in front of me. "Rowan, is this the garbage rotting your brain?" I squinted at the top page.

The blood drained from my face. My pulse hammered in my ears. Was that my smut? Holy shit. I routed it to the CEO's printer? God above. Over two hundred chapters of absolute filth.

The machine was still chugging away, spitting out page after page, actively smoking. Alistair rubbed his temples. "Rowan, exactly how many copies did you queue up?

Are you planning to distribute hardcore erotica to the entire floor?" He sighed again, sinking back into his leather chair. "Sometimes, being the boss makes me feel helpless." He lifted his gaze.

His eyes darkened, scanning my face with a heavy, unreadable intensity. "Or… is there some hidden message you're trying to send me?" I stood there, wishing I could dig a hole straight down into the Manhattan sewers. "No, I just misclicked…" My voice shook. "I've just been under a lot of stress lately…" Alistair flipped open the first few pages.

The bold title, Conquering the Billionaire Alpha CEO (NC17), practically burned my retinas. His Adam's apple bobbed. The crease between his brows deepened.

He cleared his throat. "Suddenly, I'm feeling quite stressed myself." My face burned hot enough to fry an egg.

I lunged forward and yanked the printer's power cord straight out of the wall socket.

The machine died with a pathetic whir. "Sir, I'll just… I'll take these…" I reached for the towering stack of paper. Alistair lazily lifted his gaze.

He slammed his hand down over the pages. "Leave them. I need to study your psychological decline." I froze. Back at my cubicle, I discreetly pulled up the file on my phone.

I only managed to skim the first chapter before my vision blurred. The main characters? A billionaire CEO and his assistant. The opening scene?

Hardcore desk sex in the executive suite. Insane. Absolutely unhinged. Graphic. So goddamn graphic. I dropped my head onto my keyboard. I was losing my mind. No joke. I quit.

I cannot survive another second in this corporate hellhole. Chapter 2 I had been Alistair's personal assistant for five grueling years.

Five years of being at his beck and call 24/7, doing absolutely everything short of warming his bed. Alistair, summed up in one sentence: a venomous, unhinged Wall Street tyrant.

A control freak, severely OCD, and oozing that cursed bastard charm from every pore. Before I joined the company, rumor had it he'd already chewed through dozens of assistants.

The only reason I had survived this long was pure poverty. I was broke, and he paid an obscene amount of money.

If you asked me if I ever harbored any fantasies about him… Prehire me: Holy shit, he's gorgeous. Posthire me: I want to rip his vocal cords out with my bare hands.

Five years ago, I was just a naive fresh grad.

The very first time I accompanied him to a business dinner, some sleazebag client leered at me and smirked, "Alistair, your assistant seems a bit shy.

She won't even talk to me." My stomach tied into knots.

Alistair just shot the guy a sideways glance, leaned back in his chair, and drawled, "Rowan speaks to humans like humans, to monsters like monsters.

But she doesn't bark at dogs." My jaw practically hit the table.

Later, he just rolled his eyes at me. "Rowan, next time you run into a scumbag like that, rip him to shreds." "I was scared…" "Scared of what?

If they want to kick my dog, they have to answer to the owner first." Wait. Did he just call me a dog? Alistair's moral compass functioned entirely on his mood swings.

Once, a rival firm launched a smear campaign against our product line.

Alistair went straight onto social media, fired up a livestream, and singlehandedly destroyed their entire PR team.

He torched the internet trolls, then systematically dismantled the rival CEO. For three solid hours, he quoted market data and dropped verbal nukes without stuttering once.

The stream eventually got banned for community violations.

It ended with the rival CEO practically going into hiding, and Alistair getting crowned the undisputed apex predator of corporate trash talk. Our company ran a massive retail chain.

Even after the livestream, he wasn't satisfied. He actually ordered me to march into the competitor's flagship store and secretly crush all their bags of chips and instant noodles.

He told me not to worry—if I got punched, he'd file it under worker's comp. We're already lawabiding citizens, he reasoned. Being a little unethical won't kill us.

Was that even human behavior? If you want to ruin a good song, make it your alarm clock. If you want to ruin a devastatingly handsome man, become his employee. Alistair?

I wouldn't touch him with a tenfoot pole if he were the last man on earth. I stared at the bloodwork report on my counter. Hormonal imbalance. Critically low levels.

I covertly pulled up another chapter of that smutty web novel on my phone. An irritating itch crawled under my skin.

I needed a man, but I didn't want the suffocating baggage of a relationship, and I definitely didn't want to do anything illegal.

My best friend Chloe dragged me to the hottest male strip club downtown.

She swore the testosteronefueled dancers would overload my senses, and the sheer visual stimulation would knock my endocrine system back into alignment.

The club was drenched in dim, pulsing neon lights. Up on the main stage, a lineup of strippers flexed abs slathered in baby oil. "Check out that guy.

Thoughts?" Chloe yelled over the bass. "Too greasy." "What about him?" "Too pretty." "Him?!" "Trying way too hard." Chloe slammed her drink down. "Rowan, is your heart literally carved out of stone?

No wonder your hormones are dead!" My stomach dropped. It was true. I couldn't even muster a spark of interest in these walking Greek statues.

I tipped my glass back and swallowed the burn of cheap tequila, washing down a wave of pure misery.

Chloe whipped out her phone and tapped open an adult novelty app with a wicked smirk. "I'm buying you a fully automatic magic wand. Medicalgrade silicone, ten vibration settings.

It's guaranteed to be a million times more effective than these egotistical meatheads flexing dead muscle." She was a literal angel.

I raised my empty glass to her in silent, desperate gratitude. My phone suddenly vibrated against the sticky bar top.

The Caller ID flashed: [ Wall Street Vampire. ] I answered, and Alistair's voice cut through the thumping club music like the Grim Reaper's scythe. "Rowan. Get back here.

We're working overtime." I gripped the phone tight enough to crack the screen. What time is it even? I hadn't had a single day off in two weeks. My body was shutting down.

The pure, unfiltered resentment boiling inside my veins was enough to summon Satan himself from hell just to clock in and cover my shift. Chapter 3 "I'm not going!

I signed an employment contract, not an indentured servitude agreement!

If the workload can't be finished during business hours, that's a failure of your management!" I was so goddamn done with this job. "Rowan, is it that time of the month?

Why the terrible attitude?" He just had to poke the exact wrong nerve. "My attitude? That's hilarious.

Playing the sweet, submissive assistant costs extra!" Getting my period was annoying, but not getting it was a thousand times worse. That night, I had a wildly vivid dream.

I mutated into a giant octopus. I stood in the epicenter, with Alistair, my idiot coworkers, and our most toxic clients trapped in my blast radius.

I slapped eight people simultaneously, spinning in circles, delivering eight solid backhands to each of their smug faces. The next morning, I literally woke up giggling.

Until I opened my eyes and saw Alistair in bed next to me. Gross. Bad juju. Just another nightmare. I rolled over. "You're awake?" A low, gravelly voice drifted over my head. Wait.

I jolted awake so fast my neck cracked. Why the hell was Alistair in my bed? No… wait. Why was I in Alistair's bed?!

I stared at the dark purple bags under his eyes, and the unmistakable, angry bite mark on his neck. My brain flatlined. No fucking way.

Did I get wasted and sleep with my billionaire boss? Fragmented flashes from last night started crashing into my skull.

My scalp prickled with cold dread. "Boss, I drank way too much yesterday.

My memory is wiped, haha…" I played dead. "Amnesia?" Alistair's lips curled into a knowing, dangerous smirk. With his IQ, playing dumb was a losing game. "I'm so sorry, sir.

I lost control yesterday…" Because what was infinitely worse than sleeping with your boss? Beating the absolute shit out of him.

In the flashback, I had tackled him, throwing punches and kicks like a feral cat, sobbing and screaming: "This is all your fault!

I haven't had a period in three months!" In this moment, I wanted to die. But looking at him, I felt like someone else deserved to die a lot more.

Alistair blinked his exhausted eyes and let out a heavy sigh. "Help me up. We're going to the clinic." Jesus, did I really hit him that hard?

I gingerly supported his weight as he sat up, unable to stop myself from asking, "Sir, you have premium health insurance, right?" If insurance covers it, he can't dock my pay for medical bills.

He shot me a look of pure disbelief.

I guiltily ducked my head. "Does this count as a paid field assignment?" Alistair stared at me. "Rowan, does a hormonal imbalance actually cause brain damage?" I bit the inside of my cheek.

Yes. It makes you clinically insane.

In the back of his Maybach, he leaned his head against the leather seat, shutting his eyes and massaging his temples. "Sir, are you feeling unwell?" "Yes.

My head is throbbing from head to toe." Yep. He was definitely broken.

What was even more unhinged was that he dragged me straight into the most expensive private endocrinology clinic in the city! "Sir, are your hormones out of whack too?" He gave me a deadpan look, sighing. "Rowan, should I book you a neurologist while we're at it?" I pressed my lips together.

Inside the consultation room sat a toptier white specialist who charged thousands of dollars an hour. "Do you experience frequent bouts of anger?" the doctor asked. "Not at all.

I have a fantastic temperament." The doctor shook his head. "Internalized rage, then." He glanced over his glasses at Alistair. "I suggest you stop provoking her." Alistair stiffened for a second, then forced a polite, tight smile. "Noted." The doctor frowned at the blood panel results on his iPad.

He cast another strange look at Alistair, muttering under his breath, "That doesn't make any sense…" He shook his head again.

My blood ran icecold. "Doctor, is it… do I have some sort of terminal illness?" Chapter 4 The doctor looked at me. "Are you sexually active?" Heat rushed to my cheeks. "No…" "How long has it been?" Well… I bit my lower lip. "Twentyseven years…" Let lightning strike me dead right now.

The doctor stared at Alistair. "What, are you young people taking some sort of extreme vow of chastity these days?" I stared at him. Chastity?

The only pure thing Millennials cared about was pure cash.

I braced myself and clarified, "He's my boss…" The doctor pushed his goldrimmed glasses up his nose and suggested, "You need regular hormonal stimulation.

Simply put, go find a hot guy and actually go on a date." I stood there, possessing only one coherent thought: Let the earth swallow me whole.

The very first thing I did when we got back to the office was draft my resignation letter. Five years as Alistair's personal assistant.

I had swallowed enough of his garbage and hoarded enough of his money.

The wheels of destiny weren't exactly turning for me, but the chain had definitely snapped off the tracks. "Sir, I quit." I slid the crisp envelope across his mahogany desk.

Alistair stared down at the resignation letter, remaining silent.

Finally, he forced out, "Rowan, if you believe I've made mistakes, you can vocalize them." "Seriously?" "Yes." I spun on my heel, marched back to my cubicle, and created a twentypage PowerPoint presentation dedicated entirely to his personal and professional flaws.

I printed it and dropped it right in front of him. Since I was already walking out the door, the corporate filter was officially off. Alistair stared at the slides.

A muscle ticked in his jaw before he finally ground out, "Fine. I'll work on it…" What?

Did the Wall Street vampire just get a personality transplant? "I expect you to reconsider the resignation." I waved a hand, dismissing it. "No need to reconsider, sir.

I'm quitting to find a boyfriend." "Working here is hindering your ability to find a boyfriend?" Did he seriously just ask that with a straight face? "I don't have a single free second to date." He shot me a heavily layered look. "The company does not explicitly ban office romances." I blinked, caught off guard, before the realization hit. "Oh, you mean Gordon from Marketing?

He's a bit too old for me. We wouldn't work out." Alistair froze. "Gordon?" "Oh, you didn't mean Gordon? Then Seth from Planning?

He's young and pretty decentlooking, but he's a total stagefive clinger." Alistair's brows pulled together.

His lips curved into a tight, humorless smile. "Rowan, who exactly is Seth?" I frowned. "Sir, who were you referring to?" He clamped his jaw shut, spun around, and walked away. "No one." I called out to his retreating back, "Hey, so I'll tell HR to start recruiting my replacement?" He didn't even turn his head. "Whatever you want." I stared at the empty doorway.

Alistair had been violently irritable lately. He looked ready to dropkick any stray dog that crossed his path. I, on the other hand, was thriving. I was out.

I had fully embraced the quiet quitting lifestyle.

My daily corporate agenda consisted of three things: getting paid to hide in the bathroom stall scrolling TikTok, getting paid to leech the company's free coffee, and getting paid to zone out at my desk.

I even picked out his new assistant—a fresh Ivy League grad with a stellar GPA. Alistair tore her to shreds and made her cry on day one.

After signing her exit paperwork, the poor girl sniffled and asked, "Rowan, what exactly kept you alive in this role for five years?" I let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Poverty, obviously." Did she think I was chasing my corporate dream? "Rowan, the boss wants you in his office." See?

The grim reaper was ringing his bell again.

Chapter 5 "Rowan, this is the replacement you handpicked?!" The moment I stepped through the door, Alistair went off like a lit firecracker. "She prepped blackberries and dark cherries for a highstakes client meeting.

Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep a straight face while the client sat there with stained black lips and black teeth?" He paced behind his desk like a caged predator. "For refreshments, she ordered discounted slushies from the corner fastfood joint!

By the end of the meeting, the entire boardroom was echoing with the obnoxious sound of people aggressively slurping through straws!

And for the executive dinner, she booked us at a loud, chaotic Taco Bell, and we ate right in the middle of the goddamn dining room!" Damn, you really have to hand it to them.

Gen Z's inspiring level of corporate obedience is truly unmatched. "So… should I swap her out for someone a bit more mature and grounded?" Just as his manic rage gauge was hitting the redline, Alistair's socialite mother arrived, flashing a massive diamond ring the size of a pigeon egg.

Based on past experience, she was here to force him into a strategic business marriage. But Alistair was currently in a feral mood.

When he snapped, he'd even go for his own mother's throat. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop.

Their screaming match was just echoing off the marble floors. "Can you please be useful for once and find a suitable partner?!" "Can you stop poking at the exact thing I don't want to talk about?!" "Men your age are already fathers!

I'm telling you, I just want a baby to play with right now!" "Then I'll go find you a job as a nanny!" "I'm talking about a child of our own bloodline!" "Then you and Dad better try a little harder!" "You ungrateful bastard!" Good lord.

The crossfire was as brutal as ever. I happily sipped my tea, livetexting the latest battle updates to the office gossip group chat.

The heavy door to the CEO's suite slammed open with a deafening bang. Alistair's mother stormed out. "Rowan, come here!" Hey, when gods fight, leave the mortals out of it.

She stood there with her hands on her hips, practically blinding me with the glare off her designer jewelry. "Rowan, has Alistair had any women around him lately?" I offered a careful, appeasing smile. "Honestly, I don't think so…" She stomped her stiletto heel in pure frustration. "Rowan, pull up Alistair's private schedule for the past few months.

Let me see it." Good lord. Was I even his executive assistant anymore?

I felt like the most pathetic maid in a medieval court, trembling as I handed over classified dossiers to an evil mafia godmother. "Rowan, you've been glued to his side for five years.

Be honest with me." She suddenly leaned in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper right by my ear. "Do you think he might be into men?" I jumped slightly, a whole new world of possibilities blasting open in my brain.

To be fair, it was incredibly hard to judge. During my five years shadowing him, plenty of people had thrown themselves at him, trying to cash in on his looks and wealth.

But the man lived a lifestyle more celibate than a monk's. "Rowan!" Alistair's rabiddog roar sliced through the air again.

He glared at me, his eyes practically shooting daggers. "Sir…" "How kind of you to exert the mental effort to remember who signs your paychecks." Excuse me? "Rowan, I don't pay you a sixfigure salary to stand around gossiping in my lobby!

Look at last month's profit margins. Do you have absolutely nothing to say for yourself?" He chucked a monthly analytics binder onto the desk.

In the past, I would have instantly played the groveling corporate slave. But I already had one foot out the door.

Fuck this. "I don't think this month's poor performance falls entirely on my shoulders. I'm not the only employee here.

If everyone's numbers are down, shouldn't we be looking at a failure in management?" I stared right back at him. "You're the CEO. Can't you handle a minor hiccup like this?

When I first joined this firm, I believed in its growth potential.

Seeing the state of things now… frankly, I'm incredibly disappointed." Let's be real—who doesn't know how to reversegaslight a toxic boss?

Surviving latestage capitalism is hard enough. If you can deflect the blame, never take the hit yourself. Chapter 6 Alistair's brows snapped together.

He stared at me in total disbelief. "Rowan, you're getting awfully arrogant lately, aren't you?

Why don't I just step down as CEO and become your personal assistant instead?" Yeah, hard pass on that. I had surrendered to the rot.

My whole vibe was quiet quitting: acting my wage, zero hustle, clocking out on the dot, and being friendly only when absolutely necessary. Escaping exactly at five.

Staying a single second longer was a profound disrespect to my own free time. Once off the clock, my daily quota for suffering was maxed out.

The second my morning alarm blared, my brain generated a million different excuses to call out sick.

Even the most cheerful person alive would look thoroughly dead inside while surviving the 8 AM Manhattan morning rush hour.

Racing against the clock, I pulled up the company's internal attendance app to clock in. [ Late clockin successful. ] I glanced at my watch. 9:01 AM. No!

My perfect attendance bonus! "Rowan, you're late." Alistair materialized out of nowhere, a predatory, amused smirk playing on his lips.

I flashed a tight, teethgrinding smile. "If justice can be delayed, why can't my shift?" Perfect. Another day of pure insanity was officially underway