The Double Life Of My Hot Secretary

 Two truths and one lie.

 I gave my hot boss a blowjob.

 I’m a stripper when I’m not working as a secretary.

 My boss is an irritating, self-centred narcissistic dickhead that no one wants to work with.

 Oh wait, I forgot to add the lie.

 My name is Hazel Montgomery, and I’ve worked with the insufferable billionaire heir Alan Wood for five years.

 “Is it because his cock is small? I heard that’s why he has such a horrible attitude,” one of my coworkers whispered as I walked into the elevator.

 “I heard so too,” another replied quickly, their voices low. “Why else would he be such a dick to everyone around him?”

 I almost laughed. That was the lie. Because my boss might be a complete asshole, a smug prick with the kind of arrogance that makes you want to punch him in the face, but he is far from having a small cock. I know this because one time, I walked in on him jerking off in his office.

 The two women went pale when they noticed me standing there, frozen in the corner of the elevator. One of them covered her mouth while the other gripped her folder like it was a shield.

 “Wait… isn’t that his secretary?” one whispered, her eyes wide.

 “Oh no, we’re screwed,” the other muttered, already panicking. “She’s going to tell him, and we’ll be out of here by the end of the day.”

 I smirked and tilted my head. “Relax. You’ll be just fine, I’m quitting today anyway.”

 Their mouths dropped open, but I turned back to the elevator doors, refusing to explain myself.

 The truth was, the last five years had been absolute hell. Yes, the paycheck was good, but it wasn’t worth losing myself. Alan Wood had drained me. He treated me like his personal slave, barking orders, calling at all hours, sending me on pointless errands just because he could. He was good at reminding everyone that they were disposable. He fired people on whims. He made grown men cry in board meetings. He was the devil in a tailored Armani suit.

 The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open, spilling me straight into his world.

 Alan Wood’s office was intimidating. He stood behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark hair perfectly styled, sharp jawline cut like it was designed to ruin lives. His eyes flicked up at me, slow and assessing.

 “Miss Mango,” he said in that smooth, commanding voice. He set a file on his desk and gestured lazily. “A list of things to handle before lunch.”

 Of course. The great Alan Wood. He didn’t even bother looking at me while shoving more work my way. No one ever stood up to him. He owned their futures with a single word.

 But not mine anymore.

 I tossed the folder onto his desk so hard the papers scattered. His head snapped up.

 “I quit,” I said, my voice sharp and final.

 For once, Alan Wood looked stunned. And somehow, even like that, he was still the hottest man alive.

 “Are you sick?” Alan’s voice cut through the silence.

 I met his eyes, and for the first time in five years, I didn’t look away. “No. I’m finally awake.”

 His brow furrowed, a rare crack in his perfect mask. I pressed on before he could dismiss me.

 “You’ve made my life hell, Alan,” I spat, my hands trembling but steady enough to shove against his desk. “Five years of being at your beck and call. Five years of picking up your dry cleaning, arranging your petty dinners, fielding your tantrums like some glorified babysitter. Do you know how many birthdays I’ve missed? How many friends I’ve lost? I haven’t had a single moment to breathe because you treat people like they’re disposable toys. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

 His expression hardened. He stood, towering over me. “You can’t quit, Hazel.”

 My stomach twisted. That was the first time he’d ever used my name. “Watch me.”

 I turned toward the door, only to feel his hand clamp around my wrist.

 He yanked me back, pinning me to the wall in one swift movement. His body caged mine in.

 “Let me go,” I hissed.

 “Not until you understand that people don’t just walk away from Alan Wood,” he said coldly.

 I laughed bitterly. “You’re a controlling, arrogant bastard who thinks the world revolves around him. And the sad part? It probably does but I’m not going to be part of that bullshit anymore.”

 Something flickered in his eyes. His jaw clenched, then he released me.

 I shoved past him, heart pounding, and didn’t look back.

 Outside, the city lights blurred as I flagged down a taxi. I gave the driver the address, not home...the bar.

 The neon glow welcomed me as music thumped through the walls as I headed to the back room.

 “Well, someone’s moody today,” my bar boss, Maddox, smirked.

 I peeled off my blouse and skirt, trading them for glitter, leather, and lace. The mirror reflected someone else entirely, not Hazel Montgomery, secretary. This was Hazel, the woman who held power in the curve of her body.

 I started this three years ago because it was the only place I felt in control. Here, men paid to worship me, they didn’t own me like him.

 When I stepped onto the stage, the lights swallowed me. I danced until my muscles burned and my thoughts went quiet.

 After my set, Maddox met me backstage. “Good work tonight,” he said, then hesitated. “But, uh, there’s something else.”

 I arched a brow. “What now?”

 “Someone made a request for you.”

 I froze. “What?”

 “A private show.”

 I crossed my arms. “You know I don’t do that, no sex, no private anything.”

 “This one’s different,” he insisted. “It’s a special client. He offered fifty thousand dollars.”

 My jaw dropped. “Fifty thousand?”

 “Only you,” Maddox shrugged. “I checked. He’s clean.”

 Fifty thousand dollars could buy freedom especially now that I’d quit today.

 “Fine,” I said finally. “But this is a one-time thing.”

 “Good girl.” Maddox winked and pointed toward the VIP hall.

 I pushed open the door, heels clicking against the polished floor. The room was dim. A man stood with his back to me, shirt discarded, muscles outlined under the low light.

 “Hello?” I said softly.

 He turned, and my stomach dropped.

 Alan. Fucking. Wood.

 I stumbled back, the words slipping out under my breath.

 “You’ve got to be kidding me.”