Over The Desk Novels & Stories

Dark wood panels, a massive desk positioned to face the windows overlooking the ocean. Did he have a study built into every house he owned? I thought this was supposed to be a vacation home. I scoffed, moving towards the desk. He called me a workaholic? Hilarious. The desk was mostly clear except for a lamp, a pen holder, and a brown envelope. Don't, my brain warned. Don't open it. It's none of your business. But my hands were already reaching for it, my fingers sliding the papers out before I could stop myself.

“You’ll get updates, schedules, and calendar invites from internal servers. Your onboarding documents and work instructions are in the top drawer. And your ID has already been re-encoded.” He placed a small folder beside the screen. “Good luck,” he added before turning and walking back toward the elevator. I stood there for a second, staring at the desk like it was foreign. Then I sat down. The desk was huge. Real oak. There was a curved monitor, a new tablet device, digital pen, clean folders, and a sealed envelope labeled: Elora Millers, Executive/Personal Assistant Protocol. There was also a stack of documents already placed in the corner of the desk. I pulled them closer.

Okay, maybe a twelve. They are both so focused on what they are doing; they don’t hear me or see me come in. “Afternoon gentleman.” I interrupt sweetly, smiling merrily at them, wander in and head for the main desk. It’s obvious he has been sitting there as papers are strewn on the surface and the seat is out and facing the side as though he has just got up. I go for it, about to stake my claim in my jovial upbeat mood, knowing this tug of war over whose desk it is won’t end soon.

I replied, taking the files from him. "You can sit over there," he said, pointing to a desk in the corner. It was equipped with a swivel chair, a computer, and more files scattered across the surface. I wondered who might have used this desk before. The corner of the office felt a little more isolated, but I had no time to dwell on it. Glancing at the time, it was already 11:45 a.m., leaving me only an hour or so to get through all the paperwork.

"And I love that you're ambitious. That you want to build something yourself." "Yeah?" "Yeah." His hands found my hips. "It's incredibly sexy." "Trenton, my team is right outside." "So we'll be quiet." He kissed my neck. "Can't let this beautiful new desk go unchristened." "That's not a thing." "It is now." He lifted me onto the desk, pushing papers aside. "Tell me no and I'll stop." I should tell him no and maintain professionalism in my new office. Instead I pulled him closer. "Lock the door."

Click. The door slid open. “ Running late,” a voice drawled from inside. Grayson stepped in without reacting. “I’m right on time. You’re just impatient.” The office was the only place in the building that dared to have personality, dark wood, floor-to-ceiling screens glowing with data, and a skyline view muted behind tinted glass. Behind the desk sat Desmond, his best friend, leaning back like he owned the building… which, technically, he partly did. He didn’t look up immediately which meant he was annoyed.

they would be confused. "I'm fine. You worry too much. Here, you go about your business and I'll sit here and rest. Will that make you feel better?" "Immensely." He sighed and looked down at his desk. He started flicking his fingers this way and that, manipulating the images on their surface and the ones projected above. The name on the desk read Fisco Bada. This was definitely all a show for her.

Narrator's Pov Inside the wide capacious office, the air conditioner blowing so cold with a quirky fragrance, the glass desk littered with so much files, a pen cup, a apple laptop which was sparkling neat and glittering as it was made of annaeled glass, two iPhone, two iPad and a office telephone. And just in front of the glass desk were two black twirling seats. A mini bar placed at the far end of the desk and a plasma television which was hung on the wall.

He hadn't registered my presence, let alone the tension I’d just passed through. I set the tray down carefully, the clink of the porcelain loud in the quiet room. The rejection stung. I was nothing more than a delivery service, a ghost they paid to exist quietly. But I needed an excuse to stay. "Is the desk a bespoke piece, sir?" I asked, making my voice polite. "The carving is very unique." He flicked his eyes up for a half-second, then immediately back to his screen. "It is. Designed by Sinclair. Now, if that's all, I have a deadline."

She asked, peeling the paper off of her face and placing it back down on the table with the rest. “Time for you to get up, that one is for sure.” Mark chuckled. “I will arrange for you a “get out of bed” coffee right away.” “Hold on Mark.” Aiden called, stopping him at the door. He turned. “I think you mean a “get up from your desk” coffee.” He laughed and so did Mark. “I would want one too, thanks.” Mark tipped his cap to him and turned to walk away just as Aiden also turned to approach Tia. The office was a mess, most especially their desks which looked like it had been raided by a small tornado, with every piece of paper in every possible place.