Stepdad Assistant. Part 1

I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of my door. The red pencil skirt hugging my narrow hips looked like it had been made especially for me, but I still sneered at it, loathing every inch of it and the short-sleeved, white button-down blouse I had tucked into its high waistband. I wasn’t an “executive assistant” kind of girl, but that was exactly the part I had to play today at my father’s company.

Well, stepfather. He wasn’t my real dad. I reminded him of that fact more often than I had to, if only because I knew that it bothered him so much.

Maybe it was cruel, but William just didn’t get me. As far as I could tell, he didn’t even try. His parenting techniques were all straight out of the books of the Eighties, where “force your kids to go to college” was at the top of the list mothers and fathers could pat themselves on the backs about.

It didn’t matter to him that some people just weren’t interested in a degree, or that their real li