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"I'm going to kill him, I'm actually going to kill him," I huffed, setting my bag on the counter and looking at James, the team manager.

"Shouldn't you be used to it by now? You've been working as his assistant for two years." He opened a chocolate bar, taking a bite out of it.

"James. I don't think any amount of time could get me used to his behavior. Who does the things he does? It doesn't look like the rest of his teammates do." I turned around, walking to the huge glass window in James' office that looked down at the ice rink.

I folded my arms across my chest, watching as Christian hit the puck, aiming to pass it to Cody but Vince cut between the two, swooping the puck away. It's like the puck is just drawn to him, two magnets with the strongest pull. And everyone knows by now, once Vince gets the puck, it's near impossible to steal it from him. He took his sweet time skating to the goal while the others gave up, groaning and cursing at him. I watched as he reached the goal and scored before turning back to the others and taking an exaggerated bow.

Arrogant prick.

"Should I just quit?" I asked myself.

"No," James said quickly.

I turned to him, letting my arms drop to my sides. "Why not?"

He shook his head, throwing the wrapper away. "You know too much about Vince. Without you, his routine would fall apart and it would take too long to find a replacement and train them. You're his assistant, you're stuck with him now," he explained.

"So what would you do if I said I wanted to quit?" I lifted a brow.

"I'd say you can't."

"You can't do that though."

"Are you quitting, Demi?"

"No, I'm just asking. Hypothetically," I gave him a plastic smile.

"Do you have any idea how long it took us to find an assistant like you? Until you showed up for the interview, he had several assistants and none of them lasted beyond two weeks."

"That's not true," I said pointedly.

"Ah," he chuckled, "Mimi? She was his assistant for two years, just like you. She did her job well."

"Why did she quit? Or was she fired?"

"She was fired," he shrugged.

"Why?" I questioned.

He paused and looked at me. "She leaked Vince's private information to press for money." She broke employee contract rules.

"So... she didn't quit because she couldn't handle Vince being an asshole for more than two years?"

"Haha," he said sarcastically, "no."

We heard the whistle blow downstairs and I stood up, grabbing my bag. Practice is over for tonight.

"Tiffany!"

I closed my eyes and let out a groan.

"Why does he call you by your middle name anyway?" James questioned. "Demi Tiffany Vaughn, right?"

"Apparently I looked more like a Tiffany when we first met, whatever that means," I shrugged before leaving, jogging down the staircase and over to the rink.

He skated out, dropping the stick on the carpet. I reached into the bag, holding out a water bottle for him. While he drank the water, I took a step back, observing him. He was sweaty, his hair matted down with his cheeks and nose flushed from being on the ice. He was panting to catch his breath. He pulled the bottle from his lips, screwing the cap back on and handing it to me.

I moved aside while he walked to the bench, sitting and taking his skates off.

Since it's only practice, he wasn't wearing his helmet or gear, otherwise, he would take some of that off right here too. "What do I have next?" he asked, looking at me.

"You have nothing up until eight o'clock."

"What's at eight o'clock then, Tiffany?"

I ground my teeth. It's not the things he says, more the way he says them. "Dinner with your family," I cleared my throat.

He stopped untying his skates, pausing to look at me. "Cancel it."

"I can't."

"Cancel it, Tiffany."

"You've canceled on your parents every weekend for the past three weeks. Your mother said if you don't show up, they'll show up at your house for dinner instead."

"I said cancel it," his voice turned hard and stern while he looked up at me, throwing his skates to the side. "I don't care what she says," he replied.

I sighed, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "It's just dinner, Vince. Why don't you just go? Then you can cancel for the next few weekends."

"Does dinner with your divorced parents sound inviting to you, Demi?" He stood up, walking over to me. That's how I know he means what he's saying. He calls me Demi when he's angry. "Who's your boss, Demi?"

"Vince," I paused.

He lifted a brow at me, his lips pursing slightly.

I sighed in defeat, "You're my boss."

"Exactly. So, why don't you just do your job? Which is what, hmm?"

"Doing as you say, of course," I bit out.

"Perfect." He grabbed his skates, heading to the locker room. "Call and say I can't be there. Make up an excuse, do whatever you need to," he called out behind him without turning around or pausing. "And bring the car in ten minutes. I'll be out of the shower by then."

I glared at the back of his head as he walked away, wishing I could stab him. I'm so tired of this job, maybe I really should quit. I reached into my bag, taking out his car keys, and heading to the exit.

Why haven't I quit yet? Well, it's pretty simple. I've been working as Vince's assistant since I got out of college, that makes it two whole years, and the fact is, I'm used to it now. I have a routine going and I know exactly what I'm doing because I have Vince all figured out. As much as I could anyway. I could tell you anything about him if it's external. But I don't know much about what he feels or thinks because if there's anything I've learned in the two years I've worked for him, it's that he's the most reserved person I've ever met.

He keeps everything inside, all his emotions, frustration, and desires. He bottles it all up until he explodes when he's drunk. That's his pattern.

The second reason why I haven't quit is because I would have absolutely no idea what to do if I did. Right as I got out of college, James, who was my cousin's boyfriend at the time, said he's looking for an assistant for one of his athletes. I knew nothing about being an assistant, especially to an athlete. James set me up. He said it would be temporary and he'd let me go when I figured out what I wanted to do.

But being Vince's assistant meant not even having the time to think. I spent all my hours thinking about Vince. If he had eaten, running his errands, being his cook and housekeeper, basically his slave.

One month bled into the other and two years were done before I knew it. And James might have set me up, but I blame myself for falling for it. I couldn't help it, I was a bit starstruck.

When I first met Vince, I melted like putty. I knew who he was, my Dad often watched his games and told me all about it. And every person who knows of Vince's existence knows that he is surprisingly and inhumanely handsome.

With dark hair that's almost black and looks so fluffy, you only think about running your fingers through it, piercing green eyes that terrify you and make you giddy at the same time, perfectly high cheekbones with a sharp jaw that might cut you, people all over the world gush over his beauty. Not to mention, his body. He sits insanely tall at six foot four with a huge frame. Broad shoulders, wide strides, big chest, strong arms. He could engulf someone like me. His only flaw which somehow only makes him prettier is the scar on his chest. I've seen it, but not everybody in the world has.

When I first started working for Vince, I noticed that he was more conscious about his body in public and kept the scar hidden. But as time went on, he cared less and less about it. I don't know how he got that scar or the story behind it, but mentioning it ticks him off, so I stay away from that subject.

Unfortunately for me, it's because of the way he looks that I was set up to fail. James knew what he was doing. I was a gullible twenty-one-year-old and of course, I had a tiny fangirl moment when I first saw Vince. I had a little crush on him the first few months I worked for him, but his attitude and rude behavior didn't let me harbor those feelings much longer.

I began hating him as a boss. He was rude, arrogant, demanding, cold, and he didn't give a single fuck what happened to others as long as things went his way. Before working for him, I never knew what went on in his life. I just knew he existed and had a pretty face. But after working for him? Yeah, I still know nothing about him.

Everything external, I know like the back of my hand. I could tell you he doesn't eat red meat because it makes him queasy, I could tell you his favorite store to shop at, but I couldn't tell you who he hates and who he likes, nor could I tell you how he really feels about the people around him. Vince has mastered hiding his emotions, he did that way before I met him. He never lets it show. He could hate someone but smile at them a certain way that you'd be sure he loved them to death.

Vince is the most straightforward yet somehow the most confusing person I've ever met and that makes working for him so much harder.

I got in the car, backing out of the parking spot, and stopping at the entrance, rolling the window down. The rest of his team members came out, waving me bye as they spotted me before getting in their cars and leaving. Vince is usually first to arrive and last to leave, it's just how he is. He hates being late and hates leaving early too.

He came out nearly five minutes after the others and walked over, dumping his bag in the backseat and then climbing into the passenger seat, rolling the window up while buckling himself in. "Drive," he sighed, reclining his chair.

I glanced at him before shifting gears and heading to Carlise apartments, where he lived in the penthouse. I'm sure what I do is beyond just assisting him. I really am his slave.

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