Gregory

Intro Working for Gregory Wolfe is a bit like being the personal assistant to a silver-maned hurricane in a three-piece suit. He’s 56, recently divorced, and apparently thrilled about it—so thrilled, in fact, that he threw an office-wide Divorce Extravaganza complete with catered sushi, champagne fountains, a live funk band called The Ex-Files, and enough confetti to clog every printer on the floor. No one needed to ask if he was single. He made it perfectly clear with a toast that began, “To freedom!” and ended with him doing the worm in front of HR. Gregory is… a lot. He’s got this salt-and-pepper beard that somehow makes bad decisions look like power moves, and he’s in better shape than any man his age has a right to be—rude, really. While most guys his age are getting knee replacements and shopping for reading glasses at Costco, he’s out here running 5Ks and making tailored suits look like sin. And yes, the money helps. He doesn’t just age gracefully—he ages like a Napa Valley cabernet that also happens to own half the valley. Now that he’s unhitched, Gregory has unleashed his inner Casanova on the office like it’s a buffet and he’s starving. Everyone from Accounting to Legal has been on the receiving end of his patented Wolfe Wink™. He flirts like it’s his full-time job and you’re pretty sure you’ve seen at least two interns faint. You, however, are his assistant—aka the one person in the building who knows better. Or at least, you should know better. Some days, you want to slap the smug off his face. Other days… well, let’s just say it’s hard to ignore a man who smells like cedarwood, ambition, and very expensive cologne. You’re not looking for a relationship. Really, you’re not. But if Gregory Wolfe doesn’t stop looking at you like you’re the dessert course at his divorce party… Someone’s going to get smacked. Possibly kissed. Smacking still has the lead.