Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
She’s fucking perfect.
I sit at my desk, staring into space. There’s a stack of documents waiting for my attention, but instead, I’m dreaming of wrapping my hands around Casey’s thick ass, firm in my hands. In my mind, I’m tracing my tongue from her sweet snatch to her generous belly and finally, up to the creamy smooth skin of her breasts. My memory rests on the pale pink of her nipples; the same color as the inside of a strawberry. I picture her wild espresso hair falling into her giant eyes and that slow, dreamy smile in the flickering candlelight as we lay, panting and humping away in her little bedroom.
My pants tighten. Fuck. This also keeps happening. Again, it’s a feeling I haven’t had since high school. Spontaneous erections at age forty-five? Is there something wrong with me?
But it’s clear there’s nothing wrong physically. The only thing wrong is the intensity of this obsession. But is that really wrong? Not if she’s feeling the same way...
There’s a succession of brief raps at my door. Goddamnit. I sigh and scooch my chair into my desk, willing myself to think about my stocks plummeting to try and un-pitch this tent.
“Come,” is my growl.
Mark, my assistant slinks inside and sits before my desk. He’s in his twenties and thin as a rail with big, hipster glasses and dark hair brushed smooth. A frown decorates his face, which is bizarre. The dude is usually remarkably cheerful.
“Yo,” I say with a raised eyebrow. “What’s up? Get into any trouble over the weekend?”
My assistant literally blushes. “My weekend was really nice, Mr. Lane. How was yours?”
“Very good, thanks. Do I have –”
“I’m sorry, sir,’ he says, twitching a bit. He’s never interrupted me before. Curious, I lean into my desk and watch him. Is he quitting?
“I need to confess something to you,” Mark stammers.
My heart sinks. Quitting wouldn’t be a confession. Quitting is just part and parcel of doing business. Shit. It must be something far more sinister.
I’ve heard stories like these. There are plenty of cases of long-term assistants who extort their bosses, embezzle all sorts of money, or even blackmail them. My senses are suddenly on high alert. This is the downside to being wealthy, I suppose. There will always be people trying to take advantage of you. But is Mark one of them? It seems impossible, given that the dude has been a straight arrow for as long as I’ve known him. I eye him warily.
“Go on,” I say in a calm voice.
“Erm, so, this is really hard to say,” he squeaks. His Adam’s apple jumps as he takes a big gulp. Again, I’m not sure what to expect here. Mark is not the most assertive guy. He’s twenty-six, if I recall correctly, and the dude’s a really sweet kid. Geeky as hell, of course. I don’t mean it as an insult, it really is just the best descriptor.
“Spit it out, buddy,” I tell him. “Just get it over with.”
My assistant steadies his breathing. He stares straight down at the floor and taps his foot nervously. I watch his Adam’s apple bobble up and down as he prepares himself to drop whatever bomb he’s got up his sleeve. He finally speaks.
“So, a couple weeks ago, remember how you sent me uptown to bring those flowers and the gift to a woman?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not this again. Is that bitch Maria up to no good? I’d bet on it. I inhale sharply and then let it out again, eyeing my assistant suspiciously. He does his best to avoid eye contact.
“Yes. I do. Of course I remember,” I grunt. “Why? Did she do something? Say something?”
Mark flinches and then gulps. The Adam's apple bobs almost crazily now as he stares at me, bug eyed.
“Just say it, my friend. I really haven’t got all day to talk about it. What do you need to tell me so badly?”
“Well, when I gave her the gifts, she was so crushed, sir,” he begins in a small voice.
“Okay,” I say, biting my tongue. “Is that all? So you came to inform me about her emotional state?”
“No, sir. It’s not that.”
What is he trying to say? I’m starting to get impatient, and I’m sure it shows on my face because the man begins babbling then, his cheeks turning red.
“I felt so bad, you know,” he starts, “It felt, I don’t know, wrong? No offense, Mr. Lane. I know you had your reasons for breaking up and I entirely understand.”
I stare at him, baffled. But my assistant continues, speaking fast as he finally gets the story out.
“I didn’t have the heart to just leave her like that, crying. So, I stayed for a bit. I made her a cup of tea and she pulled out these little powdered sugar cookie things, and they were so good and –”