NAUGHTY DIRTY COCKY Whitney G.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2016 by Whitney G. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. Cover design by Najla Qamber of Najla Qamber Designs. Editing by Evelyn Guy of Indie Edit Guy.
Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page AUTHOR’S NOTE NAUGHTY | BOSS NAUGHTY BOSS | SYNOPSIS THE BOSS THE EMAILS ONE YEAR LATER... THE ASSISTANT THE ASSISTANT THE BOSS THE BOSS THE EMAILS THE ASSISTANT THE EMAILS THE ASSISTANT THE ASSISTANT THE BOSS THE ASSISTANT THE EMAILS THE BOSS THE BOSS THE ASSISTANT THE EMAILS THE ASSISTANT THE EMAILS | (Well, “The End”) DIRTY | DOCTOR DIRTY DOCTOR | SYNOPSIS THE DOCTOR THE DOCTOR THE RESIDENT THE DOCTOR THE RESIDENT THE RESIDENT
TWO WEEKS LATER... THE DOCTOR THE RESIDENT THE DOCTOR THE RESIDENT THE DOCTOR THE RESIDENT THE RESIDENT THE DOCTOR THE DOCTOR THE RESIDENT THE RESIDENT THE DOCTOR THE RESIDENT THE DOCTOR THE RESIDENT A FEW YEARS LATER... THE RESIDENT COCKY | CLIENT COCKY CLIENT | SYNOPSIS THE CLIENT THE PUBLICIST THE CLIENT THE PUBLICIST THE PUBLICIST ONE DAY LATER THE CLIENT THE PUBLICIST THE CLIENT THE CLIENT THE PUBLICIST THE CLIENT THE PUBLICIST THE CLIENT REASONABLE DOUBT | (Sneak Peek) REASONABLE DOUBT | SYNOPSIS REASONABLE DOUBT | (VOLUME ONE)
Prologue Contract (n.): Perjury (n.): A Letter to the Reader ALSO BY WHITNEY G.
AUTHOR’S NOTE This book, Naughty Dirty Cocky, is the first compilation of my Steamy Coffee Reads Collection—a series of standalone novellas that I will release randomly and in between novels during 2017. Every novella in this series features a hot alpha male, a strong heroine, and a plot that is pure, HOT FUN. (In other words, these are long enough for you to enjoy over a cup of coffee whenever you’re in the mood for something hot, quick, and dirty :-) )
This collection includes: NAUGHTY BOSS DIRTY DOCTOR COCKY CLIENT
**If you’re looking for a longer read, I highly suggest my standalone novels.
Love, Whitney G.
PS—Special thanks to K. Bromberg for the awesome idea/encouragement.
NAUGHTY BOSS
NAUGHTY BOSS SYNOPSIS He definitely wasn’t supposed to get that email ...
Subject: My Boss. Have I already told you that I hate my boss today? Sexy as hell or not, this pompous, arrogant, ASSHOLE asked me to pick up his dry cleaning the second I walked through the door. Then he told me that I needed to take his Jaguar to a car wash that was ten miles outside of the city, but only after I needed to stand in a never-ending line to buy some type of limited, hundred-dollar watch. I honestly can’t wait to see the look on his face two months from now when I tell him that I’m quitting his company and that he can kiss my ass. KISS. MY. ASS. All those former fantasies about him kissing me with his “mouth of perfection” or bending me over my desk and filling me with his cock are long over. OVER. Your bestie, Mya PS—Please tell me your day is going better than mine ...
Subject: Re: My Boss. No, you haven’t already told me that you hate your boss today, but seeing as though you’ve sent me this email directly, I know now ... Yes, I did ask you to pick up my dry cleaning the second you arrived to work today. (Where is it?) And I did tell you to take my Jaguar to the car
wash and pick up my thousand-dollar watch. (Thank you for taking five hours to do something that could be accomplished in two.) You don’t have to wait two months from now to see the look on my face when you tell me you’re quitting. I’m standing outside your office at this very moment. (Open the door.) No comment on your “fantasies,” although I highly doubt they’re “long over.” Your boss, Michael PS—Yes. My day is definitely going far better than yours...
THE BOSS Michael
Manhattan, New York
The last time my face was plastered across the front page of a tabloid, the headline was at least somewhat true. What I was currently staring at in this moment was beyond far-fetched, even for someone with a scandalous and sex-filled reputation like mine.
Playboy CEO of Leighton Publishing Leaves Woman Crying in Hotel Lobby After Hours of Loud Sex on Balcony
I flipped through the pages of The National Enquirer, skimming the details from the so-called “trusted source” while resisting the urge to roll my eyes. According to them, I’d had sex with this woman in the penthouse suite of a hotel and simply put her out so I could have sex with someone else. And according to the woman who’d clearly concocted this bullshit story, she said my exact words to her were, “Thank you for letting me fuck your pussy. It’s time for me to fuck someone else’s now. You can see yourself out.” There was no mention of the fact that this very same woman was recently convicted for lying to a grand jury in a theft case, but tabloids were never interested in the truth. They only wanted to sell papers. I managed to get through the entire article without a reaction, but I couldn’t help but laugh at the last line: Rumors are now swirling that the
‘naughty’ CEO engages in sex with two different women for every day of the week. He apparently keeps a private schedule for his sex-life. I shook my head. It’s only one different woman for every day of the week... Tossing the tabloid into the trash, I remembered to send a generic text to the women I planned on seeing this week. There was Lisa on Tuesday, Mariah on Wednesday, Hannah on Thursday, and Tiffany on Friday. Michael: Looking forward to seeing you this week. Their responses came in exact succession. Lisa: Looking forward to seeing you, too :) Mariah: Can’t wait to fuck you again ... Hannah: Let me know if you want to change it to an earlier day :) Tiffany: Anytime :)
With a few minutes to spare until my six o’clock meeting, I set a box of potential front-list novels on my desk. I made two pots of coffee and opened new notepads. Then I impatiently waited for my executive assistant. I’d long given up on her arriving early to meet me for anything because she was always five minutes late. She literally lived right across the street from the building and she never ceased to amaze me with her endless excuses as to why she couldn’t be on time. Ten minutes past six, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Fifteen minutes past six, I wondered if my previous thoughts of her being the most incompetent assistant I’d ever had were true, and at twenty minutes past six, I caved in and called her desk. “Yes, Mr. Leighton?” she answered on the first ring. “Did you forget that we’re supposed to discuss the winter selections today?” I asked. “You know how I feel about things needing to be on time.” “Oh, right! I am so sorry! I got caught up on these reports, but I’m on my way.” She hung up, and within minutes she walked into my office carrying a box of assigned novels. She placed it on my desk and sat across from me. “Wait.” She held up her hand. “Before we start, can I ask you something personal?” “No.” “What if it’s something important?”
“It can’t be important if it’s something ‘personal,’ because you’re not entitled to know anything about my personal life.” “Are you really as bad as all the tabloids say you are?” She raised her eyebrow. “Like, when do you possibly find the time to sleep with so many women since you’re always here working?” I could’ve sworn I said no ... I gave her a blank stare. “I deserve to know what type of man I’m working for,” she said, crossing her arms. “Especially if this man wants me to keep the truth about how difficult he is to work for under wraps.” “Are you threatening to blackmail me?” “No.” She smiled. “I just really want to know if your sex life is as exciting as the press makes it seem. I actually think it’s pretty hot, and off the record, I am totally willing to look past the non-fraternization policy if you ever want to try me out.” She lowered her voice. “I can be naughty in the bedroom, too. I can let you have my pussy, and you can leave me hanging in the hotel lobby afterwards, if that’s what you’re into.” Jesus... “Can we please get started with the work?” I rolled my eyes. “I need your thoughts on the titles you were assigned so we can send them down to marketing tomorrow.” “So, right after that I can go?” No, right after that I can ‘fire’ you ... “Yes.” I cleared my throat. “What did you think of Grisham’s latest?” “His latest what?” “His latest book.” I pointed at the box she’d brought in, at the advanced copy of The Whistler. “It was one of the three legal thrillers you were supposed to read this month.” “Oh, yeah.” She picked up the hardback and flipped through its pages. “I thought it was very good. Very legal, very thrilling.” “Can you please be slightly more specific than that?” “I really liked the book’s cover a lot.” She ran her fingers across the cover. “He really pulled me into the story with it, you know? This image of the boats docked at an orange sunset sea was quite compelling. I think the graphic artist definitely deserves an award.” Silence.
“We’ll come back to the thrillers,” I said finally. “You were also supposed to read five romance novels. Which one would you recommend the most?” “Well,” she said, leaning forward and pouring herself a cup of coffee. “It was a hard choice, and I do mean a really hard choice, but ... Out of the amazing ones I was assigned, I think loved the one that ended in a happily ever after the best.” “Every romance novel ends in a happily ever after, Penelope.” I felt my blood pressure rising. “That’s what makes it a fucking romance.” “Really? Wow. I never knew that. So, I guess I loved them all!” I stared at her, clenching my jaw. I always thought she was on the incompetent side from the very day she started, from the moment she said, “So, you’re a literary publishing company and you only publish books? Why not movies?” And somehow, I’d managed to look past that. But this? This was bullshit and she was far worse than any of my other failed and fired assistants. “Have you read any of the front-list books, Penelope?” “No, but only because I didn’t know that I personally had to.” She slurped her coffee. “I mean the books got read, but you never said that I was the person who actually had to read them.” “What the hell are you saying?” “I’m saying that I’m working really smart here. I hired a virtual assistant and paid her a couple hundred bucks to read all of them. Oh, and I sent a few of them to some book bloggers on Facebook that I follow. They like, totally live for this reading stuff so they’ll probably have those ARCs done even sooner. Can you believe they like, actually enjoy reading?” “Let me get this straight ...” I tried to keep my voice calm. “I hired you to be my executive assistant and you outsourced all of your work to other people?” “Not all my work. Just the stuff I don’t want to do. I mean, occasionally, I’ll read a page or two to keep my brain refreshed, but reading isn’t really my thing. And you only gave me a month to read ten books. Ten, Mr. Leighton.... That’s technically hard labor and I could sue.” “This is a fucking—” I caught myself. “This is a publishing company. We publish books, and books being ‘your thing’ is the very first thing we asked about on your application.”
“Oh, I lied about that part, but only that part. Everything else I wrote was honest, especially the part about wanting to work under a sexy CEO for a change.” “Penelope ...” I held back a groan. I didn’t need to waste any more of my time with this. “You can get the hell of out my office now.” “Really?” She stood up smiling. “I was hoping we’d get out of here early. My favorite show will be on in an hour. You know, maybe you should ask me to review TV shows—I’m sure I’d impress you that way.” She shrugged and headed to the door. “See you tomorrow!” The second she left my office, I sent my advisor, Brad, an email.
Subject: Tell HR to Fire My Executive Assistant. Now. Right now. Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
I walked over to my beverage cabinet and unlocked it, pouring myself a much needed shot of scotch. I downed it and quickly poured another. As it was burning its way down my throat, Brad’s ringtone sounded on my cell phone. “Yes?” I answered. “You want to take one good guess as to what I’m looking at right now?” “Depends on if I’ll win a prize for getting it right or not.” “I’m staring at the cover of Page Six with an undeniably-not photoshopped picture of you. It’s definitely you and one of your ridiculously expensive watches with a Cuban cigar between your lips.” “Sounds like a very good photo. Feel free to send me a copy.” “Oh, but that’s not the best part of this photo. The best part is the three bikini clad women with messy hair who literally look like they’ve all just fucked you. Would you at least like to guess the headline?” “You still haven’t mentioned a prize. Is there a prize?” “Playboy CEO Beds Three Busty Blondes in Belize. What do you have to say for yourself, Michael?”
“Not much.” I walked over to my desk and clicked on the picture he’d emailed me. “They did a brilliant job with the use of alliteration in the title, though. They must have finally hired a competent editor.” “God, Michael ...” He sucked in a breath and sighed. “Do we have any grounds to threaten them with retraction and defamation, or is this true?” “It’s partially true.” “Which part?” “The part about me being in Belize.” “Please stop fucking with me.” “Fine.” I smiled. “I only ‘bedded’ two of the busty blondes. Not three.” “Oh, just two. Well that’s quite comforting and I guess they owe you an apology. Not. Anything else?” “Yes. The article says I’m wearing a Rolex in the photo. I haven’t worn a Rolex in over five years.” “Ugh.” He groaned. “I’m using one hundred thousand dollars of our public relations account to prevent them from running this on Friday. I’m also sending them an additional two hundred to three hundred fifty thousand to refrain from mentioning your name or running your picture for the next two months.” “Thank you.” “Please don’t. I’ll need a list of everything you’ve done over the past eight months so I can clean it up in advance. And you know, for someone who plans to take his company public within the next two years, I would think that you would try a lot harder to clean up your image and stay out of the press. Otherwise, the only investors you’ll attract will be me and you.” “Noted.” I poured one last shot of scotch. “Did you get my email about needing a new executive assistant?” “Another one? This is number seven.” “Eight. However, I’ve yet to be sent a competent one. Perhaps if you used a different screening agency, or at least let me sit in on some of the interviews—” “No. I’ll tell you what I will do, though. But only if you do something for me.” I was silent, so he continued. “Could you kindly keep your dick in your pants for the next twelve months and try not to fuck anyone?” Twelve months? “Anyone?”
“ANYONE. ANY-ONE.” He enunciated every syllable. “At least anyone who will definitely draw attention to you and your unfortunate, insatiable ways. And that includes all the women you have lined up for this week. Your assistants may not have known what those small blue dots on your digital calendar mean, but I do. Cancel them all right now. You can sleep with whoever you want again after you successfully go public.” I hesitated for a long while, but I realized that what he was saying made perfect sense for the sake of the company and my image. “Fine,” I said at last, begrudgingly sending them all my standard, “Something just came up. I’ll have to reschedule,” message and walked over to my windows. “I’m not going to use our partner agency to find your new assistant. I’m going to handle this personally. Any requirements on your end?” “Hiring someone who is capable of reading a book is a good start. I’d also prefer someone ten to fifteen years older than me, married or already engaged, submissive enough to complete tasks without sarcasm, Ivy League education, and someone who knows how to tell the goddamn time.” “Yeah, okay. Let’s put up the job description in those exact words and see how much of a field day the press has with that one.” “I’m willing to bend on the Ivy League part if it’s a college with a good reputation. I’m not bending on anything else.” “We’ll see.” He was definitely rolling his eyes, and I could tell he was about to give me his much repeated lecture about hiring laws and blind interviews, so I beat him to it. “Just get me the best person for the job. I’ll wait however long it takes since this “fire today, hire tomorrow” approach isn’t working. And actually, just get me someone who impresses you, because if that’s the case, I know this person will impress me.” “Now, you’re finally thinking smart,” he said. “Give me six weeks. I’ll screen the hell out of everyone and make sure the next executive assistant you have is someone who’ll last over a year. “Thank you, Brad.” I hung up, wanting to feel optimistic, but with my track record, I knew the odds of me employing the same executive assistant for a year were highly unlikely. Just like I knew the chances of me going twelve months without fucking someone were too unbelievable to completely fathom. I’ll try it though....
THE EMAILS Mya
Subject: Manhattan Publisher Seeks Executive Assistant So ... I’m pretty sure this job listing is for that “sexy” CEO we sometimes see on all the tabloids! You should definitely apply for this. You’d be perfect. Check out the attachment below. Your bestie, Amy
—-—Forwarded Message——High level executive at Leighton Publishing seeks a highly competent and professional executive assistant. Requirements and salary package attached via pdf below. Send resume(s) and contact information to Brad.Collins@LeightonPublishing.com. —Bachelor’s degree from an accredited college institution (master’s preferred) —A minimum of five (5) years of experience working for high level corporate executive —Passion for literature —Ability to work under high stress and for at least 50-60 hours a week —Ability to draft error-free press releases and PR copy at a moment’s notice Salary&Benefits@LeightonPublishing.pdf
Subject: Re: Manhattan Publisher Seeks Executive Assistant
It can’t be. There’s no way a guy like that would post a job like this on Craigslist, is there? And with that huge salary range?!! O.M.G! Wait. I thought he was the “naughty” CEO? Isn’t that what they call him? Your bestie, Mya PS—I definitely applied. :-)
Subject: Re: Re: Manhattan Publisher Seeks Executive Assistant “Naughty.” “Sexy.” Same thing. And who knows? Maybe he’s desperate? According to Page Six and his former EA, he can’t keep an assistant for more than two months at a time. She claims he was “really demanding” and asked her to do “hard labor.” Then again, I’m sure the real reason no women last around him is because they’re all distracted by how big his cock is. (If you get hired, please find out how big it is. Do it for me, at least.) Your bestie, Amy
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Manhattan Publisher Seeks Executive Assistant The Brad guy from the ad just called me and told me to be at Leighton Publishing next Friday for an interview. AN. INTERVIEW! Wish me luck! Your bestie, Mya
Subject: Did you get the job? Haven’t heard anything from you in two weeks! The two of us aren’t that busy these days and you stay right across the hall! What gives? Did you meet Michael Leighton during the interview? Your bestie (Do we really have to continue signing off like this on every email, like we’re still teenagers?)
Amy
Subject: Re: Did you get the job? Sorry, I’ve been swamped with some massive reading and pre-research. (Don’t ask.) But yes! I got hired On. The. Spot! The Brad guy (Leighton’s advisor) even doubled the initial salary offer in the middle of our negotiations. I didn’t technically get to “see” Mr. Leighton until this morning when I went to officially sign the paperwork and I lie to you not, the man is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life. Hands down. He made me wet after he shook my hand and said the words, “Welcome to my company, Mya.” That’s honestly all it took.... Sexy as ever or not, I’m determined to last way longer than all of his other assistants. He can’t be that bad, right? Your bestie (Yes. It’s tradition to sign off like this :) ), Mya
ONE YEAR LATER...
THE ASSISTANT Mya
Manhattan, New York
I stumbled into the glittering lobby of Leighton Publishing, balancing a small box of files in one hand and a binder of reports in the other. I was over an hour early, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough for my boss. Taking the elevator straight to the top floor, I rolled my eyes as the golden numbers lit up above the doors. Michael Leighton insisted on having the entire top floor to himself, and only allowed me and the lowly secretaries access when we had a morning meeting like today. Or when he was too lazy to travel down one flight of stairs, when he would call and say, “Come up to my office.” The second the doors sprung open, I headed toward the massive conference room that was right across from his office. I unlocked the doors and hit the lights, pulling down the projector screen as I made my way around the room. I set out notepads and pens at each chair, and then I dialed the breakfast caterer. “Fifth Avenue Catering,” a woman answered on the first ring. “How may I help you this morning?” “Hello, this is Mya London with Leighton Publishing,” I said. “I was wondering what time your delivery person was going to—” “They’re on the elevator right now, Miss London.” She interrupted, a slight smile in her voice. “We know how your boss feels about time. No worries.” “Thank you.” I ended the call and dialed the literary agent who was due to arrive for a separate meeting later today, letting her know that we would
only have time for a twenty-minute pitch. Then I emailed each and every staff person a reminder to arrive to the boardroom at least ten minutes early. As soon as I hit send on the message, an email from Mr. Leighton popped onto my screen.
Subject: What I Need Today. Coffee from Dean & DeLuca. Mary Kubica’s new book. Ad report. Hotel confirmations for next Saturday night, two. Q3 revenue reports. Travel itinerary for January. Files for meeting at 3 o’clock on my desk by noon. Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
There was never any point in responding to his first email of the day. One hundred percent rhetorical and two hundred percent rude, he always sent them at exactly seven o’clock and they were always comprised of staccatolike sentences. There was never a “Hello,” “Good morning,” or a mere, “Hope all is well today.” The asshole never even said, “Please.” And even when I completed everything on his ridiculous lists in record time, instead of saying, “Thank you,” he had the audacity to say, “You’re welcome.” “No, no, no.” I picked up a plate of banana muffins the second the catering assistant set them down. “My boss is extremely allergic to these. Can you replace them with blueberry ones?” I quickly looked over the other things she was starting to set out, making sure nothing else was suspect. “You sure you want me to replace them?” She smiled. “He’ll die a lot a faster if I don’t.” “I’m sure.” I said. “I’m not trying to kill him ... yet.” She laughed and took away the offending pastries, and before I could call Dean & DeLuca to order his overpriced coffee, he sent me another email.
Subject: Time.
You were two minutes late to work yesterday, and one minute late to the noon meeting. Don’t let it happen again today. Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
I started to respond with “Eff you and your obsession with time, you egotistical asshole,” but I wasn’t going to let him get to me today. I sent him a curt “Okay,” ordered his coffee, and scrolled through my inbox, looking for correspondence from any of the countless jobs I’d recently applied to, but all I saw was spam. Ugh.... Dialing my personal town-car driver, the best benefit that came with being his executive assistant, I begged him to retrieve the coffee for me. And then I told him to buy whatever else “looked pretty” in that café and add it to the purchase account. “Are you sure about that, Miss London?” he asked. “Absolutely.” I hung up. I was only supposed to use the “CEO credit card” for Mr. Leighton’s coffee and meals, but since he’d been increasingly mean to me over the past few months, I’d been using it on whatever came to mind. He could more than afford it. The sudden sound of the elevator stopping on the floor made me look over the room one more time, made me realize that another day with him was just beginning. “Good morning,” I said as several staff members began to fill the room and take their designated seats. “Good to see you all today.” They all offered me their usual warm “Hellos” and slight looks of sympathy in return. “Thank you all for being early,” I said. “As you all know, this month is going to be extremely busy in regards to our front-list, and today you’ll be asked which books you’d like to push from your departments and how much of the budget you’d like to spend on promoting each title.” Mr. Leighton suddenly entered the room as I spoke, turning the head of every woman at the table. He was dressed in an impeccable three-piece navy blue suit and matching tie, and the diamonds in his newest designer watch gleamed against the room’s soft light.
His beautiful eyes met mine as I continued my short introduction, and for a split second, I was reminded of how utterly gorgeous and captivating he was. His face was flawlessly sculpted with piercing almond colored eyes that pinned me to the spot any time we were alone. His lips looked as if they were handcrafted for kissing, his jet black hair was always cut low enough for a woman to run her fingers through it, and the way his suits fit over his muscles, consistently invaded my dreams more times than I cared to admit. When I was finished talking, he stared at me—giving me a familiar look he gave me from time to time. One I had yet to figure out. It was a cross between the way he looked in my fantasies when he was burying his head between my thighs, and when he was asking me to stay late after work. A look that said he might not be as horrible a boss as I often made him out to be. “You can take your seat now, Miss London,” he said. “Unless you’d like us to spend the rest of this two-hour meeting staring at you.” Fantasy over.... I sat down in my chair. I only halfway listened as he went around the room and condescendingly questioned the staff members, one by one, requesting client novel updates, publication schedules and budgeting concerns. And as he directed his venom at the staff member next to me, I stared at his mouth of perfection. Then I discreetly pulled out my phone under the table and sent Amy an email.
Subject: I Wonder If He Eats Pussy... I’m currently staring at his mouth as he’s (surprise, surprise) being an utter jerk and telling the staff all the things he wants them to redo and the thought just crossed my mind. Like, his lips are beyond incredible and if he could keep them shut, he’d be A LOT sexier, but I wonder if he ever puts them to use behind closed doors.... Your bestie, Mya PS—If he tells me I was “one minute” or a mere “two minutes” late one more time....
Her response was immediate.
Subject: Re: I Wonder If He Eats Pussy... Probably not. If he’s anything like you say, he’s probably more of a taker in the bedroom. I mean, I’m sure he’s a good taker, but I can’t see a hot-shot guy like him using his tongue for anything other than sarcasm. Your bestie, Amy PS—Why haven’t you poisoned his breakfast yet?
“Miss London?” Mr. Leighton’s deep voice made me look up from my phone. “Yes?” “The morning meeting is over now. Feel free to leave my boardroom with everyone else.” I bit my tongue and stood up, forcing a smile as I headed toward the door. “Oh and Miss London?” He walked over to me before I stepped into the hallway. “Yes?” “You were about to leave without your files for our Friday meeting. I’m pretty sure you’ll need them if you plan on doing your assigned work between now and then.” He handed me my massive binder. “You’re welcome.”
THE ASSISTANT Mya
Manhattan, New York
Friday was supposed to be the best day of the week, that one day that stood between the final hours of the work week and freedom, but Mr. Leighton had managed to make it my worst day for over a year. He insisted on meeting in the executive boardroom at three o’clock until seven o’clock. And then he always sat at the head of the table, which would be normal if he was holding a meeting, but we were the only two people in the room and there were always several seats between us. Today he was wearing my favorite suit—a three piece black one with a navy blue tie for accent. His cufflinks, monogrammed “ML” were gleaming underneath the room’s bright light, and I swear, the way he was looking at me made me think he wanted to fuck me. “Do you plan on staring at me for this entire meeting or would you finally like to start?” He raised his eyebrow. Bastard ... “I’d like to start.” “Good.” He opened his folder. “What did you think of the latest Grisham?” “Absorbing.” I flipped through my notes. “Reminiscent of what made me fall in love with his writing during his A Time to Kill era.” “I felt the same.” He wrote down a few words. “Do you think it’s front list worthy for the next quarter?” “It’s John Grisham, so that shouldn’t even be a question,” I said. “Although, in a perfect world, I’d say no. But only because his next book is far more commercial and I think we could do a lot more for that one.”
His lips briefly curved up into a smile, but he didn’t let it remain. “Which romance novel would you like to recommend?” “One second ...” I flipped through another page of my notes. “Castrating Her Boss.” “Excuse me?” His eyes met mine. “What book did you just say?” “Casting Her Boss.” He narrowed his eyes at me before writing down my suggestion. “Anything in particular that stood out? Favorite parts?” “Probably when the asshole boss redeems himself and stops treating the heroine like shit ...” I muttered under my breath, but then I cleared my throat. “The realism was great. The heroine was a movie director and I learned a lot about Hollywood while reading.” “What about your Young Adult selection?” He continued to go through all twelve genres I’d been assigned to read—asking follow-up questions here or there, but as usual, he never let our conversation go off topic or get remotely personal. When we finished the book recommendations, we transitioned into the month’s e-book revenue and promotional adjustments, and by the time he decided that I was “free to go,” it was nine o’clock. Nine. O. Clock. “Mr. Leighton?” I said as I slipped into my coat. He didn’t answer. He was still writing, looking down at his paper. “Mr. Leighton?” I repeated with a little more bite in my voice, enough that it made him finally look up at me. “Yes?” I hesitated, hating the fact that something as simple as his eyes meeting mine was enough to make my panties wet. “This is the fifteenth Friday in a row that you’ve kept me past six. “No, this is the fifteenth Friday in a row that the work has kept you past six. If you completed more of it throughout the week, then maybe you’d be able to leave earlier.” “Regardless,” I said, keeping my voice firm. “I’m going to need to leave at six o’clock on Fridays like everyone else here so I can enjoy a full weekend. If I’m not out of here by six, I’m going to deduct time from my Monday arrival and start time.” He set his pen down and leaned back in his chair. “Come again?”
“Like today.” I picked up my purse and slung it over my shoulder. “Today I’m leaving at nine o’clock which is three hours past acceptable, per section 83B in the company handbook. So, on Monday, I’ll be arriving three hours past my normal time at around eleven o’clock. I will also—” “You’re going to arrive here at eight o’clock.” He cut me off, his voice deeper than usual. “And you’re going to stay in these Friday meetings until we get the work done because that’s what you get paid very generously to do.” “No, I’m not.” I wasn’t backing down. “I’ll see you at eleven o’clock on Monday, Mr. Leighton.” “Be sure to bring a pen to sign off on your write-up papers because first of all,” he said, looking me up and down. “You’re not like everyone else here ...You’re salaried, not hourly. And per your contract and section 89B in the company handbook, Friday meetings can go as late as eleven o’clock, depending on the season. So technically, I’ve been doing you a favor since the day you started here.” He paused. “You’re welcome.” “Furthermore,” he said, “if you want to talk about following rules to the letter, we can easily discuss how you’ve been using my credit card to buy things for yourself. Things like overpriced gifts and breakfasts at Dean & DeLuca, unnecessary office supplies from the most expensive stores on Fifth Avenue, and a bunch of other personal things I don’t recall ever authorizing. I believe any other boss would say that that’s technically stealing, and that’s immediate grounds for termination, is it not?” He slowly stood up and walked over to me, making my heart race a mile a minute. “We could also get really technical and discuss how you use your assigned town-car to drive you around to all types of non-work related places on the weekend with your best friend. Amy is her name, correct?” My cheeks had never been so hot, and I struggled to say a single word. Before I could come up with a rebuttal, he stepped so close our chests were touching. Then he slipped his hand into my coat pocket and pulled out my cell phone, hitting stop on my “record conversation” app—clearly realizing I was hoping to catch his asshole ways on tape for future use. Smiling, he returned the phone to me. “See you Monday, Miss London. Eight o’clock.” ***
Two hours later...
“So, let me get this straight.” Amy poured me a glass of wine in her condo later that night. “He literally just emailed you and told you that he changed his mind and you need to come into work at six o’clock in the morning on Monday? And you think it’s because you complained about leaving late today?” “That’s definitely why.” I tossed back the wine in one gulp. “It’s like he purposely pushes back at me or does things to get under my skin because he feels like it. He knows exactly how to piss me off, and I still can’t read him for some reason. I don’t understand why.” “He’s an asshole, that’s why.” She poured me another glass. “I told you to start keeping track of all those overbearing task emails he sends to you. Start highlighting the ones where he’s at his rudest and least professional.” “That won’t work,” I said, quickly downing the fresh glass and reaching for the bottle. “He’s the ultimate professional in communication. Besides, you can’t interpret his tone from an email, and no judicial team in their right mind would read anything into those short sentences he sends me.” “Well, have you tried recording your meetings like I told you to weeks ago? Guiding him into a conversation that makes him say something questionable?” I shook my head, neglecting to tell her that he’d easily out-maneuvered that attempt, just hours ago. “My only hope is a new job. I’m just going to stick it out until one of those other places finally calls me.” “You know, you could just quit tomorrow and use up all the leave time you’ve acquired. You’ve got what? Six weeks paid for all those crazy hours of overtime you’ve worked?” “Seven.” “See! And you’ve never even used a sick day! You could at least use some of those. And while you’re at it...” I tuned her out, nodding along as she suggested endless options, but I knew I’d never be able to follow any of those to the letter. Amy was far too removed from corporate culture and she didn’t understand the innerworking politics or the bigger picture.
If Mr. Leighton was any other boss, I would happily take sick leave any time he got under my skin, but if I started doing that now, I wouldn’t have any left. Not only that, but he seemed like the type of asshole who would actually send someone to check and see if I really was sick. The type who would actually attempt to ‘get even’ if he found out I was lying. “You know what?” I said to Amy. “I’m just going to apply to ten times as many jobs, and work super hard while avoiding him as much as possible. No matter how big of a jerk he is to me, I’ll remain professional and never let him see me crack until I can yell at him when I do finally leave.” “Okay, sure.” She didn’t look convinced, but she smiled. “Good for you. Worst case scenario, at least you still get to have an up close seat to one of the most gorgeous men in the city and you can continue to use his face for your fantasies until you quit. How big did you say his cock is?” “Huge.” I was more than certain it was. I’d witnessed it hard during a meeting here or there, witnessed him crossing and uncrossing his legs under the boardroom table. “I’ll be sure to take a more dedicated look at it before I leave.” “Please do. For both of our sakes.” She turned on the television. “Okay, your boss no longer exists for the rest of our weekend. Let’s talk about something else. ASAP.”
THE BOSS Michael
Manhattan, New York
I stepped off the elevator the following Monday evening, noticing that the lights were still on in the boardroom. Confused, I headed over to shut them off, but I saw Mya sitting alone at the end of the table. She was flanked by several boxes of files and holding one of my best designer pens between her teeth. I stared at her as she flipped through her notebook, remembering how I’d once attempted to find numerous ways to get rid of her when she first started. How I really tried to get her to quit. It was never personal, and never because she was awful. She was actually the smartest woman I’d ever met, the best executive assistant I’d ever hired, but her unfortunate flaw was being sexy as fuck. Beyond sexy as fuck. Absolutely stunning, her light hazel eyes perfectly complemented her long brown hair and puffy, pink lips. Her light, raspy laughter was sexy enough to catch any man’s attention, and she possessed a never-ending wardrobe of curve-fitting dresses that I actually looked forward to seeing every day. For months, I’d wanted to see her smart ass mouth wrapped tightly around my cock. I’d wanted to bend her ass over my desk and fill her pussy with my cock while fucking her from behind, but I knew better than to ever attempt to make that fantasy a reality. There were only a few times when I’d been careless—when I’d let my gaze linger on her for a little too long, or when she wore a particular shade of dress that left little to the imagination.
Coughing, she suddenly looked up and noticed me staring from the doorway. Her cheeks flushed pink and she cleared her throat. “May I help you with something, Mr. Leighton?” “I don’t recall giving your permission to come onto my floor today.” “That’s because you didn’t.” She shrugged. “So?” “So, unless you personally hear me say the words, ‘Step into my office,’ or ‘Yes, you have permission to sit in my boardroom and do your work’ your ass is currently trespassing.” “Oh, really?” She shrugged again. Then she took out her cell phone and smiled, hitting ‘record’ on that goddamn conversation app. “Could you kindly repeat what you were just saying, Mr. Leighton? I.e. Michael Leighton of Leighton Publishing? Particularly that ‘Your ass is trespassing’ line...” I shut the door, immediately walking to my own office. The second I hit the lights, Brad turned around from the beverage cabinet and held up a bottle of champagne. “Congratulations to you!” He uncorked it, letting the frothy foam drip onto the carpet. “What’s the occasion?” I took off my jacket and sat behind my desk. “Three things, actually.” He poured two glasses and walked over, handing me one. “For one, the most obvious, you’ve had the best year for any publisher in the country.” “Two, you’ve gone an entire year without appearing on the cover of a tabloid or getting involved in any sex scandals.” “That shouldn’t be an accomplishment, Brad.” “It is when it comes to you. Trust me.” I tried to think of the third thing and beat him to it, but I didn’t have a clue as to what it could be. “And three ...” he said, “You’ve seemingly done the impossible. You’ve kept the same executive assistant for over a year. You can thank me a million times later for finding Mya London.” I tossed back my drink at the sound of her name and rolled my eyes. I was considering walking right back into that boardroom and telling her to bend over the chair. Or maybe I should fuck her on the table ... No. The floor.... “Um. Hello?” Brad waved his hand in front of my face. “Are you there, Michael?”
“My apologies. What were you saying?” “I was saying that it’s quite ironic that the one time you find an assistant who lasts a year, she decides to leave.” He laughed. “Crazy, right? I’ll make sure we find someone half as good when she leaves.” “What? What do you mean when she leaves?” He tossed back his drink. “She put me down as a reference for a few jobs she’s received interviews for and they’ve left voicemails requesting me to call and answer a few of their questions.” He pulled out his phone. “Speaking of which, I need to schedule those at some point tomorrow.” “Which companies?” My blood was suddenly boiling. “The usual thieves of great employees.” He laughed again. “Apple, Microsoft, and Amazon.” “And why the hell didn’t she—” I changed my tone. “Why didn’t she use me as a reference?” Or even fucking tell me she was leaving? He shrugged. “Probably assumed you’re busy enough and you wouldn’t have time to call the people back. Or maybe she rightfully assumed that I’m the better choice.” He changed the subject and started talking about our next quarter projections, but I could only halfway listen. I was furious at the audacity of Mya to even think about leaving. I was paying her more than double what I paid any of my previously EAs—deservedly so, and her benefits package was specifically tailored for her: The day I found out she loved and preferred the hardback version of novels, I added a mandate to her contract that she receive five hundred dollars’ worth of hardback books per month from any bookstore she wanted. The day I found out she didn’t have her own car and was taking a cab back and forth to work and conferences? I added a mandate to her contract that gave her unlimited access to her own private town car and driver. (No other executive assistant in the building had ever had his or her own town car, and I’d made sure no one else in the company knew about this arrangement. Even Brad.) And the day I found out she’d actually wanted to be a professional assistant and eventually rise to the ranks of CEO of a company someday, I thought I’d found a potential business partner for the future. But now, I wasn’t so sure. Add that to the fact that she wouldn’t even tell me that she was considering quitting?
This was fucked up. This was war. “So, I’m thinking.” Brad was still babbling. “If we put more of an investment into the audio production for the second quarter of next year—” “How much are the other companies offering her as a salary?” I cut him off. “Are they paying significantly more than we are?” “What?” He stepped back. “Did you hear any of what I said over the past five minutes?” “Not at all.” I didn’t even try to pretend otherwise. “How much are they paying her?” He blinked. “Actually, don’t even answer that,” I said. “Forward me those company inquiries, and any other new ones you may get. I’ll be her reference....”
THE BOSS Michael
Manhattan, New York
“Here’s every report you requested, your print-out of next month’s frontlist, and your coffee.” Mya set down a mug and a stack of folders in front of me the following afternoon. She was wearing a bright blue dress that clung to her hips and exposed the top of her breasts, and my cock had gotten hard the second I saw her this morning. Even during her presentation to the interns hours ago, I’d sat still in the boardroom and tried to focus on anything else while words left her alluring mouth, but it was no use. The thoughts of bending her over every surface in my office were only getting worse by the day. “Would you like anything else, Mr. Leighton?” She adjusted her exposed bra strap, snapping me out of my thoughts. “What about the Danbury report?” I asked. “Did it.” “The Porterfield files?” “Did it weeks ago.” “Have the backlist titles from—” “Faith Sarandon been contracted and signed?” She cut me off and crossed her arms. “Yes. As have all of the remaining backlist catalogues from the other twenty-two authors you asked me to acquire. They’re very happy with your so-called generosity. Anything else?” “Actually, yes.” I ignored the way she’d said ‘generosity’ and opened my desk drawer. I pulled out her personnel file and set it on my desk. “I was looking at your employee contract and making sure it was up to date. You’re currently signed on for two more years. Is that still correct?”
“To the best of my knowledge.” She smiled. “That sounds about right.” “So, nothing has changed and you’re quite happy working here?” “Sure.” She looked away from me and cleared her throat. “Is that all you need from me, Mr. Leighton? I have tons of work to do today. We have that Somerstein meeting at noon.” I picked up a pen and slid the contract across my desk. “I made a salary adjustment to the contract. If you initial it, it can be processed as early as this Friday.” She picked up the paper and finally looked at me, her stunning hazel eyes meeting mine. “I um....Do you mind if I look at this later?” “I do mind. Look at it right now.” She parted her lips, but she didn’t say a word. She flipped through the papers, stopping at the salary page and her eyes widened. “This is ...” She blinked a few times. “This is quite an increase.” “It is.” I narrowed my eyes. “I think you should sign it.” “Wait a minute ... You added a non-compete clause,” she said, reading softly. “I, Mya London, agree to remain at Leighton Publishing for a minimum of forty-eight months, and unless terminated, will never pursue any competing opportunities.” “There’s a set of pens in front of you. I prefer black.” She set the papers down and stepped back. “I need time to think about it.” “What exactly do you need to think about?” I was beyond confused. “That offer is triple what you’re currently making, which is saying something since you’re currently making double what every other executive assistant here makes.” “I guess I don’t like committing to something unless I’m one hundred percent sure that it’ll at least be good and somewhat enjoyable for me.” “It will definitely be more than ‘good’ and extremely enjoyable for you.” “Are you referring to this job, Mr. Leighton?” “What else would I be referring to?” Silence. “Um ...” She cleared her throat, taking another small step back. “Surely you, yourself, don’t sign contracts after only reading them once.” “I would if it was a contract like this.”
She muttered something under her breath I didn’t quite catch, and then my desk phone rang. Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I answered it. “Yes?” I said. “Hey.” It was Brad. “Glad I caught you before the Somerstein meeting. I just got a call from Hilton Corporate and gave them your direct line, so try to be available for their questions in a few hours. I already told them Mya was amazing, but they need a second, more direct reference. They want details I don’t have, so try to be specific.” “I’ll definitely do that.” I hung up, still looking at Mya. “So, how much time would you need to look over my proposal?” “A couple months should be enough.” “Months?” I clenched my jaw. “Yes.” She glared at me. “Months. Working for you for an extended period of time is a lot to think about.” Silence. “Fine.” I picked up the papers and returned them to my drawer. “You can get the hell out of my office now.” She shook her head and glanced down at my pants, blushing before leaving the room. I sat back down in my chair and shook my head. I was confused and upset at the fact that she’d not only blatantly lied to my face, but she was also refusing to admit she was seeking other jobs. That, and she was still getting under my skin with her sexy bullshit. Then again, if she wanted to play games, I could do the same...
THE EMAILS Mya
Subject: The Ass-holery Report #235 (Can You Believe I’m Still Keeping Track of These?) Today we’re supposed to go over the top literary fiction titles that will be rolled out in the spring. I emailed him my top picks LAST WEEK but since he “doesn’t remember,” he asked me to RE-DO the entire 200-page report in an hour. An hour! Of course, I made way more than one copy of it, so I’m not really redoing it, but fuck him. Fuck him hard. Your bestie, Mya
PS—Is it sad that, ass-holeness aside, he still makes my panties wet more than once a week?
Subject: Re: The Ass-holery Report #235 (Can You Believe I’m Still Keeping Track of These?) You mis-typed! We’re on ass-holery report #335, not #235! :) And BRAVO for making copies! Way to think smart! Ugh, I can’t wait until you quit! I mean, wherever you end up next, you probably won’t get all those over the top benefits, but you won’t have to deal with him, so that’s more than a fair trade-off. Your bestie, Amy
PS—No, but only because you’re still sadly single.
Subject: His cock has to be at least nine inches ... (At least) This is going to sound totally insane, but I swear this man was rock hard during my entire presentation today. Like, he had to be, and he had to know I was stealing glances at it because he sat in the back of the room, leaning back with his legs wide open, and he kept his eyes on me the entire time. Your bestie, Mya
Subject: Re: It has to be at least nine inches ... (At least) You delete these emails, right? LOL I’ll take your word for the nine inches. I’m sure he didn’t earn his former playboy reputation for nothing.... Maybe you can give him a huge kick in his nine-inch cock before quitting? Stay focused on leaving + start limiting these emails that compliment him and his cock. (Otherwise, you may start to subconsciously believe that you should stay there. O_o). Your bestie, Amy
THE ASSISTANT Mya
Manhattan, New York
I couldn’t believe that Mr. Leighton had the audacity to offer me an extended contract after the way he treated me, couldn’t believe that he’d included a mention of it in every one of his emails since the day he brought it up. As I stared outside my town car window, I decided that I needed to tell him that I really was looking for another place of work. That it wasn’t personal, but I wanted to go someplace where I’d actually be appreciated. And somewhere where he won’t be such a distraction.... The second the driver pulled in front of Leighton Publishing, my phone buzzed with his usual morning email.
Subject: What I Need Today. Coffee. Stephen King’s new book. Reports for the two o’clock meeting. Your signature on the employment extension contract. You’re welcome. Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
I sighed. I’d done my best to avoid that last line on all of his task requests, simply not addressing it via email or simply saying “I need more time to think about it,” if he brought it up during one of our meetings. And even
though the sexual tension between us was at the highest levels it’d ever been, I couldn’t afford to let that cloud my judgment. His overbearing sexiness was not a good enough reason to stay, and the odds of us having sex were slim to none. (Not that having sex with him was a good enough reason to stay either.) After securing a copy of Stephen King’s newest book from Barnes & Noble and a cup of his favorite expensive coffee, I rushed inside the building and headed right up to his office. I knocked against his door five times and waited for his familiar, “Yes?” before opening the door. The second I stepped inside, I felt his deep brown eyes watching my every move, and I tried not to make eye contact as I walked over and set the book and the coffee on his desk. “Is there something on your mind, Miss London?” He waited for me to look at him, and I finally gave in. “Any particular reason why you’re currently mumbling?” “No, Mr. Leighton. It’s just—” I decided to be honest, to finally get this over with. “I’m not interested in signing the extension contract.” He raised his eyebrow. “Are you referring to right now, or ever?” “Ever.” I stepped back, waiting for his reaction, but there wasn’t one. His face remained stoic and he simply picked up his coffee and took a long sip. “Fair enough,” he said. “Thank you for telling me. After you settle into your office, I need you pick up my dry cleaning from Midtown. There should be fifteen suits and twenty shirts in my name.” What the hell? “Would you like me to pick up anything else?” “Not at all.” I forced a smile and headed toward the door. “Thank you for being understanding about the contract, Mr. Leighton.” “Anytime, Miss London.” I left his office and took the steps to my own, quickly printing out the two o’clock reports so I could save time since I had a new dry cleaning mission. As I was stapling the first set of sheets together, my phone buzzed with a new email from him.
Subject: Something Else I Need Today.
My Jaguar needs to be washed. Take it to the place I like in New Jersey, ten miles across the bridge. Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
Is he being serious?
I dropped my reports to the floor, barely getting a chance to reread the message to see if my eyes were playing tricks or me or not, before he sent me another email.
Subject: And Also... I forgot to pick up a particular watch I ordered weeks ago on my way to work this morning. You’ll need to stand in line at Audemars Piguet on 57th Street by noon to ensure that I receive it today. Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
I slammed my door shut to prevent myself from screaming. I paced the floor a few times before responding to him with a curt “Okay.” Then I headed down to the private parking garage. I took the keys from the lockbox and tried my best not to think about using them to leave major scratches against his car, and I quickly slid behind the wheel. Instead of immediately heading toward the dry cleaners, I took his Jaguar for a half hour joyride first. I took my time driving through the city streets, stopping for ten-dollar coffee and charging five cups worth to his card every time. I spotted a beautiful cashmere scarf through a window dressing at Macy’s and rushed inside to buy it in all twenty-five colors. On my way out, I noticed a new fashion line at the nearby lingerie store, so I took his precious credit card and purchased ten matching sets of overly priced panties and bras. Screw him...
Still feeling reckless and far less professional than I’d ever felt in my life, I picked up his dry cleaning and tossed it in the back seat. I drove across the George Washington Bridge and sat in the back of a café for half an hour. I checked my email and saw that my bastard boss had emailed me yet again.
Subject: Timing. I refuse to believe it takes three to four hours to pick up my drycleaning and a watch. Even considering getting my car washed, you should be back by now. Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
I immediately deleted it and noticed that there were several other new emails in my inbox. Emails I actually wanted to see. Apple, Microsoft, and Amazon all sent positive, personal messages that all read to the likes of, “Congratulations! You’ve made it to the final round of interviews! We simply need to verify your information and references. Afterwards, we’ll make an internal decision behind closed doors.” I nearly jumped up from my chair, screaming about my pending freedom. I knew there was no way in hell that I wouldn’t receive a formal offer from at least one of those jobs, and since I was still awaiting to hear back from twenty more, I felt more emboldened than ever before. I felt like I could quit Leighton Publishing right now and leave Michael’s Jaguar in the middle of New Jersey for him to find by himself tomorrow. It took all of one minute for me to realize that I wasn’t that bold. That, and I needed a way to get back to New York City. Annoyed, I vented all of my frustration in a long-ass email to Amy, and per her previous advice, I deleted it the second I hit send.
Subject: My Boss. Have I already told you that I hate my boss today?
Sexy as hell or not, this pompous, arrogant, ASSHOLE asked me to pick up his dry cleaning the second I walked through the door. Then he told me that I needed to take his Jaguar to a car wash that was ten miles outside of the city, but only after I needed to stand in a never-ending line to buy some type of limited, hundred-dollar watch. I honestly can’t wait to see the look on his face two months from now when I tell him that I’m quitting his company and that he can kiss my ass. KISS. MY. ASS. All those former fantasies about him kissing me with his “mouth of perfection” or bending me over my desk and filling me with his cock are long over. OVER. Your bestie, Mya PS—Please tell me your day is going better than mine...
THE EMAILS Mya
Subject: My email. Did you get my email from this afternoon? Your bestie, Mya
Subject: Re: My email. No ...What email? Your bestie, Amy
Subject: Re: Re: Re: My email. The one about my boss and all the shit he asked me to do today. :-(. I would resend it to you, but I deleted it.... He’s so ridiculous, Amy. Can I call you in like twenty minutes when I get back to the office? Your bestie, Mya
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: My email. Of course. I’ll be waiting. Your bestie, Amy
THE ASSISTANT Mya
Manhattan, New York
I slumped in my office chair minutes after returning Mr. Leighton’s Jaguar to the garage. I didn’t bother bringing any of his dry cleaning inside, though. If he wanted those suits, he could go down to the garage and get them himself. Now, more than ever, there was a huge part of me that wanted to pack up all of my things and never come back. Yet, I knew I couldn’t leave this place without personally telling him to go fuck himself first. I’d more than earned that. When I’d finally let go of enough anger, I picked up my desk phone and dialed Amy’s number. “Hey, there!” She answered on the first ring. “Are you feeling any better?” “Not at all.” I sighed. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it to the twomonth mark anymore, Amy. I really don’t.” “You can do this,” she said. “This is just one bad day and I’m sure by the time you get home later, you’ll feel differently. Don’t let him get to you. Ever.” There was a sudden loud banging noise in her background. “Ugh! Let me call you right back, Mya. The neighbors are being ridiculous with their music today.” She ended the call before I could say goodbye, and I heard a ping from my inbox seconds later, knowing she’d sent me one of her usual “Stay Calm” emails. I opened my email—expecting to see something inspiring, but the second I saw the subject line and the sender, my jaw dropped to the floor.
Subject: Re: My Boss. No, you haven’t already told me that you hate your boss, today, but seeing as though you’ve sent me this email directly, I know now.... Yes, I did ask you to pick up my dry cleaning the second you arrived to work today. (Where is it?) And I did tell you to take my Jaguar to the car wash and pick up my thousand-dollar watch. (Thank you for taking five hours to do something that could be accomplished in two.) You don’t have to wait two months from now to see the look on my face when you tell me you’re quitting. I’m standing outside your office at this very moment. (Open the door.) No comment on your “fantasies,” although I highly doubt they’re “long over.”
Your boss, Michael PS—Yes. My day is definitely going far better than yours....
Oh. My. Fucking. God! I felt all the color draining from my face, and I swear I didn’t breathe for over a minute. I shook my head in utter disbelief, refusing to accept that I’d sent my rant to him instead of Amy. I refreshed my computer screen again and again, hoping that this was some type of joke. A loud and sudden knock came to my door and my heart nearly fell out of my chest, but I didn’t get up. I didn’t make a single move. The knock came again, much louder this time, and this time I heard his voice. “Miss London?” He knocked once more. I slowly stood up from my desk and looked outside the peephole. Mr. Leighton was looking down at his watch, his face still impossibly perfect and flawless. His full lips pressed into an angry flat line. He looked up from his watch and stared through the peephole, letting his eyes meet mine.
I jumped back from the door and considered my options. I could open the door and listen to whatever he had to say, or I could leave through my office’s side exit door. It was a no-brainer. I grabbed my coat, my laptop, and shut down my computer. Then I rushed out of my side door and took the freight elevator down to where my town car was waiting. My driver eyed me suspiciously as I literally ran through the garage, but he didn’t protest when I begged him to hurry up and get me home. I didn’t wait for him to open the door for me or wish me a good day when we arrived. I practically jumped out of the car and rushed straight into my building—making a beeline for Amy’s place. “Amy?” I knocked on her door. “Amy!” “Coming!” She swung open her door immediately and pulled me inside. “No need to bang on my door like that, Mya. What the hell is wrong with you?” “I think I just got fired.” “What? How do you think you just got fired? You either did or you didn’t.” “Okay, okay. I didn’t get fired yet, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to fire me. He’s definitely going to fire me. Oh god, oh god, oh god....” “Mya, slow down.” She placed her hands on my shoulders. “Speak English, slowly. Very slowly.” “I accidentally sent him one of my complaining emails, a complaining email that was one hundred percent meant for you.” “Was it worse than the one you sent me yesterday morning?” “Way worse. I mentioned my fantasies about his cock in this one.... I called him an asshole and said I used to want him to bend me over his desk.” Her face turned red as well, and she opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of my phone ringing caught both of our attention. I pulled it out of my pocket and damn near dropped it at the sight of Mr. Leighton’s name on my screen. Unsure of what to do, I tossed it onto her couch. “Is that him?” Amy asked. I could only nod. “Do you plan on answering it?”
“No.” I stared at it until it went to voicemail. But then it rang again. And again. Rolling her eyes, Amy picked up my phone and hit ‘answer’ before tossing it to me. “Hello?” I answered, my voice was basically a whisper. “Hello, Miss London.” The sound of my name falling from his mouth made me take a seat. “Did I catch you at a bad time?” I shook my head, as if he could see me. “Are you there, Miss London?” His deep voice sent warmth through my body. “Did I catch you at a bad time?” “Not really....” “Good. Where are you right now?” “Oh, um ...” I looked to Amy for help, but she was smiling, looking as if this shit was actually funny. “I just ran down to the copy room.” “So, you’re still in the building?” “You could say that.” “I saw you getting in your town car half an hour ago.” There was a smile in his voice. “You’re definitely not in the building right now.” “Yes, well ... Is there something you need from me right now?” “There is actually,” he said, his voice even deeper, sexier. “I came to your office this afternoon because I needed to discuss something private and very important that pertains to you and me, but I missed you somehow. So, I need you to come into work an hour early tomorrow so we can have this private and important conversation. Can you do that?” I nodded, slightly turned on by the way he’d said the word “private.” “Miss London,” he repeated. “Can you do that?” “Yes....” “Good. I’ll see you in the morning.” He ended the call, and a large glass of wine was immediately thrust into my hand via Amy. Shit. Shit. Shit.... She tried her best to distract me from today’s epic mistake by making me watch terrible Netflix shows, and letting me crash on her couch for hours, but it was no use. I woke up twice in the middle of the night, hoping this was some type of bad dream. And for a moment, it seemed like it really was, until I checked my phone and saw that Mr. Leighton had sent me a message minutes before midnight.
Subject: Tomorrow. Arrive one hour earlier than normal. Don’t forget. (I won’t.) Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
THE ASSISTANT Mya
Manhattan, New York
There was no “What I Need Today” email from him this morning, no last minute request for coffee, new release novels, or breakfast. As I headed to the office one hour earlier like he requested, I noticed his Jaguar wasn’t in his designated spot. Somewhat relieved, I took the elevator to my floor and unlocked my office—unsure as to whether I should start organizing my things for an upcoming termination or not. Whenever he decided to bring up my email, I knew I was going to have to choose between three options when I responded. Plan A: Deny. Deny. Deny. Plan B: Deny more. Deny more. Deny more. Plan C: Suck up my pride, admit I was wrong, and hope he doesn’t fire me because I haven’t received an official job offer from anywhere else yet. It has to be Plan A.... Just as I was about to sit down, my desk phone rang and his office number appeared on the screen. Taking a deep breath, I picked up the receiver. “Yes, Mr. Leighton?” “Come up to my office.” He hung up without a single word, leaving me confused. I locked my purse in my drawer and took the steps, knocking three times until his familiar, “Yes?” greeted me and made me open the door. He was sitting in his chair, his back facing me. At the sound of my heels clacking against the floor, he slowly spun around—his deep brown eyes meeting mine. His suit today was one I hadn’t seen before, a dark grey one that perfectly complemented the new silver watch on his wrist. The watch he’d
far too recently made me stand in line to get. “Have a seat.” He motioned for me to sit in front of his desk. I sat down and he picked up his coffee, taking a long sip. “You know, Miss London,” He emphasized every syllable of my name. “I honestly thought you and I were on better terms, especially after working together for over a year. But it seems I was clearly mistaken.” He looked as if he was waiting for some type of explanation in regards to my email, and I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to go for Plan A, B, or C. As if he could sense that I was weighing my options, his lips curved up into a smirk. I tried to avert my gaze, even for a second, but I couldn’t look away from him at all. “Are you going to say something?” he asked. “Or are you going to continue sitting there as if you have no idea what I’m talking about?” “Is this about me leaving early yesterday?” I settled on Plan A. “I was feeling a little ill, that’s all.” “This is about a particularly inappropriate email where you make a mention of me fucking you.” My cheeks were on fire and I knew he wasn’t going to let me avoid this at all. “I’m sorry,” I said, the words rushing out. “I had no idea that I’d accidentally—” “This is also about ...” he said, cutting me off as he raised his hand. “Me possibly needing to go to human resources and file a complaint. A sexual harassment complaint.” What? Slowly standing up, he walked in front of his desk—keeping me pinned to the seat with his angry gaze, making me soaking wet with every slight lick of his lips. “Sexual harassment is a very serious offense here at Leighton Publishing, Miss London.” He looked me up and down. “I’ve had people fired for far less egregious offenses, and I technically should be doing the same to you right now, as that would only be more than fair.” He didn’t let me get a word in. “Especially since I don’t think you fully understand why what you did was so offensive.” “I do ...” My voice was a whisper.
“Oh really?” He raised his eyebrow. “Can you imagine if I accidentally sent a similar email to someone about you, the way you did me?” I didn’t answer. “Let me put this in perspective for you.” He leaned forward, so close his knees were touching mine. “If I sent an email to you—accidentally that is, and it said that I’ve wanted you to sit your pussy on my face since you started working here ... Or that I’ve wanted to bend your ass over my own desk and fuck you until you begged me to stop every time you wore a particular shade of dress, don’t you think I would need to be reprimanded somehow?” I was speechless at his words, and I wasn’t sure if he was simply giving an example or if he’d really thought about me the way I’d thought about him. “Answer me, Mya.” The way my name fell from his lips made me suck in a breath. “Don’t you think there would be an uproar with serious consequences?” “Maybe.” “Maybe? No, definitely.” He adjusted his tie. “In fact, there would be such an uproar that I think the IT Department would be forced to go through all the emails I’d ever sent on any company device since nothing sent on a company server is ever truly deleted. In fact, they’d probably have to investigate and see if this was a one-time offense or a particularly interesting pattern....” I felt my jaw dropping and struggled to keep my lips together. “I mean,” he said, looking somewhat serious, “depending on what they found, they’d have to personally address me and assess the damages. And if the person I was talking about ‘fucking’ in my emails wanted to, I’m sure she could make my life very miserable.” Silence. He picked up a folder from his desk and slowly set in on my lap— somehow managing to turn me on even further without even touching me. “Three hundred and sixty-seven emails between you and your ‘bestie’, Amy.” That’s it? “That’s this month alone.” His voice was clipped. “I didn’t have time to read more than a few of them, but I’m assuming we won’t be seeing any more of these in our IT database. Or will we?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Good. I had them all permanently deleted. You’re welcome.” He stood up and glanced at his watch. “Those Roberto files are due before our morning meeting with Lockwood.” He walked over to the door and held it open, waiting for me to leave. Avoiding his gaze, I stood up and headed into the hallway. “Oh, and one last thing, Miss London,” he said, making me look over my shoulder. “Yes?” “For the record, per your email with the subject heading, ‘I Wonder If He Eats Pussy’ ...” He looked me up and down. “I do eat pussy, and if I ever was going to eat your pussy ... If that thought had ever been filthy enough to cross my mind and certain circumstances between us were different, you wouldn’t be able to walk for days after I was done with you....”
THE BOSS Michael
Manhattan, New York
I’d read every single email I pulled from the IT Department. Every. Single. One. They were easy to track since apparently she and her friend labeled all the ones in regards to me as “Ass-holery Report,” “My Boss,” or “This Man Today....” It was quite apparent that she “hated” me and I almost regretted taking out my sexual frustration on her by demanding so much. Almost. Her mind was damn near as naughty as mine when it came to sex, and it was slightly gratifying to know that the attraction wasn’t one sided, even if there was little I could do about it. I’d never mixed business with pleasure before, and I wasn’t going to start now. I just needed to get through all eight of our meetings today without thinking about what I’d seen in her emails, without thinking about the fact that maybe it wasn’t mixing business with pleasure if she was so hell bent on leaving soon. If I was ‘letting’ her leave soon, that is. Fuck....
THE ASSISTANT Mya
Manhattan, New York
Subject: What I Need In Two Hours The Lexington files. Transfer papers on the acquisition of Lerner and Taylor. Your front-list report. The notes from this afternoon’s meeting. Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
I closed his email and sighed. I was starting to wish that he’d simply fired me. Ever since that meeting in his office two days ago, he’d been twice as domineering. Twice as unbearable. It’d taken everything in me not to walk out on the all-staff meeting when he purposely put me on the spot and asked me several questions about a book he knew I hadn’t had the chance to read yet. Then again when he chastised me in front of everyone for submitting incomplete reports that weren’t even due for another four weeks. There was no way I was going to complete every objective in his most recent email within two hours, so I wasn’t even going to try. I grabbed the work I’d already finished and headed up to his office, sending Amy an email on the ride up. I didn’t care if he caught this message on the company server or not.
Subject: Horrible Boss+ Typical A*hole Behavior + Long Day = Wine. Stat! I’m leaving work early today. Can I come over and drink wine at your place for the night? Your bestie, Mya
Her response came through in seconds.
Subject: Re: Horrible Boss+ Typical A*hole Behavior + Long Day = Wine. Stat! Of course. I’ll head out now and buy your favorite. Your bestie, Amy
The second the elevator doors opened, I headed straight for his office and I didn’t bother knocking. I opened the door and saw him reading a book at his desk. “May I help you with something, Miss London?” He looked up at me. “Here is my front-list report.” I slammed a huge binder of paperwork on his desk. “The Lexington report, the part I managed to finish anyway, should be in your inbox within minutes.” “You didn’t need to come up here to say that. You should’ve just sent me an email....” His gaze went to my lips, but then he narrowed his eyes at me. “You know I hate when people come into my office without permission.” “You hate a lot of things.” I shrugged. “Maybe you should just learn how to deal with them like everyone else. I’ll be bringing my notes from this afternoon’s meeting up here when I finish—without knocking, since I’ll probably have to bring you a late lunch, and then I’m officially done for the day.”
“No.” He flipped a page in his book. “You’ll just think you’re done for the day. I need you to stay until eight o’clock today.” “I can’t,” I said firmly. “I have plans.” “I know,” he said, putting down his novel. “Your plans involve staying here until eight o’clock.” “Mr. Leighton ...” I looked him right in the eyes. “With all due respect, which you deserve none of after the way you’ve treated me this week, I’m not staying today. I don’t have time. And actually, you know something else?” I knocked the folder I’d just set on his desk onto the floor, sending hundreds of loose report sheets to the floor. “I’m not going to pick that up, and I’m not going to do anything else today. I’m going home. Now.” “Miss London ...” He gritted his teeth. “Don’t make me—” “What? Fire me? Please do.” I turned away from him and rushed out of his office with my blood boiling and my frustration at an all-time high. Seething, I took the steps down to my office and slammed the door shut. I logged into my scheduling portal and sent email cancellations for the remainder of my meetings. I also sent Human Resources a message that confirmed I was leaving early for “personal reasons” and that I might need to request additional time off in the coming days. I made sure all the emails went through, and then I shut down my computer and closed all of the binders on my desk. As I was slipping into my coat, my door swung open and Michael stormed inside my office. “Going somewhere?” He hissed, clenching his jaw. “Did you not hear what I said when we were upstairs?” “I did.” I picked up my scarf. “Did you not hear what I said? I’m. Leaving. You can stand there and threaten me with your stares all you want, but I’m going home.” “Mya ...” He shut the door and locked it, then he stepped toward my desk. “I’m not going to ask you to stay here again.” “Good.” I shrugged. “Then that makes it that much easier for me to leave.” I slung my purse over my shoulder and headed for the side door, but he grabbed my elbow from behind and spun me around to face him. “Why are you being so goddamn difficult?” He pressed his forehead against mine. “I really need you to stay here with me today....” “Then I need you to give me a worthwhile reason to.”
His lips suddenly crashed against mine and his arms went around my waist, his fingers deftly unfastening the belt of my coat. Keeping his mouth against mine, he pulled open my lapels and pushed the coat off my shoulders and onto the floor. Biting my bottom lip, he slid his hand up my dress, slowly tearing off my soaked panties. He kissed me until I was breathless, gently pushing me backward and against my desk. Briefly letting my lips go, he pushed all of my binders and files onto the floor. My office line began to ring, and he immediately knocked the phone to the floor, too. Without saying a word, he grabbed me by my waist and lifted me up, firmly planting me on the top of my desk. My bare ass cheeks hit the cold mahogany desktop and I sucked in a breath as I caught sight of his hardened cock through his pants. “Spread your legs for me,” he commanded. The sound of people talking outside my office made me want to jump up, but he placed his hand against my stomach and stared into my eyes. “They won’t be able to hear us,” he whispered. “Do what I told you to do. Now.” I slowly moved my legs apart and he loosened his tie, keeping his gaze between my thighs. He stepped between my legs and pressed his thumb against my swelling clit, applying just enough pressure to make me murmur. “I need you to promise me that you’re not going to scream,” he said. “They will hear that....” I nodded, unable to respond as he bent down and sucked my clit into his mouth. “Can you promise me that, Mya?” “I ...” I nodded again, breathing slowly as he blew against my skin. “Yes ... I promise I won’t ... Scream when you fuck me....” “I wasn’t referring to when I fucked you.” He lifted his head up, smirking. “I have to eat your pussy first.” He suddenly grabbed me by my ankles and pulled me closer to the edge of the desk, quickly positioning both of my legs over his shoulders. Without wasting another second, he buried his head between my legs and pressed his mouth against my pussy—sending every nerve in my body into overdrive. His tongue darted against my clit relentlessly and I cried out as he slid two thick fingers inside of me, as he groaned.
My hands went to his hair—gripping it hard as I begged him for mercy, but he continued to torture me with pleasure. In between moans, I threatened to scream, but he only laughed and the strokes of his tongue became more powerful. As his hands held my legs steady against his mouth, I felt myself on the verge of an orgasm, felt my entire body beginning to shake. “Michael, I ... I ...” I struggled to get another word to fall out of my mouth. My body convulsed against the desk, forcing me to break my promise and scream so loudly I was sure everyone on the floor could hear me. I felt him pressing his fingers against my mouth, heard him commanding me to be quiet, but I shut my eyes and tossed my head back— losing all control. I wasn’t sure how long I continued to shake, or if any of my coworkers heard me, but when I opened my eyes again, my legs were still around Michael, and he was staring at me. I thought he was going to say something, to find a way to break our heated silence, but he simply moved my legs from around his shoulders and unbuttoned his pants. My eyes widened as far as they could go as he pulled out his cock, as I realized he was thicker and more well-hung than I’d imagined. He smiled at my shocked reaction, tipping my chin up with his fingertips. “Bend over the desk.” I gasped. “What?” “You heard me.” He grabbed my hands and pulled me up. Then he gripped my hips and spun me around so my back was to his front. “Bend over the fucking desk.” Slowly obliging, I pressed my chest against the metal. I heard the sound of his pants hitting the floor, the sound of him unwrapping a condom. From behind, he slowly pushed my dress up to my waist. Slapping my ass, he slowly slid his huge cock into me, inch by inch. Moaning, I struggled to maintain my balance as I adjusted to his impressive length. When he was completely inside of me, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my head back until our eyes met, whispering, “Is this how I fucked you in your fantasies?”
I didn’t get a chance to answer. He pounded into me relentlessly, keeping one hand in my hair and slapping my ass each time I cried out. He bit my shoulder as I said his name, as I shut my eyes once more and realized he was ten times better in reality than any fantasy I’d ever concocted. He let go of my hair and slid a hand up to my breasts, squeezing them as he whispered, “I’ve wanted to feel your pussy on my cock ever since you started working here....” I gasped, unable to react as my legs began to shake all over again. “Michael ... Michael ...” “Mya ...Mya ...” He mocked me, a slight smile in his voice. “I ... I ...” I gripped the edge of the desk as he slapped my ass again. He whispered my name as the tremors continued to build inside of me, and I heard him say, “Wait for me,” but I was already there. My pussy throbbed in pleasure and another orgasm wracked its way through my body, leaving me limp and breathless against the desk. Leaving me wondering just how long he’d fucked me. Holding me still, he found his own release seconds later, and I struggled to catch my breath. The two of us remained entwined, and he kissed the back of my neck. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. I nodded. “Can I let you go now?” “No.” He let out a low laugh and held me against him longer, waiting until I gave him the okay to let me go. Kissing the back of my neck once more, he slowly pulled out of me and tossed the condom into the trash. Then he wrapped his arms around me and spun me around so I was propped against the desk. As if he could tell I was unable to fully function on my own, he readjusted my dress and helped me into my coat. Then he ran his fingers through my hair and looked me over before picking up my heels and helping me slide into them. “You should call your driver now,” he said softly, picking up my desk phone from the floor and handing it to me. “I’ll walk you downstairs.” I nodded and dialed my driver, watching Michael slip into his pants and adjust his tie. His eyes never left mine, and as soon as my driver said, “I’ll
be downstairs in five,” I hung up. Michael handed me my purse and I wobbled on my heels as I attempted to walk—earning a knowing, sexy smile from him. He pulled me against his side and thoughtfully walked me toward the freight elevators so no one would see us. I avoided looking at him as we rode the elevator. I was in complete and utter shock that I’d actually fucked him, that the leading man in all my fantasies had easily put every single one of those to shame with reality. When we stepped outside together, I was immediately confused as to why the sky had fallen dark so quickly. Michael walked me right to the town car and opened the back door, waiting for me to get inside. He looked as if he expected me to say something, but for whatever reason, I could only think of one thing. “Thank you for being so understanding, Mr. Leighton,” I said, not wanting to give the driver any type of impression about what the hell had just happened between us. “For understanding what, Miss London?” “That I wasn’t staying until eight o’clock today. Glad we could come to that understanding.” A slow smile spread across his face and he glanced at his watch. “I think you’re highly misinformed right now, Miss London. It’s nine o’clock.” He took one last look at me and shut the door. “See you Monday.”
THE EMAILS Mya
Subject: I slept with him. Like, I really slept with him... Your bestie, Mya
Subject: Re: I slept with him. You “really” slept with who? The blind date guy? *And why are you emailing me from a brand new Gmail account? Your bestie, Amy
Subject: Re: Re: I slept with him. My boss.... *Super long story. Your bestie, Mya
Subject: Re: Re: Re: I slept with him. What the FUCK? Are you OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND, MYA? What the hell is wrong with you??? (How was it though ...? :) ) *I like super long stories. Your bestie,
Amy
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: I slept with him. It was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life. Like, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop replaying it in my mind. And I don’t think I can go back to work on Monday and look at him with a straight face again after this.... I’ll be at your place in five. Your bestie, Mya
THE BOSS Michael
Manhattan, New York
My weekend flew by in a restless blur, punctuated by mental replays of fucking Mya in her office. I’d honestly never thought about the same woman after I was finished having sex, but the more I attempted to stop thinking about Mya, the more images of her writhing against my lips came to mind. The more images of her bent over her desk and saying my name invaded my every thought. Not only that, but I hadn’t heard from her today. She hadn’t answered my “What I Need Today” email with her usual “Okay,” and she was already more than two hours late. I figured she was trying to pull that “I stayed late Friday, so I’m coming late Monday” bullshit, so I decided to think nothing of it. I tried my best to distract myself until our two o’clock meeting because she knew better than to miss any day of work for the next month since it was acquisition season. As I was reading through the newest stack of approved book deals, a soft knock came to my door. “Yes?” I set my papers down, expecting to see Mya, but it was only Brad and a catering delivery guy. “Morning,” Brad said as he walked over to my desk. “I wanted to come early and treat you and Mya to a late lunch, if you don’t mind.” “I don’t mind.” I lied, motioning for the delivery guy to set out the food on my desk. “Wild weekend?” Brad asked. “No. What makes you ask that?”
“You look like you’re on edge, like you haven’t slept in days or you’re stressed about something. Or maybe it’s ...” He paused, letting out a long exasperated sigh. “Are you bracing to tell me about an upcoming tabloid story?” He shook his head. “You were doing so well, Michael. So well...” “No.” I rolled my eyes. “And I’m not on edge. If you must know, I didn’t sleep well last night and I still have to get through a three-hour session with you and Mya that starts at any moment.” “Speaking of Mya—” He started to say, but I interrupted him. “She’s allergic to garlic,” I said to the delivery guy, picking up the basket of bread he’d set down. “Can you replace this with wheat rolls?” “Yes, sir.” “And this.” I gestured to a bottle of caramel syrup he’d set out. “She’ll think this is hazelnut and have a coughing spell if she drinks a sip of it. Take this as well and bring up chocolate syrup instead.” “Yes, sir.” He picked up the offending items and headed to the door. “Be right back.” Brad raised his eyebrow, looking completely confused. “Have you always memorized your assistant’s food preferences?” “Only the ones who last over a year.” “Ah.” He laughed. “Well, like I was saying, Apple and Microsoft called to tell me that you still haven’t returned their calls about her reference so you really need to do that at some point this week. You do plan on giving her a good recommendation, don’t you?” My phone rang before I could address that question. “Yes?” I answered. “Good morning, Mr. Leighton,” a soft voice said. “This is Shelby in Human Resources. I’m sorry I’m notifying you so late, but your executive assistant called in earlier and put in a notice for a week of sick leave.” “A week?” “Yes, sir. Would you like me to fill her space with a temp during this time?” “No, thank you.” I hung up and leaned back in my chair. Mya never used sick leave, even when she was actually sick. She’d come to countless meetings coughing and sneezing when she probably should’ve stayed home, so I wasn’t sure if she was using our recent tryst as leverage, or if she’d somehow become deathly ill in a matter of forty eighty hours. “Michael?” Brad attempted to get my attention. “Michael?”
I ignored him, pulling out my phone and sending Mya an email.
Subject: Sick Leave. You better have a goddamn doctor’s note.... Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
Her response was immediate.
Subject: Re: Sick Leave. And if I don’t? Mya London, Executive Assistant to Leighton Publishing CEO
Subject: Re: Re: Sick Leave. If you don’t, I suggest you call HR right now and rescind your “sick leave” since I already know it’s fake. Then I suggest you magically appear in my office within the next hour so we can prepare for next week’s round of author acquisitions. Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Sick Leave. Oh, that’s right. Next week is very important.... I’ll probably be sick next week, too. (I’ll probably still be” recovering” from something.) Maybe if I’m gone for a while, you’ll see how hard my job really is. Maybe then you’ll appreciate me more. Mya London, Executive Assistant to Leighton Publishing CEO
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Sick Leave. You will not “probably be sick” next week. You will bring your ass to work. (It doesn’t take two weeks to recover from getting properly fucked.) I’d appreciate you a lot more if you came into work today.... Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
I closed my inbox, not waiting for her response. I looked up and noticed Brad staring at me as if he’d just seen a ghost. “What?” I said. “You fucked Mya, didn’t you?” “Excuse me?” “You heard me.” He didn’t flinch. “You slept with her ...You slept with her, and that’s why you haven’t called those companies back. That’s exactly why you don’t want her to leave.” “That’s not why I don’t want her to leave.” “So you’re admitting to the part about fucking her?” “No,” I said, denying it and spending countless minutes attempting to calm him down. I knew he’d have a heart attack if he knew the truth. When I was sure he was convinced, I pulled out the files for today’s meeting so the two of us could go through them alone. As he began to organize his own files, I opened a new tab in my browser and looked up a local florist so I could order “Get Well” flowers for Mya—so I could send her a more direct “Bring your ass to work” note. I picked out a seven-layer bouquet of lilies since she’d once mentioned loving those in a novel meeting, and I was halfway to the purchase screen when I stalled. What the hell am I doing? I closed the screen and clicked my pen. I could definitely survive a week without her help since she wanted to continue to play games. I was pretty sure I could do her job even better than she could. It couldn’t be that hard.
THE BOSS Michael
Manhattan, New York
One week of “sick leave” later....
Subject: My Boss... I still can’t believe I fucked my boss last week.... You think he would be mad if I called in sick for a second week? Your bestie, Mya PS—Is it sad that I desperately want to fuck him again?
Subject: Re: My Boss... I still can’t believe that you haven’t learned to double check who you’re sending your emails to.... Yes, “he” would be quite furious if you called in sick for a second week. Your boss, Michael PS—It’s not sad at all, considering he wants to fuck you again as well.
I hit send on my email and put my phone away. She hadn’t shown up to work this morning—no advance notice to Human Resources at all, but I wouldn’t dare file a write-up or even so much as verbally reprimand her. I’d
damn near lost my mind over the past week by attempting to do everything she normally did for me, and I was starting to wonder if I really was as terrible a boss as she said I was. Even now, as I sat across the table from an author we were attempting to acquire, I was seconds away from saying, “You know what? I don’t feel like being here right now,” and asking her to reschedule. And I was very much tempted to drive to Mya’s house to address that last “PS” note in her email. I was also regretting hosting this meeting over dinner instead of at my office. In fact, the only reason I’d scheduled a reservation at this five-star restaurant was because three months ago I’d overheard Mya telling someone she wished she could afford to dine here someday. Of course, I’d deny that fact if she ever asked, but since she wasn’t even here tonight, I didn’t see a point of me being here either. “So ...” The author across from me, a pretty brunette in her mid-thirties, cleared her throat. “If I sign with Leighton Publishing, I’m going to need some promises from you.” “What type of promises, Miss Sutherland?” “Well, I’ll need you to actually promote my book.” “We promote all of our books.” “Well, I know that. That’s why your reputation is so great, but that’s only the basic level of promotion. I want you to promise me a movie deal within two years, six figure advances for every future book I write, and I want a world tour at only the best bookstores.” “This is your debut book....” “I know. And I could totally self-publish this thing on Amazon and have it live in five seconds. Yet, here I am, taking a risk on you and offering you the next smash New York Times bestseller on a silver platter.” I rolled my eyes and took a long sip of wine. I started to change the subject, but she started talking about which actors and actresses she would prefer to read her audiobook, which ones we “better” promise her, so I easily tuned out her voice. This was usually the part where Mya would step in and tell the author to have realistic expectations, the part where my fraying thread of patience wore even thinner and I’d have to excuse myself to get more coffee. Without her here, I was minutes away from cracking and telling this woman to shut the hell up and get over herself.
“You know what I mean?” Miss Sutherland’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Don’t you hate when Hollywood turns books into movies, but then they strip away the best parts? I honestly can’t sign a deal with you unless you promise that won’t happen to me.” “Miss Sutherland ...” I tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “The chances of Hollywood taking your debut book, which is a goddamn cookbook filled with catfish recipes, are so fucking low that—” “I’m sorry I’m so late.” The sound of Mya’s voice stopped me from saying another word. Dressed in a short, black cocktail dress that exposed her long legs, she looked absolutely stunning. Her lips were painted in a bright, alluring red, and her hair was piled high on top of her head in a pretty bevy of loose curls. She walked over to Miss Sutherland and shook her hand, and then she mouthed “Stop it” to me as she sat down. “I think what Mr. Leighton is trying to say—” Mya faced Miss Sutherland, “is that we should focus on doing all we can in the cooking sphere for this book. Then we can discuss ideas for your next collection of recipes so we make sure your future catalogue with us is as strong as it can be.” I stared at her and remained silent for the remainder of the meeting, appreciating how she smoothly steered the rest of the conversation. By the time we were done, Miss Sutherland was signing the contract and wishing us both well. When we all stood up to leave the restaurant, I pressed my hand against the small of Mya’s back and noticed how she attempted not to react. The second Miss Sutherland was tucked away in her cab, Mya looked up at me. “You’re welcome.” She smirked. “Thank you. I appreciate it,” I said, looking her up and down once more. “You look pretty damn good to have been ‘sick’ for a week.” She didn’t answer. She simply stared at me, and it took every ounce of restraint not to take her hand and pull her into my car for the night. “Are you planning on coming to work tomorrow or are you keeping me in suspense?” “I’m not sure yet. It depends on how I feel when I wake up, or if I want you to see even more of how much you put me through when you have to
do everything yourself.” She held up her hand for the town car and he pulled right in front. “But I must say, I’m happy you finally said those two precious words to me in regards to my work.” “What two words?” “Thank you.” I said nothing. I just watched as her driver opened the back door and motioned for her to get inside. I slid inside next to her before he could shut the door. “What the—” She buckled her seatbelt. “What are you doing?” “Driver, roll up the partition, please.” I waited for the driver to give us some privacy. “Mya London, do you really think that because we’ve fucked, I won’t fire you?” “Michael Leighton,” she said, mocking me. “I know you won’t fire me and it has nothing to do with the fact that we’ve slept together.” “We haven’t ‘slept together’, we’ve fucked.” “Fine.” She lowered her voice. “Fucked. But I know you wouldn’t dare fire me.” “Would you like to bet?” “Not with a man who knows that I’m the best damn assistant he’s ever had.” I smiled, unable to come up with a rebuttal for that. Before I could fire back, the driver’s voice came over the intercom. “Miss London, are you still going to the AMC in Times Square?” “Yes, Archer. Thank you.” I shut off the speaker button. “What’s at the AMC in Times Square?” “I have a date with a complete and utter gentleman.” She looked away from me, as if she was somewhat embarrassed. “It was set up weeks ago. I didn’t want to be rude and cancel at the last minute.” “What’s his name?” “None of your business.” She turned to face me again. “And unless you want to be a third wheel, are you going to have Archer take you back to your Jaguar while we’re in the movies? We’re going to need the car for dinner later, and no offense, but you’re not good dinner company.” “What’s his name?” I repeated. “Taylor,” she said. “Would you like to know where he works and how old he is, too?” “I would. Tell me.”
“He’s an analyst for ABC studios, and he’s twenty-seven. Happy?” “He’s too young for you,” I said. “And at that age he doesn’t have any real rank in that company. You can do better than that.” “You’re referring to yourself?” “No, I’m the best,” I said. “But you can at least do better until you realize that.” She narrowed her eyes at me, but she didn’t say anything further. “And if this is the guy from the email with the subject heading, ‘It’s Been a Week and He Hasn’t Called or Texted Me at All’, then you probably already know I’m right. No man in his right mind would wait a week to call you, unless he was your boss, that is.” Her cheeks turned bright red and her jaw dropped. “We’re here, Miss London,” her driver said, pulling in front of the theater. Mya unbuckled her seatbelt and waited for him to open the door. I walked ahead and held the door to the theater for her, following her as she walked toward the ticket counter. “I’m only picking up two tickets,” she said to me. “You’re not really going to follow us into the theater are you?” “No, but I’ll wait until he actually appears, if you don’t mind.” “I do mind.” “Tough shit.” “Fine.” She picked up her tickets from the clerk and I followed her to a couch in one of the theater’s private lounges. She pulled her phone out of her purse and smiled at the screen. “He says he’s in traffic but he’ll be here in twenty minutes. I’ll be sure to tell you all about our night at work tomorrow, since you’re so concerned.” “I’m not concerned at all, but thank you for confirming that you’re coming to work tomorrow.” “You’re not worried he’ll compare to you?” “We’ve discussed this. No one compares to me.” I smiled. “And you know that. You also know that you have no desire to fuck him tonight because I’m willing to bet you’re still thinking about fucking me. This is either a pointless date you’re too scared to cancel, a ploy to make me jealous, or both.” She blushed and looked down at her phone.
Fifteen minutes passed and she didn’t look up again. She simply refreshed her phone’s screen again and again. I looked at my watch. The movie was due to start in ten minutes and her date was a no-show. Her phone suddenly buzzed in her lap and she smiled, tapping the screen. She held it up to her face, her smile fading by the second. She typed a few words, and then she looked at me. “He said something came up so.... Okay. You can go ahead and make me feel like shit now. I’ve missed it at work, so now you can apply it to my personal life, I guess.” “What are you talking about?” “You know, tell me how dumb I was to invite a guy who previously stood me up twice, instead of letting him ask me out. And then you can say how dumb I was for wasting my time getting all dressed up, trying my best to make you jealous—” I cut her off with a kiss, softly biting her bottom lip until she moaned. Until she stopped attempting to talk and gave in. “Let’s go.”
THE ASSISTANT Mya
Manhattan, New York
I sat still in the passenger seat of Michael’s Jaguar as he drove, still in shock that he’d demanded to spend the rest of the night with me. He’d asked my driver to take us back to the restaurant to retrieve his car, to ensure we had complete privacy for the rest of the night. I wasn’t sure why, but when he looked over at me at a stoplight, I couldn’t help but think that a part of this felt right. That when he wasn’t being my boss—even for a split second, he was more than likeable. “It’ll be pretty hard to get a reservation at this hour in New York City,” I said, finally breaking the silence. “We don’t need a reservation for where we’re going.” “I’ll take your word for it, but for the record, I need to apologize in advance.” “For what?” “Because you’re just assuming I’ll like where we’re going instead of being a gentleman and asking me,” I said. “I’m a very picky eater and I’m allergic to a lot of things.” “I’m aware.” He turned right at the light. “You don’t like seafood; you only eat chicken if it’s prepared a certain type of way; you’re lactose intolerant, yet you still eat certain types of cheese, and if you would like, I can break down an entire list of random shit that seems to make you sick for some reason.” He looked over at me. “Would you like me to?” I shook my head, stunned. “Good,” he said. “I didn’t ask because I don’t have to, because contrary to what you may think of me, I do pay attention to you. Are you going to
give me a chance to be nice or are you going to spend the night acting like we’re at the office?” “I’ll give you a chance....” “Good.” He placed his hand on my exposed thigh. “Because I’ve been trying very hard not to fuck you since you showed up at dinner tonight, so the second you want me to stop trying, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” I blushed and leaned back in the seat, staying quiet for the rest of the ride as he steered through the snow-lined streets. Thirty minutes later, he pulled into the turnaround of a high rise tower. Valet approached his car and he walked over to my side to open the door for me. He pressed his hand against the small of my back, and as the doorman opened the door for us, he looked down at me and whispered. “Did you really wear that dress to make me jealous?” “Depends. Did it work?” “Very much so.” He led me up a short flight of steps and onto a glass elevator that faced the bright and glittering lights of Manhattan. We rode it all the way to the top level, and the second the doors gave way, a waiter greeted us and gestured for us to follow him into a private room. A hearth blazed warmly in the corner, and there was only one table in the center that faced the floor to ceiling windows. The waiter smiled and took our wine orders before disappearing. “Is this place normally set up for private dinners?” I asked. “Not at all.” He looked at me. “But I don’t think either of us would like to be spotted together right now, considering our relationship.” “Yeah, I wouldn’t want people thinking I slept with the ‘Naughty Boss’ or Tabloid CEO to get my job.” “Me either.” He looked amused. “When are you really coming back to work?” “You mean, when do you really get to fuck me again?” “No, I’m going to fuck you tonight,” he said. “I truly mean, when are you coming back to work?” “Once you admit that you need me a lot more than you think you do, and once you apologize for being so rude to me over the past year that I’ve worked for you.”
“And if I don’t?” “Well, amazing sex aside, I have three more weeks of sick leave and some very generous vacation days I can make use of. As a matter of fact—” “I need you and I’m sorry.” His words came out in a rush. “And I really do need you to come back to help me, until you “quit” that is....” I knew he wanted me to say that I wasn’t quitting, that I would at least consider staying, but one nice date and hot office sex or not, I was leaving Leighton Publishing the second I received a job offer worthy enough. Thankfully, the waiter returned before I could get a word out, and the two of us ordered the exact same thing. A simple Swiss chicken pasta. To my surprise, Michael steered our dinner conversation away from work and sex. For hours, we talked about all the things we had in common, which, for some reason, was a lot more than I thought. And even though he was behaving like a complete gentleman, every time our eyes met, it was clear he was seconds away from suggesting that I let him fuck me on the spot. At three o’clock in the morning, the waiter told us he couldn’t keep the space open a second longer, so Michael helped me into my coat and we ventured out into the city. He held me against his side as snow fell over us, and we walked all the way down to the skating rink at Rockefeller Plaza. I gripped the railing and for several minutes we watched couples and families attempt to keep their balance on the ice. “Can I ask you something personal?” I looked up at Michael. “Yes.” “Were any of those stories in the tabloids from last year true?” “Some of them.” “Oh.” I frowned. “Really?” “What are you really asking me, Mya?” “Is there any reason why you haven’t been featured in one for a very long time?” “Yes ... It’s because I haven’t done any of the things I used to do for a very long time.” He trailed his finger against my lips. “I promised my advisor I would tone down my ‘activities’ for the sake of the company going public in the future.” He paused. “I also happened to accidentally hire a very compelling and sexy distraction working on the floor right below me.” “In other words, you slept with your usual groupies in private.”
“I tried to.” He admitted. “But I was honestly too damn attracted to someone else to waste my time on other people.” “I don’t believe you.” I blushed. “There’s no way you haven’t slept with anyone else since I started working for you.” “You should, and I haven’t.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “I have no reason to lie to you. I even tried getting rid of you when you first started since you were such a distraction, but that clearly didn’t work out.” “You were purposely being mean to me in the beginning, to get me to quit?” He smiled, silently confirming it. “That is so ...” I couldn’t believe he could look so genuine while saying that. “That is so fucked up.” “It was.” “No, is.” I looked into his eyes. “You still act as if you’re trying to get me to quit.” “Sign the extension and I’ll be a lot nicer.” “How about treat me better first and I’ll consider thinking about it?” “How about both?” He gently pushed me against the railing. “I haven’t truly been ‘mean’ to you in the past six months. Demanding? Yes. Slightly unreasonable with the scheduling time and getting upset about you refusing to sign my contract? Maybe.” “Definitely.” “Fine,” he said. “But I haven’t been ‘mean’ to you.” “You’ve just done your best to keep me out of your sight and far away from you, because you were thinking about having me as much as I was thinking about having you?” “Exactly.” A smile spread across his face. “I was only protecting myself.” I burst into laughter, feeling his lips against mine within seconds, feeling his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me close. “Can I take you home and fuck you now?” he whispered against my mouth. “Or do we need to do something else to make you see that I really do like you?” “We can ...” I blushed at his last five words. “We can do the first thing you said.” ***
Michael unlocked the door to his lavish penthouse condo, ushering me into his bedroom that overlooked the city. The second he closed the door behind us, his lips were on mine and his arms were around my waist. “I can’t stay with you long tonight,” I whispered. “I have to leave within an hour.” “An hour?” He unzipped the side of my dress. “What makes you think I’ll be done with you in an hour?” “Nothing, but my boss is highly obsessed with me being on time for work, and it’s already five o’clock in the morning. If I’m more than a minute late, he’ll send me an email and act like it’s the end of the world.” He let out a low laugh and tore off my panties. “I think he’ll be more than willing to make an exception in this case.” I moved my hand down to his pants, pulling his zipper. “I’m not so sure about that. He can be quite the asshole sometimes.” “Is that so?” His pants hit the floor and he kissed me harder, trapping my bottom lip between his teeth. He pushed my dress down off my shoulders, and then he pushed me back onto the bed. “That’s very so.” I smiled as he climbed in bed next to me, as he sucked one of my nipples into his mouth. “I’d be very surprised if he was late to work today at all.” “He will be.” He grabbed my hands and rolled me on top of him. He put on a condom and slowly positioned me over his hardened cock—silently commanding me to lower myself onto it. I took my time, filling myself with him inch by inch, and when he was completely inside of me, I entwined my hands with his and rocked against him. “Fuck ...” He breathed as I tried to speed up my rhythm, as he gripped my hips and forced me to slow down. Freeing his right hand from mine, he pulled my head closer and covered my mouth with his—kissing me until I was nearly breathless. He pressed his fingers deeper into my skin, controlling the movement of my hips. He whispered my name against my lips, and my muscles tensed as I felt his cock throbbing inside of me. “Fuck, Mya ...” He held onto me tightly as he came, and I felt familiar waves of pleasure rolling through me at the same time. Panting uncontrollably, my entire body went limp and I collapsed against his chest.
I shut my eyes, expecting him to let me catch my breath, but he quickly moved me off of him and flipped me onto my stomach. Confused, but too tired to ask what he was doing, I kept my eyes shut and groaned. The next thing I felt was his mouth against my back, leaving feather-light kisses in a soft trail all the way down my spine. All the way down to my cheeks. Both of them. “There,” he said, slapping my ass and flipping me over. “Now you can officially say I’ve kissed your ass.” We both burst into uncontrollable laughter, and he positioned a pillow under my head. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you need anything?” “Water ... And a grand tour of your apartment later.” “Okay. We can definitely do that.” He kissed my forehead and walked away. I winced as I tried to stretch my legs and managed to roll over on my side. I looked around the room for my purse, spotting my cell phone flashing the tell-tale blue light of a new email from its pocket. Thinking it was Amy with an emergency, I pulled the sheets over myself and got out of bed.
Subject: What I Need Today. You in my office for a meeting at ten. Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
What the! I turned around immediately, finding myself face to face with Michael. “You seriously expect me to be able to get to work and hold a ten o’clock meeting with you today?” “Yes.” He pulled me toward the bed. “I have some former fantasies of my own I’d like us to fulfill in my office....”
THE EMAILS Mya
Subject: Non-Assholery Report #15 (Get Used to This New Gmail Account) He bought me flowers today. Fresh white lilies from my favorite florist. (A florist I don’t recall ever telling him about...) But then he asked me to sign that extension again. Maybe he’s not that bad after all? Or is this just the sex talking? Your bestie, Mya
Subject: Re: Non-Assholery Report #15 (Get Used to This New Gmail Account) It’s. Just. The. Sex. Talking. Please! (But I will admit that him sending you flowers and getting your coffee every morning is a nice and necessary change ... It’s still the sex talking though. :) ) Your bestie, Amy
Subject: Apple Just Turned Me Down... Apple just called me and said they will not be able to offer me employment based on “extensive conversations with my reference.” Do you think Brad said something negative about me? :( PS—Google just called me and said the same thing...
Your bestie, Mya
Subject: Re: Apple Just Turned Me Down... I’m so sorry, Mya. I’m sure this only means that you’re going to land a job at one of the other companies and it’ll be a much better fit for you. I highly doubt Brad said anything negative about you though. He’s loved you since your first interview and practically thinks you’re the reason Mr. Leighton has become a better executive. Why don’t you ask him what he said? Your bestie, Amy PS—Well, we won’t use Google anymore! I’m switching to Bing at this very moment!
Subject: Re: Re: Apple Just Turned Me Down... I called Brad on my lunch break. He said he had nothing but high praises for me when Apple and Google called. Then he said Michael was the last person who spoke with all the companies. I can’t believe he would try to sabotage me behind my back..., Especially now that we’re sleeping together. :( Your bestie, Mya
THE ASSISTANT Mya
Manhattan, New York
I rocked my hips against Michael’s face one morning, moaning as he slid his tongue against my clit again and again. His hands were gripping my thighs, steadying me as I began to shake. “Oh goddddd, oh godddd...” I cried out, holding on to the wall behind him as I came on his lips. Shutting my eyes, I felt my legs go slack, felt him moving me onto his lap. When I finally stopped shaking, he picked me up and carried me over to his office sofa. I felt him wiping between my legs with a warm cloth, and then he stepped away into his private bathroom. He returned seconds later and sat next to me, running his fingers through my hair. “I hope you enjoyed that,” I said softly, pushing his hand away. “I’m pretty sure that’s the last time I’ll let you fuck me.” “Excuse me?” “Were you sabotaging my career behind my back in hopes that I’d eventually sign your extension contract? Did you honestly think you could somehow use the fact that we’ve had sex, or the fact that I like you, to prevent me from going to another company?” He raised his eyebrow, having the audacity to look confused. “Apple called me yesterday and said they moved on with another candidate because my boss, i.e. you, wasn’t able to give me a stellar enough recommendation for their company.” I stood up, preventing him from pulling me close. “Google said the very same thing. And just this morning, I received two voicemails from Amazon and Microsoft, three from other
companies, and I’m sure when I go downstairs to listen to them, they’ll tell me the same thing.” “Mya....” “No.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry I ever thought that there was even a slight chance that the two of us could work out when I left your company, and I’m sorry I ever thought you were anything more than a pompous, selfish, asshole because you clearly still are.” “Sexy as hell or not?” “Yes. Sexy as hell or—” I stopped myself. “That’s not the point of what I’m trying to say. I put in my notice with Human Resources before I came up here, so I highly suggest you accept it, and I highly suggest you give me one hell of a ‘goodbye’ package because you will not be seeing me again.” “Are you finished talking yet?” “Yes.” I rushed toward the door, but he caught me from behind and spun me around. “I would never sabotage you, Mya.” He wiped away one of my stray tears with his fingertips. “Of course, deep down I did want you to stay, but I had nothing but nice things to say about you. I even said they’d be foolish not to hire you, but—” “But?” I glared at him. “But what?” “But if they thought the low-ass salaries they were offering were good enough for you, they needed to increase them exponentially or move along to someone else. I thought you deserved more.” “Is that all?” “No,” he said, looking into my eyes. “I also needed to personally interview each of the CEOs myself. Needed to make sure each one was a good fit for you, and that whoever you worked for next was already married.” I opened my mouth to ask him if he was being serious, but he beat me to it. “Yes,” he said, smirking. “Yes, I ‘seriously’ did need to do that.” “What does the CEO being married have to do with anything, Michael? What if I have no interest in seeing you after I quit?” “You do, so we’re not even going to entertain that line of conversation.” He rolled his eyes. “If the CEO is already married, I won’t have to worry about ‘this’ happening at your next place of employment, and I can be somewhat less jealous.”
“How selfish of you.” I couldn’t believe him, but for some reason, I couldn’t help the smile that was forming on my face. “I’m pretty sure when you listen to Amazon, Microsoft, and the other companies’ voicemails, that they’ll be offering you one hell of a deal.” He cupped my face in his hands. “At least, that’s what they all told me yesterday.” “This still doesn’t excuse you from interfering with my job search and insisting that you be my reference over Brad.” “I’m pretty sure it does.” He kissed me. “And now that there’s no chance in hell of you signing my long-term extension contract, and you’ve hopefully realized that I’m not sabotaging you, how about dating me longterm instead?” “I’ll have to think about it.” I kissed him back. “It depends on what you’re offering....”
THE EMAILS (Well, “The End”) Mya
One year later...
Subject: My Boss. Have I told you that I love my boss today? One hundred percent brilliant and super kind to everyone, she doesn’t make me get her dry cleaning, get her coffee, or do anything that my former bosses (Yes, plural) used to do.... I have two meetings this morning and I can honestly say I’m looking forward to them because they both involve things I really enjoy. I’m pretty sure I can get used to this. Your girlfriend, Mya
Subject: Re: My Boss. No, you haven’t told me that you love your boss today, but seeing as though you’re technically your own boss, I hope this will always be the case. Your boss at Microsoft was far worse than I ever was. (I’m actually proud of you for quitting that place after three months.) If one of the meetings you’re referring to is the one in my office where we’ll be fucking, good to know you enjoy it. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to this.
(When do you plan on changing your closing signature?) Michael Leighton, CEO, Leighton Publishing
Subject: Re: Re: My Boss. Now. See you in five minutes. Mya London, CEO, London Publishing
**THE END**
DIRTY DOCTOR
DIRTY DOCTOR SYNOPSIS "Lean back on the table and spread your legs for me ..."
Being a doctor in New York City has never been easy. Especially for someone like me, who has a private practice and an incompetent staff who insists on leaving me to fill in for them.
Over the past six months, I've performed one too many pap smears, three too many "breast exams," and scrubbed in on several reconstructive surgeries. (This would be acceptable, if I was still interested in general medicine, but I'm not. I'm supposed to be a goddamn therapist ...)
When my team finally came to their senses and decided to bring someone more competent into the practice last month, I was actually elated.
Until I realized that our new "doctor" was none other than the woman I was supposed to meet for dinner two weeks ago. The same woman who stood me up with nothing more than an "I can't meet you anymore, sorry," after we agreed to move our online talks into reality.
I haven't forgotten any of the filthy fantasies she told me about, and I never deleted our dirty messages. And if she thinks that I'm going to act like a "professional" and pretend like that shit never happened, she has another thing coming ...
THE DOCTOR New York, New York Garrett
If a private practice was voted number one in the state and top five in the country for the umpteenth year in a row, the prize for that needed to be a complete elimination of mornings like today. This was the third morning this week that I’d found myself face to face with a female patient who was wasting my time. Face to face with a patient who wanted me to “personally” examine her pussy. “For the umpteenth time, Miss Aberdeen ...” I clicked my pen. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Your urine and blood tests are one hundred percent clear, and you’re currently wasting both of our mornings. I have patients who actually need me for something serious today.” “I know, and I’m one of them.” She smiled and playfully pulled the hem of her paper gown up past her thighs. “I feel like something strange is going on down there.” “Down there? Surely you’re capable of saying the words ‘in my vagina,’ if that’s what you’re referring to.” “Okay. Something’s going on ... in my vagina.” She bit her lip and smiled again. I’m not dealing with this shit today... I set down her chart and started writing my ‘nothing is wrong with this patient’ note. This was her fourth pap smear appointment in four months, the very definition of the word ‘unnecessary.’ “Like I said, Miss Aberdeen,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re free to go home, and you need to go home.” “I’m not convinced.” She crossed her arms. “Can’t you just check?” “No.” “No? You can’t say ‘no’ to me.”
Would you prefer ‘fuck no’? “I didn’t stutter, Miss Aberdeen. No.” “Didn’t you take the Hippocratic Oath?” She wagged her finger in my face. “Isn’t there a line in there about treating people with ‘warmth’ and ‘sympathy’? I’m fairly certain that means that you have to take care of your patients, i.e. me, and you have to believe them when they say they’re in pain.” “First of all, you are not my patient, and this is not my specialty. Second of all, you know damn well that your primary doctor, Dr. Laurel, is always off on Thursdays, so you shouldn’t even be here right now.” “I also know that you’ve performed several other pap smears in her absence before. I’ve tried to book an appointment with you in your specialty, but your assistant always says you’re booked.” “Anyway.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I would like you to kindly place your head between my legs and examine my vagina, Dr. Ashton. Do it now, or else I’ll leave you a really mean and negative, two-star review.” “Why not just make it a one-star review?” “I’m not joking with you. My daughter works for the local section of The New York Times and I will bash you and your practice so badly, that it’ll take years for you to rebuild your reputation.” I rolled my eyes and put on a pair of gloves. “Lean back on the paper, please.” She smiled and leaned back, looking as if this was the highlight of her life. I paged a nurse and waited for her to enter the room, making sure there was someone here to bear witness to this bullshit. The nurse blushed as she stocked the prep cart and pushed it closer to me. When I realized that she was literally going to turn red and giggle each time I muttered a single word, I accepted that today was just not my day. “Place your feet in the stirrups and spread your legs for me, Miss Aberdeen.” “Gladly.” She followed my instructions, opening her legs far wider than necessary. I took a seat on the stool between her legs, turned on the exam light, and picked up the speculum. I made sure this was the quickest, most efficient exam ever. I’d done far too many of these over the past few months, and I was certain I could do it blindfolded. Sighing, I swabbed her cervix for the necessary cells — noticing a small irregularity, but it wasn’t enough to warrant this exam.
“Okay, Miss Aberdeen,” I said, taking off my gloves and tossing them into the trash can. “You can sit up now.” “What? That’s it?” She didn’t move. “You haven’t caressed my pelvis yet. And what about my breasts? Aren’t you supposed to massage them and check for lumps?” Jesus Christ ... “You had a breast exam with Dr. Laurel five weeks ago, so I’m pretty sure the results from that still stand. But if you’d like, I can have Nurse Johnson here remain in the room with you and complete a new test for you. I’ll even have her log it into the system as pro bono.” “I will totally do whatever you need me to do, Dr. Ashton.” Nurse Johnson blushed and let out a nervous giggle. “I’ll pass.” Miss Aberdeen sat up and crossed her arms. “I thought so.” I picked up her chart and wrote a few notes. “As I said before we started, nothing is alarmingly wrong with you ‘down there’, although it looks like you might be developing a minor yeast infection.” “I told you it was something serious. It even sounds serious, so serious that I bet there’s not a cure for it.” “They sell the cure for this at Wal-Mart,” I said. “Most women can actually diagnose a yeast infection for themselves.” “Well, I prefer having a more personal touch.” She leaned forward and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to use your long, thick fingers to go a little deeper and make sure you don’t feel anything else inside of me?” I immediately stood up and tore off her prescription sheet from my pad. “You should be cleared up within forty-eight hours, if you get this filled today and follow the instructions.” “And in the case that I don’t follow the instructions? Do I get to see you for a follow-up?” I gave her a blank stare. “Have a great day, Miss Aberdeen. Thank you for your assistance, Nurse Johnson.” I left the room before either of them could say another word, and headed straight for my assistant Emily’s desk. “May I help you with something, Dr. Ashton?” She looked up at me as I approached. “Yes. I could’ve sworn we agreed that I needed to be the absolute, last resort for Dr. Laurel’s walk-in patients on her off days.” “You are the ultimate, last resort. Everyone else was booked with an eight o’clock appointment.”
Perfect ... “Do I have any updates so far today?” “Plenty.” She picked up a box and handed it to me. “The award for being the number one private practice in the state came in the mail yesterday evening. Your ten o’clock rescheduled for four o’clock, your one o’clock wants to switch from an in-person session to a phone call, and I’ve replenished all of the vases in your office with a fresh supply of Twizzlers.” “Thank you, Emily. Is that all?” “Actually, one last thing. Dr. Ryan is back from Hawaii and in your office waiting for you. She says it’s important.” “I’m sure it isn’t.” I carried the trophy box down the hall and into my office. Sure enough, Dr. Ryan — a.k.a. Dr. “I’m never here,” was sitting on my custom-made chaise for patients and talking on the phone. I was actually shocked to see her here this early since she’d recently become a bit of a celebrity. She was the third member of my staff I’d nearly lost to the world of “TV medicine.” Every time I turned around, she was signing a new book deal, appearing on a television show, or hosting an expensive conference. Everything except practicing medicine. “You don’t look happy to see me today, Dr. Ashton.” She ended her phone call as I took a seat at my desk. “What did I do now?” “Nothing. Literally.” She laughed. “You know, I really have no idea why my husband likes you so much.” “You came into my office to talk about your personal life? I’ll have to charge you for that.” “Never.” She pulled a thick document from her purse and slid it to me. “I need you to sign off on the joint statement for our new, special residency program. You’re the only doctor who hasn’t signed it.” “Residency program? I could’ve sworn we have three of those already and that we agreed to bring aboard a new doctor.” “A resident is a doctor.” “It’s a doctor who needs a babysitter.” I flipped through the pages. “I agreed to use the new funding for a certified, licensed, and useful doctor. I’m not signing this.” “Everyone else has already agreed, and we’ve already selected a very talented candidate, so I’m not going to argue with you. And if I recall, it was a twelve to one vote and the vote against was from you, so you
technically never agreed to anything and you have to concede to the rest of us.” I sighed and scribbled my signature on the first and last page of the document. “Just so you know,” she said, “the nurses are whispering about you a lot more lately. You’re doing that thing again.” I raised my eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. “Being closed off, getting annoyed quicker than normal, and well ... just being a more enhanced version of yourself, I guess.” She smiled. “I know this practice is your family’s legacy, but you really need a life outside of these walls.” “No, I need the doctors inside of these walls to actually show up and do their damn jobs.” “See? See how irritable you just got over me trying to be nice to you?” “Get out of my office, Dr. Ryan.” “I’m going.” She grabbed the document and stood to her feet. “By the way, what happened to that nice and sweet woman I set you up with a few weeks ago?” “It didn’t work out.” “It didn’t work out or you didn’t ‘allow’ it to work out?” “Both.” The woman in question had been a childhood friend of hers and she was indeed “nice and sweet,” but the second she started babbling about wanting marriage and “at least four kids” within the first hour of the date, I quickly lost all interest. “Well, do me a favor,” Dr. Ryan said, as she walked toward the door. “Give online dating a try or find a hobby for your rare off days. I’ll never repeat this or admit to saying it, but ... You’re too damn attractive to spend the rest of your life alone.” “Thank you, very much, Dr. Ryan. Will I need to pay you for that unwanted psychoanalysis, or is your bad advice free?” She flipped up her middle finger and left my office, shutting the door behind her. Unbeknownst to her and my staff, I did have a hobby: Sex. I just hadn’t had time to revel in it for the past six months, due to an overload of work, thanks to them. And I was definitely a fan of online dating. Well, I was, until I met one too many deep-relationship seekers in a row.
Now, I simply browsed the few sites where I kept casual accounts and kept up with the one pseudo-friend I’d made: JerseyGirl7. I’d met her on NewYorkMinute, the more exclusive and private site for the city’s elite professionals. A site that was built around the idea that a meet-up needed to happen within the first three conversations. Every profile was nameless and picture-less, with a simple series of telling paragraphs and a percentage of “match-ability” based on questions answered. For whatever reason, JerseyGirl7 was a one-hundred percent match for me, but I never asked to meet her in person because I didn’t trust the results. For one, I thought she had to have answered as a joke to be that high of a match with me sexually, and for two, I didn’t have the energy or the time to waste on another potential disappointment. Not only that, but I actually enjoyed having her as a pseudo-friend, even if she did have a smart-ass sense of humor and a tendency to reveal way too much about her deepest, filthiest fantasies. With her fresh on my mind, I logged into NewYorkMinute and saw a message from her that was dated from a couple of hours ago.
Subject: I have a date this weekend and I need your advice ... So...I think this Friday is the day I’ll finally get laid after all these dry months. Email me when you get a chance or when you get done with your socalled “patients.” (You don’t have to keep lying about being a doctor, you know? We’re never going to meet, so what’s the point in constantly pretending to be something you’re not? Just tell me what you really do for a living, and I’ll tell you what I do, too. :-) ) PS — You were right about my last date. It didn’t end well and he was an asshole like you predicted, but you’re cocky enough as is and I’m not stroking your ego for another second. **JerseyGirl7
I reread the last line of her email a few more times and smiled before closing the app. I’ll deal with her when I get off ...
THE DOCTOR New York, New York Garrett
By the time I left work, it was nine o’clock at night and my tolerance for incompetence had reached a new low. I’d had to berate the interns in my department for being careless with their patient reports, sit through a twohour session with a miserable married couple who was better off divorced, and force myself to finish reading a forty-page report on a new therapy technique. Somewhere in between all of the stress, I’d depleted my newest supply of Twizzlers, and the last thing I wanted to do tonight was join my staff for the celebratory “Number One Practice in New York, again” dinner. Instead, I found myself polishing the trophy in my living room, placing it right next to the previous years’ awards on my shelf. I stared at them all for a long time, knowing my father was somewhere above saying, “I fucking told you so, son.” Hitting the lights, I headed into my kitchen and poured myself a glass of bourbon — quickly tossing it back before pouring another. Then I pulled out my phone and logged into the NewYorkMinute app, noticing that JerseyGirl7 had sent me a second message for the day.
Subject: The Advice. Your “patients” must be really driving you crazy today, since you’re too busy to answer. (This doctor thing is quite the charade ...) So, I’ll make my questions brief: 1.) Me and the guy just exchanged pictures and he’s sexy and mouthwateringly-hot. This has absolutely nothing to do with this email. I just wanted to rub that fact in your face.
2.) Do you think I should wear a dress with stockings or a very revealing top with tight jeans? As a guy, which one says, “I’m definitely interested in sleeping with you after this date?” 3.) He said he “couldn’t wait to slurp [my] pussy” ... What does that mean? 4.) I really need this to work out. Unlike you, I would prefer not to go another month relying on just my fantasies and my hand ... ALSO — If we ever do meet and I wanted to give you a small gift for all your advice over these months, what would be appropriate? A makebelieve doctor kit? A collection of better porn? **JerseyGirl7
I smiled and fired off an immediate response.
Subject: Re: The Advice. My “patients” did drive me crazy today, but not as much as my staff. (I have no reason to lie to you about my occupation.) Thank you, so much, for keeping this week’s sad and pathetic questions brief. 1.) Seeing as though I’m far from gay, I’m not sure why I would give a fuck if the guy you’re about to see is “sexy” or “mouth-wateringly hot” at all. 2.) You should wear a dress. No stockings. 3.) It means he has no idea how to eat pussy. 4.) I’ve told you about the danger of making your silly assumptions when it comes to my sex life ... ALSO — A bulk package of Twizzlers would be “appropriate” but your lips wrapped around my cock would be preferred.
**D-DOCTOR
She emailed me right back.
Subject: Re: Re: The Advice. He definitely knows how to eat pussy. You should SEE all the dirty messages he’s sent me. I’m sure they’re far filthier than anything you’ve ever sent someone. **JerseyGirl7
Subject: Re: Re: Re: The Advice I highly doubt that ... **D-DOCTOR
I scrolled through our never-ending thread of messages, all the way up to when they first began, when I realized this woman definitely had an obsession with talking about sex. Which was quite ironic because from the time since we’d “met,” she hadn’t had any sex at all. All of her dates had ended in disaster, for one reason or another, and I’d learned more about her personal vibrator use than I ever wanted to know. I think we need to finally take this offline ... Before she could respond to my last message, I sent her another.
Subject: Your Date I can guarantee that it’s going to be another disappointment. I personally think you should cancel it so you can save yourself some wasted time. **D-DOCTOR
Subject: Re: Your Date And I can guarantee that it won’t be. He’s an 80% match. Eighty percent. Not only that, but I’ve attached screenshots of some of his most recent messages to me. Read and learn how to talk dirty, “Doctor”. Read and learn ... **JerseyGirl7
I managed to read one message — the “I’m totally going to lick and slurp your wet pussy, and I can’t wait for you to see my cock. It’s the size of a sausage,” —before rolling my eyes.
Subject: Re: Re: Your Date Would you like to bet? PS — No man should ever compare his cock to a sausage. You can do better ... Much better. **D-DOCTOR
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Your Date Absolutely. What do I get when I win? PS — You’re just jealous your cock isn’t big enough to be talked about ... **JerseyGirl7
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your Date You mean, when you lose. And when that happens, I want a phone call. We can renegotiate if you win, but I’m pretty confident we won’t need to. PS — Would you like me to send you a picture of it, then? I highly doubt it can fit into one frame, so I’ll have to send you two ... **D-DOCTOR
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your Date A phone call? That’s it? You’re on. I’ll take the same thing as a “prize” actually, so I can rub my night in your face. PS — As tempting as that sounds ... we agreed to no pictures, ever. Remember?
**JerseyGirl7
Subject: No Pictures We did agree to no pictures, but we previously agreed that you would stop telling me how badly you wanted someone to bend you over a chair and fuck you breathless, and yet, that’s all we talked about last night ... Answer the question. Is that a yes or a no to me sending the pictures to you? I think my cock would fit perfectly inside your smart-ass mouth ... **D-DOCTOR
JerseyGirl7 has logged off ...
THE RESIDENT New York, New York Natalie I blushed as I reread D-DOCTOR’s most recent messages the next day, rolling my eyes at his offer to send me a picture of his cock, even though I’d almost said yes. Why didn’t I say yes? Smiling, I decided I would deal with him later today. I had an emergency meeting and a date to get through first. As my cab pulled up to the curb of Manhattan Medical, I handed the driver a ten-dollar bill and pulled the hood of my raincoat over my head. I rushed across the sidewalk and the emergency turnaround, excited about what today’s sudden meeting with the chief meant for my career. All this week, I couldn’t help but overhear my peers gushing about how the chief was offering additional bonus packages to certain interns and residents. As hard as I worked, I knew I was definitely deserving of one of them, too. Taking the elevator up to the top floor, I took a deep breath and knocked on the chief’s door. “Come in, come in!” he said, his voice calm and welcoming, as always. “Good morning, Chief Tomlin.” “Good morning, Dr. Madison.” He smiled. “Thank you for coming in to meet with me on your day off, and on such short notice.” “My pleasure, sir.” He motioned for me to take a seat, and I tried my best not to look too excited. Yes, I will happily accept the thousand-dollar bonus ... Yes, I will happily accept the thousand-dollar bonus ... “Dr. Madison, I called you in here today because I have some good news and some bad news.” His sudden shift in tone caught me off guard. “Which one do you want first?”
“The good news.” “Alright. Well, the good news is that you are a phenomenal intern, and I do mean phenomenal. Your professionalism, punctuality, and enthusiasm for our patients here are among some of the best I’ve ever seen. You’ve demonstrated a high proficiency for diagnosis and I have no doubt that you’ll make a phenomenal doctor in your desired specialty after you complete your residency.” “I appreciate the compliments, Chief Tomlin.” I started to say the words ‘thank you,” but I hesitated. I needed to hear the ‘bad news’ first. “The bad news is ...” He took of his reading glasses and ran his hand through his grey hair. “Unfortunately, we have to rescind our offer for you to join our residency program here.” “What?” “We accidentally accepted ten too many applicants for our budget, so we decided to randomly draw names to choose which offers we have to rescind. Seven was your number, I’m sorry.” I bit my tongue, preventing myself from screaming “What. The. Fuck!” This was my future he was talking about, and he was sitting there cleaning his eyeglasses, acting as if this conversation was about something as simple as a new uniform policy. As if I hadn’t already planned the next few years of my life around completing a residency here at Manhattan Medical. “Dr. Madison, I completely understand that this timing may be terrible —” “Terrible? It’s weeks from when I’m due to start.” I seethed. “This has to be illegal.” “No, letting ten extra people start working when we can’t afford to pay them?” He actually had the nerve to smile. “Now, that would’ve been illegal.” I glared at him. “Okay, that was a bad joke. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “Anyway, although we’ll be unable to have you on staff here for our current term, our Human Resources Department worked overtime over the past few months to call every hospital in the state to help us figure out a solution to our embarrassing dilemma.” He pulled out a folder and flipped through the pages. “We sent over your board scores, your attendance record, and of course, recommendation letters from every doctor who was impressed with your work on rotations.”
Smiling, he slid the folder across the desk to me, but I didn’t dare open it. All I could see right now was my lifelong dream slipping away with every second that passed. “Human Resources determined that Park Avenue Wellness Group is the best fit for you, given your preferred specialty and your love of therapy. The team there was excited to offer you the spot and their salary offer is quite high, the highest I’ve ever seen for that position.” “Seriously?” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “You’re asking me to commit to a residency at a private practice? Is this some type of joke?” “Park Avenue Wellness Group is actually the number one private practice in the state, and within the top ten in the country. They have a staff of world class doctors who are all renowned within their respective fields and a facility that rivals the best hospitals. Not only that ...” I tuned him out. I couldn’t bear to listen to another word. In all my years of aspiring to be a doctor, I’d always pictured myself running through the halls of the number one hospital in the state. The hospital I was currently sitting in right now, the very same one where I just worked my ass off as an intern. I’d never, ever dreamed of entering a private practice, let alone working at one because I always felt that their doctor-to-patient ratios were far too small. Too little variety in the cases to really challenge me. “Are you listening to me, Dr. Madison?” The chief’s voice cut through my thoughts. “No, sir.” I admitted. “Not at all.” “I figured.” He stood up and walked over to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Human Resources put a ton of work into the file I just gave you. It’s everything you need to know about Park Avenue Wellness Group and why we think this is going to be a total game-changer for your career. These things happen for a reason, you know?” These things happen when you hire people who don’t know how to count ... I forced myself to smile and extended my hand. “Thank you for being such a great mentor, Chief Tomlin.” “No, thank you for being one of the best students I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching.” He shook my hand. “And hey, this is just a minor setback. The second you complete your residency, give me a call. I’ll move hell and high water to get you onto the official staff here.”
I didn’t have the energy to entertain that last comment right now. I simply picked up the file he gave me, stated my thanks one last time, and left his office. Not wanting to prolong my cruel change of fate any longer, I took the elevator to the bottom level and headed into the interns’ locker room. I pulled out my white coat and my change of scrubs, and quickly stuffed all of my textbooks and binders into my backpack. Ignoring the “What’s wrong, Natalie?” and “Why are you crying?” from my colleagues, I left the hospital and tossed the file about Park Avenue Wellness Group into the first city trash bin I saw. *** Later that night, I sat across from the man I’d met via the NewYorkMinute dating app, Charles Landon. I was determined to turn this day around and was very much looking forward to rubbing this night in D-Doctor’s face by telling him all about the many ways Charles fucked me. Why do I get so aroused by telling a stranger about my non-existent sex life and fantasies? “Um, are you going to order something to drink, Natalie?” Charles waved his hand in front of my face and I realized the waiter was staring at me and tapping his notepad. “Oh, yeah.” I glanced at the wine selection on the menu. “I’ll have a glass of Château Guiraud.” “An excellent selection, Miss.” The waiter smiled. “Might I also suggest —” “That wine is seventy dollars a glass,” Charles interrupted, frowning. “I don’t think so. Can you pick something else, please?” “Oh, sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize it was that high.” I glanced at the wine menu again. “Can I have the Château Piedmont, then?” “That’s thirteen dollars a glass.” Charles shook his head. “How about the Shirley Temple?” “Sir,” the waiter said, looking just as confused as me. “The Shirley Temple isn’t a wine. It’s a fancy way for our adolescent patrons to order ginger ale with a dash of fruit syrup and a maraschino cherry.” “It’s also perfectly priced at four dollars.” Charles snatched my drink menu away and handed it to the waiter. “We’re just here for the drinks and the atmosphere. We’re getting Burger King after this, thanks.”
“Okay ...” The waiter gave me a look of “What the fuck?” and I forced myself to smile. “One Shirley Temple and a glass of water.”’ “With no lemon.” Charles wagged his finger. “You all charge for the lemon here.” The waiter shook his head. “I’ll be right back.” “So, how was your day today, Natalie?” Charles didn’t let the topic of his cheapness linger longer than a second. “It was —” I paused, contemplating whether I should tell him I was let go and reassigned to another practice at the last minute, but I hadn’t even told my best friend yet. “It was great. Really, really great.” “Mine was, too. Especially now. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you in person for quite some time.” “Me, too.” I sipped my Shirley Temple the second the waiter set it down. “Would you two like to share a breadstick to go with your drinks?” he asked. “A complimentary napkin, perhaps?” “Possibly. Give us a minute, please.” Charles motioned for him to step away. “Are you still interested in coming back to my place tonight, Natalie?” I nodded. I was still slightly speechless about the fact that he was actually taking me to Burger King after this. That, and the fact that I was going to have to mentally trick myself into thinking about something other than his cheap-ness, if this was going to work for me. “Great! Well, there’s something I really need to tell you before we leave here. Something rather important.” “Let me guess, you’re married?” I slung my purse over my shoulder in preparation of a “yes.” “Ha!” he laughed. “Never. This isn’t that serious. It’s just that — Well, remember all those sext messages I’ve sent you over the weeks?” “I remember them very well.” “Well, good but I have to come clean. We can only have a certain type of sex because I ...” “Because you what?” “Because ...” He lowered his voice. “I have penile agenesis.” Penile agenesis? I shook my head in utter disbelief. That couldn’t be. “Do you mean erectile dysfunction?” I asked. “That’s nothing to be whispering about. It’s actually a lot more common than you may think, and
not a huge deal. I say that, because you can’t possibly mean penile agenesis. That means —” “It means I was born without a penis.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I know exactly what it means, that’s exactly why I said it.” I blinked. “Come again?” “You heard me. Most women are too close-minded, dumb, and selfish to be understanding about this, but I hope you’re not one of them. Are you?” I leaned back in my chair. I wasn’t even sure what to say. All those weeks he’d teased me with message after message about how “huge and rock hard” his cock was, how he planned to “fill [my] pussy,” and now he was pulling the “I don’t have a penis” card? “Did you or did not not say that your cock was the size of a huge sausage?” I asked. “Didn’t you say that to me, just last week?” “Maybe. Or maybe the message cut off before I could finish typing. Maybe I meant to say my cock was more like a sausage patty.” He deadpanned. “And now it looks like you’re judging me,” he said, sighing. “Looks like you’re just as judgmental and closed-minded as the other women I’ve met. “This isn’t about you not having a cock,” I said, I raising my voice. “This is about you lying to me. I was looking forward to fucking you!” The entire restaurant fell silent, and my cheeks turned bright red but I didn’t stop talking. “But you know what? I lied to you, too. Today was a shitty day for me. A really, really shitty day that was the cherry on top of a shitty week because my hospital decided to transfer me to a private practice before my residency could even begin.” “That sounds so very awful, Natalie.” He tried to reach over the table and caress my hand, but I jerked back. “Yeah, and you know what else is awful?” I stood up from the table. “Wasting all those weeks talking online, just to come all the way out here to meet someone who blatantly lied to me. We could’ve been friends, if you’d just told me the truth from the start.” “Really?” “Yes, really.” “Well, is it too late to be friends now? And are you really going to leave without offering to pay for half of your drink?” I didn’t answer him. I turned away and stormed out of the restaurant, hailing the first cab I saw.
“Hoboken, New Jersey, please,” I said to the driver. “Green Garden Condos.” “Right away, Miss.” I pulled out my phone so I could vent about this mess of a night to my roommate, but before I could scroll down to her name, I noticed a new instant message from D-Doctor. D-DOCTOR: Has your date “slurped” your pussy yet? Am I interrupting? JERSEYGIRL7: No, and you’re not interrupting anything ... If I tell you about what happened on my date tonight, can you promise that you won’t laugh? D-DOCTOR: Probably not. JERSEYGIRL7: I’m being serious. D-DOCTOR: As am I. Tell me what happened and I’ll tell you whether it’s something worth laughing about or not. JERSEYGIRL7: Well, it’s not! The date was amazing and the sex was everything I expected and more! D-DOCTOR: Your date was supposed to be at 7:00 and it’s just now 7:35. This speaks volumes about the level of your expectations ... JERSEYGIRL7: Okay, fine. He lied to me about everything ... He even lied about having a penis. D-DOCTOR: Come again? JERSEYGIRL7: You read my message. It means exactly what I wrote. D-DOCTOR: Call me. 555-1874. I stared at his message, in utter disbelief that he gave me his phone number. I know we’d agreed to a phone call after I lost the bet, but this soon? The same day? JERSEYGIRL7: How about we renegotiate the phone call thing? Don’t you think we should continue keeping things in ‘virtual reality,’ so we can remain friends? D-DOCTOR: 555-1874.
I swallowed and stared at his number again, finally hitting call after a few minutes. “Yes?” he answered on the first ring, and with that single word, his deep and sexy voice took me completely aback.
I waited to see if he would say something else, but the line was silent. “Hello?” I said. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who asked me to call you ... Hello?” “Hello,” he said, and then seconds later, deep laughter came over the line. “You asked me to call you, so you could laugh about my situation?” “I wanted you to call me so I could put you on speaker phone. I’m double checking some of my nurses’ reports tonight and I’ll have to multitask, if I’m going to get them done by morning.” Right ... I thought it was cute that he continued to put up the sham of being a doctor with me, but given my night tonight, I couldn’t even make fun of him right now. “Did your date at least apologize to you for wasting your time?” He finally stopped laughing. “No, I left after he asked if I was going to split the cost of a four-dollar drink. He said he only invited me there so we could take in the ambiance, and he probably thought I wouldn’t cause a scene after he told me about his penile agenesis. He was actually planning to take me to Burger King for the real dinner afterwards.” “I see.” His laughter returned, and it turned me on completely. “I think you and I should meet, JERSEYGIRL7.” Silence. “Um ... You just want us to meet?” “I want us to fuck. But I thought saying that first would be rude. Nonetheless, if you agree to that, I think you would finally end your months of misery.” “No,” I said firmly, even though every word he’d said dampened my panties. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Why not?” “Because I don’t even know you.” “You don’t have to know me to fuck me.” He paused. “You clearly didn’t know the man you just went out with. You didn’t even know he was born without a penis.” “That’s not fair.” “You haven’t managed to get past a date with any of the men you’ve met on the app. Last time I checked, they’ve all been failures.” “So?”
“How many of them were a one hundred percent match to you, like I am?” I was silent. “Exactly,” he said. “I think it’s in both of our best interests if you let me fuck you the way you’ve been wishing for after all these months. I can guarantee I won’t be a disappointment, and I actually know how to eat pussy.” I needed to hang up on this man right now. Any man who could soak my panties in seconds with his voice alone, was bound to be trouble. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” were the only words I could say. “Then give me three reasons why it’s not.” “One, I don’t even know your name.” “It’s Garrett.” “Okay, Garrett. Are you going to be a gentleman and ask for mine?” “I’m going to ask you for the other two reasons why I can’t fuck you, first. Those are far more important at the moment.” “Are you alright, Miss?” The cab driver looked at me through the rearview mirror and I flashed him a reassuring smile. I caught a glimpse of my reflection and saw that my face was flushed red. “Hello?” Garrett spoke again. “JERSEYGIRL7?” “Yes?” “What are the two other reasons why I can’t fuck you?” “Two, you’re not really a doctor. You’ve led me on about something as simple as that for months, so there’s a high possibility that you could be a serial killer.” “You’ve never told me what you do for a living and I haven’t assumed anything at all. Other than the fact that I think I’d enjoy the taste of your pussy against my mouth. What’s pointless reason number three?” I stalled, thinking of any possible reason, but every nerve in my body was begging me to stop playing games and take this man up on his offer. “Exactly,” he said, his voice low. “There isn’t a third reason and your first two reasons make no sense at all. What are you doing two Fridays from now?” “Nothing that I know of.” “Wrong answer,” he said. “You’ll be fucking me ... Say it.” “I’ll be fucking you,” I whispered, not believing I was actually saying that aloud.
“Good. Glad we could finally get on the same page. Where do you want to go for the ‘date’ part?” “Huh?” I was confused. “The date part?” “You’re a hopeless romantic,” he said. “You’ve always told me that you need to be mentally aroused before sex, preferably on a date. So, where do you want to go for the date part?” “Not Burger King.” “Of course not Burger King.” “Well,” I said, not wanting a recap of tonight’s fiasco. “What type of restaurant do you want me to pick? Like, give me a price range.” “Price range? Price range ...” He sounded as if he was testing those two words in his mouth, as if he wasn’t sure what they meant. Then he let out that low and sinful laugh that made me wish I knew what he looked like, so I could see it for myself. “There is no price range. Just tell me where you want to go.” “How about Delilah’s?” “That’s a fancier version of Burger King.” There was a smile in his voice. “How about picking some place you might actually enjoy?” I mentally flipped through the long list of exclusive and elegant restaurants in Manhattan that I’d always longed to try. “I’ve always wanted to go to Per Se,” I said. “But I’ve heard it’s pretty hard to get a table there, though.” “Per Se, it is,” he said “And it won’t be hard for me.” “Because you’re that important?” “Something like that. Can you do eight o’clock?” “Yes. Eight o’clock.” “Okay, JERSEYGIRL7. I’ll see you at Per Se two Fridays from now at eight o’clock and you can tell me your real name then. Don’t stand me up.” “I won’t.” I hung up, ready to finally call my roommate and tell her everything, but D-DOCTOR sent me one final message. D-DOCTOR: I highly suggest you don’t wear any panties the night we meet. You won’t need them ...
THE DOCTOR New York, New York Garrett
“Dr. Ashton?” Emily knocked on my door Monday morning. “Dr. Ashton, you have a visitor waiting.” “I’m not here.” “We can all see that you’re here through your office blinds, sir.” “Then close my office blinds.” She shook her head and stepped back. “Dr. Ashton will see you now, Mr. Baxter.” Seconds later, Mr. Baxter, a longtime client of mine who had way too much time on his hands, walked into my office. He shut the door behind him and started his usual ritual before addressing me. He walked over to the windows on the other side of the room, glancing down at the streets below. Then he smiled and walked over to the far side of my office, admiring my awards before finally settling onto my black, custom made chaise. “What brings you in today without an appointment, Mr. Baxter?” I asked, setting down my pen. “I just wanted to talk about the weather with someone.” “May I suggest having this conversation with someone who doesn’t charge by the hour?” I say. “Perhaps your wife?” “That’s the thing. She doesn’t want to talk to me right now because I told her I didn’t want to have sex anymore.” I sighed and looked up at the clock on my wall. I really needed to raise my prices soon to prevent shit like this from happening. “Okay, Mr. Baxter,” I said, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible. “Why don’t you want to have sex with your wife anymore?” “Ah, ah, ah.” He wagged his finger at me. “If I answer that question, you’ll bill me for this session. I’m only here because I was in the
neighborhood and I was just stopping by to talk about the weather.” I stared at him. “It’s been raining a lot lately, hasn’t it?” I said nothing. He smiled at me and stood up from the couch. “Well, thank you for chatting with me about the weather, Doc. I’ll see you for our official session next week.” The second he walked out of my office, I started to type an email to our doorman —hoping to reaffirm the rules for not letting people come upstairs without actual emergencies or appointments. I was on the fifth paragraph when Emily and every single doctor in the practice simply walked into my office without knocking. “Am I living in the twilight zone, today?” I looked up at them. “I could’ve sworn the number one personal rule that I have here isn’t that hard. When my door is closed —” “Leave me the hell alone,” they all said in unison, laughing. “We know you weren’t coming to the conference room to make the welcome call for our new resident, so we decided to bring it to you.” Emily picked up a Twizzler from my stash without asking and stuffed it into her mouth. Then she dialed a number on my desk phone, while the other doctors all crowded around my desk. This is definitely the twilight zone ... The sound of a call ringing came over the speaker phone and a woman answered in the middle of the fifth ring. “Hello?” “Hello!” All the doctors said in unison. “This is Park Avenue Wellness Group!” They rehearsed this? “Natalie, this is Dr. Laurel speaking,” Our world-class, but never-in-heroffice gynecologist said. “We’re very excited to welcome you into our family as a resident and we just wanted to give you a collective call before you started. We know your desired specialty may change over time, but we’re all one big, happy family here, so we’re looking forward to meeting you and working with you.” “Wow ...” The resident I didn’t vote for or want seemed impressed. “Thank you, so much for the warm welcome. I really appreciate it.” She sounded happy.
“We really appreciate you, too,” Emily said. “Are you still open to coming in for your first tour of our practice this Friday?” “Absolutely. Five o’clock, right?” “Yes! Five o’clock. Can’t wait to meet you on Friday, Natalie! See you then.” “See you then. Thank you all so much.” “You’re welcome!” The doctors said in unison once more, something else they’d clearly rehearsed, and then they slowly dispersed from my office. “Did I hear you say that you can’t wait to meet this Natalie resident?” I asked Emily. “Yeah. Why?” “The doctors agreed to hire a resident without even giving her an interview? Isn’t conducting an interview the first rule of hiring?” “I swear you never listen to me,” she said, shaking her head. “Manhattan Medical had an error in Human Resources. I told you about it months ago. Long story short, we got an amazing resident in the deal, and Dr. Laurel and Dr. Taylor actually did meet with her on several occasions. They just didn’t let her know what they were really interviewing her for, since Manhattan Med wanted to keep their screw-up a secret.” “How convenient.” “Extremely.” She stole another Twizzler from my vase and finally shut my door. I knew now that there was no way I was going to make it all the way to next Friday without some form of stress relief, so I pulled out my phone and logged into NewYorkMinute. I was scrolling down to JERSEYGirl7’s name in my inbox to ask if she’d be willing to meet earlier, when I noticed she was already in the middle of sending me a message. Jerseygirl7 is typing ... JERSEYGIRL7: Hey. I might have a question ... D-DOCTOR: Hey. I might have an answer ... JERSEYGIRL7: Are you open to meeting me this Friday instead of next? Would you be able to reschedule some of your “appointments”? I’m already going to be in New York in the evening for a meeting that day, so I figured I’d ask. D-DOCTOR: Yes, I’m very much open to *fucking* you this Friday instead of next. That’s not a problem at all. Same time?
JERSEYGIRL7: Same time. Oh, and do you want to finally exchange pictures so you’ll know who to look for/vice-versa? D-DOCTOR: No, let’s keep it interesting ... See you at 8:00. I’ll be sitting at table number 12.
THE RESIDENT New York, New York Natalie On Friday, I stood in the lobby of a glittering, glass building that was nestled in between two condominiums on Park Avenue. There were a few black sofas and chairs artfully placed around the marble floors, and an elevator at the center with shiny, silver doors. The words “Park Avenue Wellness” were etched onto a wall across from me, with a long list of doctor names underneath. This definitely doesn’t look like a private practice ... “Excuse me?” I walked over to the security guard. “I have a tour scheduled for this evening. Which floor do I need to go to for the Park Avenue Wellness Center?” He raised his eyebrow, as if he couldn’t tell if I was joking or not. Then he laughed. “All of the floors are part of the practice, Miss,” he said, hitting the up button. “You’re probably looking for Miss Emily, though. Sixteenth floor.” “Thank you.” I stepped inside the elevator and hit sixteen as the doors closed. The second the cart stopped and revealed the sixteenth floor, my jaw dropped. It looked more like a vacation resort lobby than a department of a private practice. The panoramic floor to ceiling windows gave a perfect view of the rain; there were lavish chaises facing the city, and the massive glass desk in the center of the room was the only giveaway that this might be a place for healthcare. A few women dressed in light blue scrubs compared notes and laughed, and a female doctor in a white coat and black dress, held the desk’s phone up to her ear. “Are you Natalie?” A bubbly blonde stepped right in front of me. “Natalie Madison?” “Yes, that’s me.”
“Well, great! You’re right on time! Let me get your coat. You won’t want it getting dusty when we walk through the sections under renovation.” I took off my coat and she smiled as I handed it over. “I take it you’re going somewhere special after this?” I nodded. “I’ll make your first tour short, then. Most of the doctors are gone for the day anyway.” I caught the nurses pointing in my direction as she walked away, and I began to regret wearing my date outfit here. My dress was black and strapless, stopping right in the middle of my thighs. The cut at the front was low enough that the tops of my breasts spilled over the fabric a bit, and my red and silver stilettos were far from appropriate for meeting my future coworkers. Emily made no mention of my outfit when she returned, though. She simply linked her hand in mine and began showing me around the sixteenth floor. She talked a mile a minute, opening doors here or there, introducing me to some of the doctors who were still sitting in their offices. When I realized that she was literally going to take me on a tour of all twenty-five floors in this building, I made a mental note to bring flats every day. “This is what we call our treatment corridor,” she said, as we walked around the fifth floor. “We have eighteen treatment rooms for our day inpatients, and five rooms for overnight patients. It’s rare that we have to keep someone overnight, but if we do, you or one of the other residents would be required to take observations until the morning.” “Got it.” I followed her back onto the elevator. “What’s the dress code for residents here?” “Dress code?” She laughed. “The ratio for men to women staff here is sixty-five to thirty-five, and the board’s ratio is even tighter. I believe it’s seventy percent women and thirty percent men. That said, there is no ‘dress code,’ and I highly doubt there ever will be. Most of the nurses and interns wear their favorite scrubs, and the doctors wear whatever they want under their white coats.” “What?” I was completely caught off-guard by the numbers she’d revealed. “The practice is sixty-five to seventy percent women?” “Of course, it is.” She smiled and motioned for me to step back onto the sixteenth floor. “Why else do you think we’re number one in the state?”
“I ...” “Exactly.” She winked. “I believe the only two board-level doctors you haven’t met are Dr. Laurel and the owner of the practice, Dr. Ashton ...” She clucked her teeth. “Dr. Laurel does more outside work than any doctor on staff, so you’ll probably only see her during the monthly staff meetings, and Dr. Ashton —” “What about Dr. Ashton?” A deep voice said from behind, startling us both. I slowly turned around and gasped when I saw the man who’d just spoken. Hands down, the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life, he instantly made me think of sex. His bright blue eyes were gleaming beneath the lobby’s fluorescent lights, and he was teasingly running a hand through his short black hair — as if he was reading my mind. Over a grey V-neck shirt, he was wearing his white coat — putting every doctor who’d ever worn one to utter shame with the way the fabric slightly clung to his muscles. “I was just telling our new resident, Dr. Natalie Madison, that you and Dr. Laurel were the only doctors she had yet to meet,” Emily said. “Glad we’re down to only one now, but I’m not holding my breath on Dr. Laurel anytime soon.” She looked at me. “Thanks for coming in, Natalie. I’ll go get your coat.” She walked away, leaving me alone with Dr. Ashton. Doctors aren’t supposed to be this sexy ... There’s no way this man is a ‘real’ doctor ... “Nice to meet you, Dr. Madison,” he said, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you as well, Dr. Ashton.” I couldn’t stop staring at him if I tried, and by the way his lips were curving into a sinful smile, I was sure he could tell. “Did Emily show you my office?” His fingers slightly caressed my palm, setting my skin on fire with a simple touch. “No, I believe your door was closed when we walked by earlier.” “It shouldn’t have been.” He slowly let my hand go. “Please accept my apologies.” I nodded. The way he was looking at me right now made me wish I’d actually worn panties. “Would you like me to show you my office right now? Personally?”
Hell yes ... “No. I um ... I actually need to be on my way out. I have somewhere to be soon.” He looked me up and down, his lips slowly parting as he took in my dress. “Does this ‘somewhere’ involve a boyfriend?” I started to explain that it was some random guy I’d befriended online months ago, but I stopped myself. He didn’t really care where I was about to go, and I needed to put an end to this foolish boss-employee fantasy before it could begin. “Yes. It’s a boyfriend, a very long-term and serious boyfriend.” “Well, I’m very sorry to hear that.” He smiled again when Emily returned with my coat. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Dr. Madison.” “Looking forward to working with you as well, Dr. Ashton.”
THE RESIDENT New York, New York Natalie “This man is your boss?” Shannon, stared at Dr. Ashton’s professional picture on the Park Avenue Group website as we shared the backseat of a cab. “Are you shitting me right now?” “I wish.” I’d done nothing but fantasize about the possibility of his lips touching mine since the moment I left the private practice. I’d incessantly replayed the way he looked me up and down, the way he caressed my hand, and I was now cursing myself for not taking him up on his offer of that personal office tour. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered how I was going to be able to get any work done around him. How do any of the women there work when he’s around? “Well, you’ll have to keep me posted on everything that happens when you officially start there.” Shannon returned my phone to me and looked outside her window. “You think there’s a chance this D-DOCTOR guy will be halfway as hot as your boss?” “Doubt it.” I looked at Dr. Ashton’s sexy picture one last time and closed the screen. “But I think the sex with him will be amazing.” “Let’s hope so. Remind me why you begged me to accompany you on your date tonight. Are you that nervous?” “I’m not asking you to accompany me,” I said. “I just need you to go inside the restaurant first, look for his table, and just call and tell me what he looks like, so I’ll be prepared if he’s not as cute as I hope he is. Oh, and I’ll also need you to confirm that he doesn’t give off any serial killer vibes.” “In that case, I’ll just walk right up to him and ask when was the last time he murdered someone,” she said flatly. “Will that work for you?” “Actually, yes. That’s perfect. Can you do that?” “No.” She laughed and the cab stopped right in front of Per Se a few seconds later.
I followed her out, taking a seat on a bench that belonged to the café next door. “In all seriousness,” Shannon said, “Are you sure you just don’t want to go in and meet him for yourself and just have me watch you guys from afar? I think that’s how most people usually do these things ...” “I’m sure. I want you to check him out first.” “Okay, then.” She shrugged and made her way up the steps, skipping everyone in line with relative ease. Minutes later, she called my phone. “Yeah?” I answered. “Do you see him?” “Not yet, but wow ... This place really is nice. How come we’ve never booked a reservation here for ourselves?” She paused. “Never mind. I just glanced at the menu. Three hundred twenty-five dollars for the chef’s special? Per person? These people are out of their damn minds ...” “It’s a five-star restaurant, Shannon.” “Right ... Which table did D-DOCTOR say he’d be waiting for you again?” “Twelve.” “Okay, that’s in the back.” She paused for a while and I heard the sound of several glasses clink in the background. “I think I see him. He’s looking at his phone.” “Is he attractive?” “I can’t tell yet, but he’s clenching his jaw for some reason. He also fills out a suit quite nicely.” As if she could already tell what was running through my mind, she didn’t give me a single second to ask another question before listing out the details. “His suit is dark grey,” she said. “And it looks like its custom-made. From the way it fits his body, I’m pretty sure he has to work out. Also, blue silk tie — designer probably, sparkling silver cufflinks, and perfectly shined leather wingtip shoes. Is this the part where I walk up to him and ask if he’s a serial killer?” “No, but I appreciate the fact that you remembered.” I let out a sigh of relief, feeling hopeful that one of the men I’d met online might finally live up to all our conversations. I started to head into the restaurant, ready to tell Shannon she could hang up, but I heard her suck in a deep breath and stopped dead in my tracks.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Shan, are you there?” “Yeah, I’m here.” Her voice was low. “He just looked up at me.” “Okay, well ...” I stepped into the restroom instead of moving into the dining room. “What does he look like?” “He’s sexy as fuck.” “You can do better than that. Describe him.” “Um ...” She sighed, never a good sign. “He’s got jet black hair, deep blue eyes, and he got that whole ‘I can make you pregnant with one look’ thing going on.” “And on a scale of one to ten?” I glanced at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, adjusting the top of my dress one last time. “What is he?” “He’s a goddamn fifty,” she said. “But you know, he kind of reminds me of that picture of your boss you showed me on the way here.” “Dr. Ashton?” I rolled my eyes. “Please. I don’t have to deal with seeing him again until I start my residency.” “Well, if you’re not interested in seeing your boss until you start your residency, stay outside because I’ve walked past him five times and I’m pretty sure the guy you call D-DOCTOR is Dr. Ashton.” What the fuck? I stepped out of the restroom and slowly made my way to the dining room, grabbing a menu and holding it up to my face as I walked to the backroom. I stepped behind a floral display as he looked up again, as he checked his watch and clenched his jaw. Oh. My. Fucking. God ... I didn’t want to believe it, but it was undoubtedly him. And all of sudden, everything he’d messaged me about over the past few months added up and made perfect sense. The late night claims of reading over his nurses’ reports, the need to correct me with “I’m a fucking doctor” each time I jokingly called him a “maybe intern,” and the very username DDOCTOR itself. He wasn’t making anything up at all ... “I can’t do this.” I whispered into the phone. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?” “Go over there and have a laugh with him about this since you just saw each other a couple hours ago. That’s what I would do.” I contemplated that scenario for all of two seconds before shooting down the idea. I’d told this man my filthiest fantasies, casually told him
about my desire to be fucked until I couldn’t breathe, and I was not about to let him know that the same woman who once told him all the ways I used my vibrator was his new resident. I watched him for a few more minutes — partly unable to turn away from how sexy he was, partly still in utter disbelief. When he looked down at his watch again, I turned around and quickly walked away. “Let’s go, Shannon,” I said. “We’re leaving.” I ended the call and made my way outside. I paced the sidewalk as I contemplated my next move, and then I felt my phone vibrating in my hands. Dr. Ashton. I stared at my phone’s screen as it rang, as it finally went to voicemail. He called again. And again. Shit ... I hovered my finger over the ignore button, tempted to let this night die and act as if I’d never met him at all, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “Hello?” I answered. “Hello. Did you forget about meeting me tonight?” “Not at all ...” “Then should I assume that you’re running late?” God, his voice ... “No, um. I’m sorry.” “You’re sorry for what?” “That I can’t — That I’m not coming to meet you tonight.” He was silent for several seconds. “I think I deserve an explanation from you, at the very least.” “I just can’t come,” I said, swallowing. “But I want you to know that I have a really good reason for not showing up. I promise.” “Then tell me what that goddamn reason is, since you’re doing exactly what you said you wouldn’t do by standing me up.” “You just have to believe me on this ... It’s a really good reason.” “I see.” His voice was tight. “I would’ve appreciated you calling me and letting me know that you were planning all along to waste my time — especially after all these months that we’ve messaged each other online. I would’ve appreciated you doing that before I got here and spent over thirty minutes waiting on you.” “I am so sorry.” I moved away from the entrance once I saw Shannon walking down the steps. “I really didn’t plan on standing you up tonight until the last minute.”
“You decided this shit at the last minute?” “Yes, but ... There’s no reason why we still can’t continue messaging each other online after this. Maybe that’s where this should’ve stayed anyway. We can still be friends, right?” He hung up in my face.
TWO WEEKS LATER...
THE DOCTOR New York, New York Garrett
Subject: New York Times Review ... Dr. Ashton, please read the attached five-star review of your services from one of my regular patients, a Miss Rachel Aberdeen. Pay special heed to the parts where she says that although you neglected to “properly address her breasts” and that you “have quite a mouth for sarcasm” that she swears you’re the only man outside of her husband that she trusts with her “most prized private part.” I truly appreciate you taking care of my patients while I’m away :-) —Dr. Laurel
I rolled my eyes and deleted her email, not bothering to open the attachment. I didn’t need to, since almost every staff member on this floor had taken it upon themselves to slip the hardcopy version underneath my door. Any other time, I might’ve responded with something sarcastic, but I was completely off my game and I was certain that JERSEYGIRL7 was to blame. Ever since the night she stood me up at Per Se, I was more irritable and annoyed than usual. I’d never been stood up a day in my life, and I’d honestly been looking forward to meeting her and doing everything possible to bring every filthy fantasy she’d told me about to life. When she told me she wasn’t coming, I immediately deleted her phone number and blocked her on NewYorkMinute — although I did keep the archive of our never-ending message threads. I’d also tried to set up a quick replacement date with several other women, but it was all to no avail.
I couldn’t find anyone who matched with me more than fifty percent on NewYorkMinute, and the few women who did catch my eye at the bar over the past weekends, couldn’t hold a conversation to save their lives. They didn’t have shit on the level of sarcasm and wittiness that I enjoyed from JERSEYGIRL7. Maybe I shouldn’t have deleted her number so soon ... “Dr. Ashton?” A soft voice suddenly pulled me out of my thoughts and I looked up, seeing the newest addition to the staff: Natalie. With her white coat hanging wide open, she was wearing a bright red dress that clung to her hips in all the right ways and exposed the top part of her breasts. Her eyes were a stunning shade of green, and her long, auburn hair was falling down past her shoulders in a bevy of large curls. You working with me is going to be a problem, and I definitely need to keep you away from me ... “How can I help you, Dr. Madison?” I said, holding back a groan, as she slipped the tip of a pen between her perfect, pink lips. “I was told that I was to report to you for the first few months of my residency here, while they finish sorting out some of the final specifics,” she said. “So, where do you want me this morning?” On top of my desk ... “We weren’t supposed to take on new residents until we opened our expansion location down the street,” I said. “So, since you somehow managed to slip in before then, you’ll share an office with me for now.” I pointed to the new chrome desk on the far side of the room. I was pretty sure I never agreed to sharing my office with anyone, and that the number one board member should never be subjected to something like this, but when the doctors all agreed that I would never, ever have to work with another resident after this, I caved in for the better. “Is there anything you need from me, Dr. Madison?” “Actually, would you mind walking me through the Weisman file and assignment I received in my email this morning?” She clicked her pen. “I’ve never dealt with a patient with that condition before and I can’t read some of the scanned handwriting on the session sheet.” “Sure,” I made a mental note to write neater over the next few months. “I’ll go over it with you in about ten minutes.” “Thank you.” She smiled and walked over to the new desk, her bright red heels clicking across my marble floors and it took everything in me to
act like a complete professional and not utter a word about how sexy she was. This was only my second time being around her and she’d managed to make me ten times more aroused than when I’d first seen her at the end of her tour. I was already ten times more drawn to her than any other woman I’d ever met. Thankfully, she was a complete professional for the rest of the day, and that made it somewhat easier for me to follow suit. I patiently answered all of her well-researched questions, let her sit in a therapy session with a client who didn’t mind, and even offered to treat her to a light dinner at the end of the day. She declined. So, I offered to do the same thing on her second day. She declined again. Then she declined for the next four working days in a row, so I didn’t go for a fifth. Still, as the first days of her residency played out, I realized just how much I actually needed the additional help, just how beneficial having someone else at my side was. (Although, I would never admit this to the other doctors. Their twelve to one vote was still bullshit.) It didn’t hit me until the second week of the residency, that something about Natalie was completely off. At least, to me. Even though I made sure to keep my incessant thoughts of bending her over my chaise or taking her against my window at the back of my mind, anytime I attempted to make basic small talk with her, she changed the subject. As if she was incapable of even addressing the weather or accepting my suggestion of trying NewYorkMinute if she wanted to meet new people outside of the practice. If I happened to walk into the break lounge when she was sitting alone, she would simply smile at me, get up, and immediately leave. She went out of her way to make sure that we were never alone together, unless we were in my office, and I honestly wanted to pull her to the side and tell her to relax. Sexy as hell or not, I doubted I would ever sleep with someone I worked with. I’d long considered that to be out of the question, and she wouldn’t be an exception. I allowed another full week to go by while witnessing her strange behavior and vowed to ask her what was wrong the following Monday when she came in.
“Dr. Ashton!” Emily called me from the reception desk long after Natalie left for the weekend. “Dr. Ashton!” I groaned and headed out to the main desk. “Yes? Are the office phones not working anymore?” “They are, but three insurance representatives have me on hold via those lines right now, so I had no choice.” She pointed to her desk phone. “Anyway, Natalie just called me from a payphone, panicking. She thinks she left her cell-phone in your office. Can you call it and check for me?” “Sure.” I started to head back toward my office, but I stopped and turned around. “I don’t have her cell phone number.” “Ah, right.” She scribbled it down on a yellow post-it, just as an insurer returned to the call. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed the number, walking to my office. The second I stepped inside, I heard it vibrating and spotted it hiding beneath a stack of folders. Grabbing it, I headed back toward Emily, but I glanced down at her screen and everything stopped. Everything in me was certain that this had to be some type of joke. The words “D-DOCTOR calling ... Answer? Decline?” were front and center, and the second the call ended, I called her phone again to be sure I was seeing this shit correctly. Sure enough, her screen lit up again with “D-DOCTOR” as the second call came through. Needing further proof, I went to her call log and deleted my last two calls so she’d never know I was on to her. Then, against my better judgment, I sifted through her apps, just to confirm the things that were running through my mind. I pressed the familiar, mini Brooklyn Bridge cartoon icon that led straight into the NewYorkMinute dating app, and the second it opened, the words, “Welcome back, JERSEYGIRL7!” popped up onto her screen. What the fuck?! She’s been here? All this goddamn time ... “Dr. Ashton!” Emily called from the reception desk again. “I’ve still got Natalie on hold at the payphone out here! Did you find what you were looking for?” “Yes.” I stared at her phone and logged out of the app. “I found exactly what I was looking for ...”
THE RESIDENT New York, New York Natalie “So, you’re saying that you’re never going to tell him it was you who stood him up?” Shannon sat across from me at our favorite coffee shop. “I really don’t think it would be that big of a deal, and maybe he’d laugh about it. You know?” “No, I don’t see a point anymore.” I sipped my latte. “We have a really good working relationship right now, and I actually like working in a private practice, way more than I thought I would. It’s been great.” “Well, good for you. Is he a good boss?” “Yeah, actually. He’s been nothing but nice and patient with me when it comes to all the charting I have to do, and I really don’t want to mess that up. I can’t afford to mess that up.” “I guess. So, by working alongside him are you any less attracted to him?” Hell no ... “Yeah, a little bit.” I lied because I couldn’t bring myself to admit the truth about Dr. Ashton. The man was basically walking, breathing sex and everyone in that office knew it. Hell, even his patients knew it. In fact, I was pretty sure twenty percent of his patients were perfectly normal and only booking his three-hundred-dollar per hour therapy sessions so they could flirt and stare at him. I thought I could handle it at first. I honestly believed that his simple gestures of buying me coffee in the morning, offering to buy me lunch, or allowing me to sit in on sessions would eventually wane on me, but every night when I lay alone in my bed, my fingers found their way beneath my panties and all I could think about was him. I was doing my best to avoid being around him one-on-one because it didn’t take much for him to turn me on, but with every second glance he gave me and every bite of his prized Twizzlers, I was reminded that I truly, truly wanted to feel him deep inside of me.
“Whoa.” Shannon stood up from the table as her pager beeped. “This is one of my interns. I’ve got to go.” “See you at home later,” I said. “But wait. Tell me, is the residency at Manhattan Medical everything you thought it would be? Is it as great as we used to dream about?” “Absolutely not.” She smiled, lying like a good best friend. “It’s absolutely awful and I think you’d totally hate it.” “Thank you.” She gave me a hug and left the café. I took my time drinking the rest of my latte, deciding to head into work an hour early to do some additional work for Dr. Ashton. The second I walked into “our” office, I immediately noticed the set up was different. He’d moved my desk into a corner, and he’d placed two bookshelves next to it that were filled with files. Not only that, but he’d installed a folding screen that separated my side of the office from the area where the patients sat on the chaise. Oh, and he’d taken away the two vases of “Thank you for being a great resident” Twizzlers he’d just given me yesterday. He’d moved them to his desk, giving him six candy stashes to my zero. What the hell is going on? “Good morning, Dr. Madison.” He hit the lights as he walked into the office seconds later. “You’re here early this morning.” “Yeah, I wanted to come in and do some work on the Letterman chart before we met with him today.” “We won’t be meeting with him,” he said, his voice clipped. “It’ll only be me. You’ll need to leave my office when he comes and do your work in the break lounge until the session is over. You’ll need to leave my office whenever I’m meeting with a patient for the rest of the week.” I blinked, utterly confused. “Also,” he said, pointing to the bookshelves. “Do you see those files that I’ve placed over there?” I didn’t answer. I just nodded. “I need all those categorized by the end of the week, so I suggest you get started with the patients who are the most current on sessions. It’ll make your job a lot easier. Any questions? It looks like you have something to say.” Are you bipolar?
“Um ... Did you by chance forget to take any med —” I hesitated to continue when I noticed him narrowing his eyes at me, daring me to complete that sentence. “With all due respect, Dr. Ashton, I need to practice something. That’s kind of the whole point of a residency. I can’t just file papers all day.” “That’s exactly what you’re going to do all day.” “No ...” I crossed my arms, hating the fact that even in the midst of him being an utter jackass, he still had the ability to turn me on. “The program that you and your team graciously put together said my first three months would be spent working directly with you and learning about better ways to handle cognitive therapy. It didn’t say anything about reading over charts and files all day.” “Are you defying me?” “I’m warning you.” I wasn’t going to let him push me over, no matter how wet my panties were right now. “I don’t mind doing the files in order of importance, and I don’t mind working overtime hours to get them done.” “I’m not paying you overtime hours.” “Regardless,” I said, narrowing my eyes right back at him. “I don’t mind doing those files in order of importance, but if you think that you’re going to hinder my career in any way because you’re having a bad day and haven’t taken your meds, you have another think coming, Dr. Ashton.” “Is that so, Dr. Madison?” “Yes, that is so.” I looked right into his gorgeous blue eyes. “That is very so.” “Hmmm ...” A slight smirk crossed his lips, but he didn’t let it stay. “So, what you’re saying is that you were promised a certain type of outcome for the residency and you expect me to show up and honor exactly what you were told, correct?” “Yes. That’s precisely what I’m saying.” “So, the idea of me suddenly changing my mind at the last minute and not honoring what you originally agreed upon would be, how can I put this ... Fucked up?” “Um, yes ...” I wasn’t sure where he was going with this. “Yes, I guess you could say it would be ‘fucked up.’ Does that mean you understand where I’m coming from?” “No.” He glared at me. “No, the fuck it does not. It means that you are indeed a resident. That means you report to me for this part of your
program and you do exactly what I tell you to do, whether you think it’s important to your career or not.” I bit my tongue before the words, “Who the hell do you think you are?” could leave my mouth. “I even did you a favor,” he said, pulling a small sheet of paper from his pocket and handing it to me. “I wrote down the most important files for you. The top twenty I need completed by tomorrow morning at nine o’clock — specifically the Yarbrough family files. No exceptions. Are we clear?” I didn’t answer him. I remained standing there with my teeth clenched, with the words I really wanted to say tucked tightly beneath my tongue. “Dr. Madison?” He stepped closer to me, closing the gap between us. “I said, are we clear?” “Crystal clear, Dr. Ashton.” I forced a smile. “I understand you completely.” “Good.” He looked me up and down and then he headed toward the door. “Oh and by the way,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “Everything you’re probably feeling right now is more than justified. It’s exactly how I felt when you stood me up, JERSEYGIRL7.” My jaw immediately dropped to the floor. “Too bad I didn’t get to test how wide your mouth could open the night we were supposed to meet,” he said, looking far more upset than he was minutes ago. “If your shocked expression is any indication, your mouth is quite impressive.”
THE DOCTOR New York, New York Garrett
I took sixteen flights of steps to my floor early the next morning, needing to clear my mind and find a way to apologize to Natalie. Well, I was only going to ‘somewhat’ apologize for everything I’d said to her yesterday. I was still going to make her do more paperwork than was necessary because she needed to be punished in some type of way for ruining our perfectly good online friendship. But I wasn’t going to prevent her from sitting in on sessions with me. She was more than right about needing to get as much practice as possible and I wasn’t going to hold her back. That, and she was actually quite impressive when it came to analyzing the sessions afterwards. I found her insight and intellect quite refreshing. “Good morning, Dr. Ashton!” Emily greeted me as I emerged from the stairwell. “Good morning, Emily. Anything I need to know before I lock myself in my office?” “Your three o’clock canceled, so I moved up your five o’clock session to four. Dr. Laurel just signed a new book deal, so be sure to tell her congratulations. Dr. Anderson just found out his wife is pregnant, so same thing. And I’ll need you to sign off on those lab results you sent for when they arrive around noon today.” “Thank you very much, Emily.” “My pleasure.” I walked to my office and unlocked the door. Then I hit the lights and blinked several times to make sure that what I was seeing in this moment was real. Natalie was sitting at my desk. In my chair. With my Twizzlers.
She was leaning back with her red heels perfectly perched atop a stack of books, and it looked as if she’d rearranged everything in my office to how it was when she first started here. Looking even sexier than she did yesterday, her lips were coated in a bright pink and she was raising her eyebrow — looking at me as if she were waiting for me to say something. I didn’t. I hit the lights and walked out of my office altogether, knowing I had to be imagining this shit. I had better be imagining this shit ... I’d fantasized about her wrapping her tempting mouth around my cock while she sat at my desk mere hours ago, so I figured this was just a vivid, real-world projection of that. Besides, what reason would she have to be at work four hours early? I returned to my office, hitting the lights once more, but Natalie was still there — looking as bold and brazen as ever. “May I help you with something, Dr. Ashton?” she said. “Is there a problem?” “You know damn well there’s a problem.” I set my briefcase on the floor. “But you know what?” “What?” She crossed her arms. “I’m not going to reprimand you for sitting at my custom-made desk that I paid a fortune for, nor am I going to reprimand you for rearranging my office without my permission.” “Sitting down and moving office furniture around isn’t a crime, Dr. Ashton.” I rolled my eyes, sticking to the subject at hand. “I’m going to hit these lights again, and then I’m going to go for a fifteen-minute walk. Fifteen. Minutes. The second I get back, I’m going to turn on the lights once more, and you know what will happen then? You won’t be sitting at my desk. You won’t be smirking at me, and you also won’t have a stolen Twizzler dangling out of your goddamn mouth.” I looked over at her desk and saw that she’d returned two vases of Twizzlers to her desk. “Speaking of Twizzlers,” I said. “Those vases don’t belong to you anymore. They’re only for people who show up when they’re supposed to.” She didn’t say anything, she just glared at me and took another bite of one.
“Fifteen minutes, Natalie,” I said, hitting the lights. “Or else.”
THE RESIDENT New York, New York Natalie
Dr. Ashton walked into his office fifteen minutes later, stopping dead in his tracks once his eyes met mine. “You’re still in my goddamn chair,” he said. “I am.” I crossed my arms. “I’ll happily get out of it when you apologize for your rude and unprofessional behavior yesterday.” “If you have to beg someone to apologize, then the person probably isn’t sorry.” “I have a feeling you are.” “I’m not.” He picked up his briefcase and set it on his desk, right next to where my feet were propped on top of the books. He muttered a few words to himself and I was pretty sure I heard him say, “I wish I would’ve made you come on my mouth that night ...” but I wasn’t sure. “Did you complete those Yarbrough charts, Dr. Madison?” “No, I did not.” “No, you did not?” He raised his eyebrow. “Did you at least start them?” “Not at all.” I shrugged. “I was pretty emotionally distraught after leaving work yesterday, so I figured you’d understand if I didn’t get to them. If not, I can kindly explain this situation to Human Resources.” His eyes widened and he looked like he was on the verge of losing it. “I can get started on them today, if you’d like,” I said, smiling. “But as you can assume, I’ll probably need more time to finish them since I’ll be starting a day late.” “Cut the shit, Dr. Madison.” He walked around the desk to where I was. “I’m giving you five seconds to tell me that you’ve done those goddamn
files because I told you just how important they were to me yesterday.” I held up my hand and counted down from five on my fingers one by one. “Now what?” “Now, I tell all of my partners here that I think we need to consider firing you, but I have a feeling you’re just fucking with me right now. Where is the work?” I stood up from his chair and he immediately moved closer to me, pinning my ass against the edge of his desk. “Don’t make me ask you again ...” he said. “Stop attempting to intimidate me and just apologize so we can go back to how things were,” I said. “I know you’re upset because your ego was bruised, but I am not going to stand for your twisted version of sexual harassment.” “I haven’t even begun to sexually harass you, Dr. Madison.” He leaned close and his lips nearly brushed against mine. “When I do it, you’ll know. Trust me.” “Do you have any idea what you just said?” My panties were soaked. “I don’t think you meant for it to sound that way.” “I meant it exactly how it sounded.” His mouth immediately covered mine and my arms went around his neck, clawing at his skin as he slipped a hand under my dress. As he controlled my lips with his — slipping his tongue deeper and deeper into my mouth, he pushed my panties to the side and rubbed his thumb against my soaked slit. He groaned when he felt how wet I was, and I sucked in a breath as I felt his cock hardening against my thigh. I didn’t have to look down to know it was huge, and the fact that I felt it through his pants and his lab coat made my cheeks turn bright red. “Unbuckle my pants,” he whispered against my mouth. “Now.” I didn’t hesitate. I moved my hands down to his belt buckle, rushing to free his cock, but before I could even get the leather through the first loop, his phone rang. We both froze immediately and then we slowly pulled away from each other. “Please do the Yarbrough files,” he whispered, still panting. “And for the record, this never happened, and it can’t happen again.”
“I agree it never happened.” I touched my swollen lips. “And I did complete the Yarbrough files. I’ll happily give them to you when you apologize for pulling a Dr. Jekyll and Hyde on me yesterday ...” For a second he actually looked as if he was about to say the words, “I’m sorry,” but he took a seat at his desk and picked up his phone before it could go to voicemail. “Dr. Ashton speaking ...” He kept his eyes on me. “Yes, yes. Okay, fine. I’ll sign them right away.” He hung up the phone, and then he plucked a red candy from his vase. “Dr. Madison, I think you and I need to redefine how this employee-boss relationship works. You are beneath me. I am above you. Therefore —” I didn’t give him a chance to finish that line of thought. I opened the left drawer of his desk and took out the Yarbrough files, plopping them all on top of his desk. “You’re right,” I said, upset at how crazy he made me. “We do need to redefine how this so-called employee-boss relationship works. Let’s just send emails whenever we’re not sitting in front of a patient.” I stormed back to my side of the office, but not before knocking every goddamn vase of his prized Twizzlers to the floor.
THE DOCTOR New York, New York Garrett
“Natalie, did you finish reading that new study I emailed you earlier this morning?” I poured myself a cup of coffee in the break lounge one morning. “If you’re interested in learning more, I can pay for you to take the course online, if you’d like.” She sat still at her table, slowly slathering a bagel with cream cheese. “Natalie?” I stepped closer to her. “Natalie, I know you hear me talking to you.” “Good morning, Nurse Johnson and Doctor Clemons!” Natalie waved at them as they entered the lounge. “How’s the day so far?” They said “Pretty good,” and “Mine’s okay,” at the same time. “Good to hear.” Natalie took a bite of her bagel and stared straight past me. Annoyed, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and tapped on my inbox — hating that she was actually staying true to her email-only communication with me. I sat down at the table across from her and typed an email.
Subject: New Study/Course Did you finish reading that new study I emailed you earlier this morning? If you’re interested in learning more, I can pay for you to take the course online, if you’d like. PS — How much longer are you going to keep this shit up? —Dr. Ashton
Her phone buzzed against the table and she swiped her screen, typing a message right back to me.
Subject: Re: New Study/Course Yes, I did finish reading that study. I truly enjoyed reading it — thank you, and I would definitely like to take the online course. PS — As long as it takes for you to treat me like your resident (or your friend) again. Boss-employee relationship or not, I don’t appreciate the way you talked to me. PSS — For the record, you are, BY FAR, the most unprofessional doctor I have ever worked with in my career. —Dr. Madison
Subject: Re: Re: New Study/Course I’ll pay for it as soon as I get back to my office and forward you the login information. You can start taking the course next week. PS — A friend wouldn’t have stood me up at the last minute without giving me a reason. Boss-employee relationship or not, I don’t appreciate the way you stood me up. PSS — You haven’t worked in this field long enough to actually have a “career.” —Dr. Ashton
Subject: Re: Re: Re: New Study/Course I can start taking the course when I feel like it ... And the only reason I stood you up — a VERY, VERY GOOD REASON might I add — is because I didn’t want to start my new job with the weight of previously sleeping with my boss on my shoulders. I didn’t want to have the memory of being beneath you in your bed every time we worked together here ... —Dr. Madison
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Study/Course
You really need to work on your use of CAPS LOCK. You’re emphasizing all of the wrong words. And for the record ... IF you had actually shown up, you wouldn’t have had the memory of being beneath me in my bed at all. I would’ve had you on all fours ... —Dr. Ashton
THE RESIDENT New York, New York Natalie
I now regret ever saying that working in a private practice was less challenging than working in a hospital. This was, by far, much harder and I was struggling for the first time in my career. I’d foolishly thought that my first few weeks were a blueprint of what I’d be doing for the rest of my residency — simply shadowing Dr. Ashton or another doctor for a few months at a time and taking tests here or there. But the second the program coordinators sat me down in a private boardroom and laid out more of the program specifics and how it was about to change, I realized I was in over my head. Mondays through Wednesdays were the days I spent with Dr. Ashton, the tension between us growing hotter and more explosive by the second. The lustful energy was practically palpable each time we shared the same room. It was becoming so obvious, that in the middle of our last session with a woman who was suffering from misplaced anger issues, she stopped mid-speech and looked at both of us, yelling, “Jesus! Would the two of you just fuck already?” Thursdays were the “research days” when I spent hours on the third floor of the practice, conducting studies in the lab — splitting my time between the psychologist and the psychiatrist. (And since this was only one day a week, they both gave me enough ‘solo study’ work, so that I had to come in on the weekends and finish. I never finished ...) The worst day of all though was Friday, which was definitely a cruel joke on me by the universe. Fridays were designated to be “as needed day” which meant that even if I were in the middle of completing a research assignment or catching up on some charting that was long overdue, if any
of the board doctors needed me to do something they didn’t want to do, I was their girl. And they definitely made me their girl. My Fridays were a never-ending reel of mending minor sutures, “I just want someone to listen to me for twenty minutes,” sessions, basic physical checkups, rectal exams, lab test screenings, “please retrieve the nurse’s notes on my patient’s family history from twenty years ago now, please” demands. They started the second I walked through the door at seven o’clock in the morning, and I was lucky to get out the doors of Park Avenue Wellness by ten o’clock at night. So, technically, I dreaded Fridays, but I also dreaded Thursdays because they cruelly pushed me into those Fridays without a second thought. “You look like absolute shit today.” Shannon plopped down next to me on our couch late Thursday night. “Like, you’re naturally gorgeous— usually, but I can barely even recognize you right now with those big ass grey bags under your eyes.” She leaned closer and sniffed me. “And what is that smell? Have you not showered at all this week?” “Thank you so much, Shannon,” I said. “I can always count on you to make me feel better about my life.” “You’re very welcome.” I wiggled my way out of my sweater and tossed it across the room. “A doctor caught me on the way out today and asked me to help him hold a baby while he set up the room for a CAT scan. The baby looked at me for two seconds and vomited all over me. It’s like she wanted to confirm the state of my life for me, you know?” “I’m sorry.” She laughed and gave me a side hug. “On the plus side, you’re one of the highest-paid residents in the state. You make fifteen thousand more than me a year by working there, so that has to count for something, right?” I slowly turned my head to face her and gave her a blank stare. She laughed even harder. “How are things with the dirty doctor?” “Dirty Doctor? That’s what we’re calling Dr. Ashton now?” “Yeah, somehow I don’t feel right calling him ‘Dr. Nine Inches’ like you do. Plus, I think it sounds better.” I tried to laugh, but nothing came out but a dry heave. “He’s still finding creative ways to push me into speaking to him again.”
“You’re still giving him the email only treatment?” I nodded, but he was honestly breaking me down with each day that passed. All it took was one sexy smirk, one lick of his full lips, or a “Surely you can say thank you for this,” when he brought me breakfast and hot coffee every morning. (I was certain my ‘Subject: Thank you for Breakfast + I Truly Appreciate It’ emails would come to an end soon.) “You know, it would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t so damn attractive and beloved by every person who works there.” “Beloved? I thought you said he’s the rudest out of all the doctors.” “Oh, he definitely is.” I sat up on the couch. “But everyone loves him because aside from his assholery from time to time, he’s actually quite generous.” She looked as if she didn’t believe me. “He pays for twenty percent of his patients’ care every month, and he takes on twice as many pro bono cases as the next top three doctors combined.” “You’re kidding. How’d you find out?” “I was going through his desk the other day, trying to find out where he’d hid my cell phone.” I smiled at his umpteenth failed attempt to break my silence. “I saw this list of notes and a bunch of checks paper clipped to it. They were all payments for the patients who either couldn’t afford his fee or didn’t have health insurance. And the notes were a very thorough list of at least fifty things he’s taken on for free this year. Fifty.” “Well, maybe he’s not so bad after all. I mean, you clearly like him and vice versa, so maybe when you two get tired of playing these childish games with each other, you can at the very least be friends again.” “I’m not going that far.” I picked up my phone as it vibrated against the coffee table. “He’s going to give me that apology, or at least acknowledge he didn’t have to be so rude.” I swiped my screen and saw a message from the doctor himself.
Subject: Tomorrow. (As needed day) Dr. Laurel won’t be coming in tomorrow. You’ll need to handle her three morning appointments. A nurse will be available. —Dr. Ashton
Subject: Re: Tomorrow. (As needed day) Dr. Laurel? Aren’t her morning appointments usually all pap smears? —Dr. Madison
Subject: Re: Re: Tomorrow. (As needed day) Yes. Is that a problem? Are you uncomfortable touching pussy? —Dr. Ashton
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Tomorrow. (As needed day) No, I just ... I haven’t done one of those in a long time and I only did a few as an intern. I’m sure I’ll be fine, though. —Dr. Madison.
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Tomorrow. (As needed day) You don’t have much of a choice ...The nurse who’s assigned to help you will be taking observation notes on your performance for Dr. Laurel to “grade” later. As much as you’ve touched your own pussy at night to thoughts of fucking me, I think this should be rather easy for you. —Dr. Ashton
THE RESIDENT New York, New York Natalie
The next morning, my heart raced as I faced my first patient of the day. My gloves were on securely, the nurse had perfectly arranged the tools on the cart for easy access, and a vagina was right in front of my face. “Dr. Madison?” The nurse whispered from behind. “Dr. Madison?” “Yes?” “When are you planning on starting the exam?” “Um, right now.” I scooted my stool as close to the patient bed as I could go. “Could you place your feet in the stirrups for me, please?” “They’re already in the stirrups, Doctor.” The patient hissed. “Just like they were already in the stirrups ten minutes ago, and twenty minutes ago. Any longer, and my legs may give out. Do I look like I’m in good physical shape to you?” “No ... I mean, yes. I mean —” I sighed. They might as well have asked me to perform neurosurgery. I never was good at this. For a very good reason. “Dr. Madison?” The nurse whispered again. “Do I need to get Dr. Ashton to do this? You have another appointment in twenty minutes and you have yet to even start this one.” “No, I’ve got it,” I said, picking up the speculum. “I’ve got it.” I moved the speculum close to the patient, preparing to insert it, but I dropped it to the ground. “Okay, that’s it.” The patient sat up. “Get me someone else. Now.” I didn’t even offer a rebuttal. I took off my gloves and rushed out of the room, straight for Dr. Ashton’s office. I knew he was here and even though he told everyone not to bother him until after lunch, I knocked on his door anyway.
“Does anyone here know what the words, Don’t bother —” He ended his sentence as he opened the door. “Do you have a pussy phobia? Is that why it looks like you’re crying about your assignment right now?” “No .” I let out a nervous laugh. “It’s just that ...” “Any day now, Dr. Madison. You can complete that sentence if you try hard enough.” “Long story short, I severely hurt a patient the first and second time I did a pap smear. I fucked everything up and almost cost the hospital a lawsuit — twice. It got settled eventually and the chief realized it was an honest mistake but...” “You avoided them as much as possible for the rest of your intern years — which is technically cheating, but since you thought women’s health was never in your future, you decided to never properly learn?” I nodded and he grabbed my hand, tugging me across the reception area and down to the women’s health wing. He entered the room and grabbed a chart, immediately snapping into a mode I hadn’t seen from him since I started here: A sweet, compassionate doctor. “Miss Farmington, I’m Dr. Ashton and I’d like to complete your exam today. Would you feel comfortable with me doing it?” “Yes.” She blushed. “Absolutely.” “Pay close attention, Dr. Madison,” he said softly. “We’re going to do four of these together today, so this won’t happen again.” He motioned for me to put on gloves and within seconds, all of his attention was on the patient. I watched as he performed the exam with ease, never losing focus as he kept her occupied with small talk and laughter. It took him ten minutes to complete the part I was scared of doing, and twenty minutes to complete the breast and pelvic tests. He completed the next two exams the same way — softly instructing me to pay attention to how “easy” this was, and by the time he was finished, I was somewhat confident that I could do the final exam alone. “Turn these in to the desk for me.” He handed the nurse a clipboard. “Thank you for helping today. I’ll watch Dr. Madison complete the last one by herself.” The nurse wished me good luck and left the room. “What time is the last patient due in?” I asked. “Now.” He picked up a clipboard. “Get undressed and get on the table.”
“What?” “You heard me.” His voice was low. “Get undressed and get on the table. I’m going to help you with your problem, personally.” “With all due respect, I don’t need you to give me a pap smear.” “Good, because I wasn’t planning on giving you that at all.” He looked me up and down before leaving the room. I stood still, in complete and utter shock. Half of me wanted to drop all of my clothes right then and just let him have me the second he returned to the room. And the other half of me actually wanted the same goddamn thing. I slipped out of my shoes, panties, and my skirt, taking a seat on the edge of the patient bed before covering my lap with a piece of starch-white paper. A knock came to the door and he asked if I was ready. “Yes ...” My voice was so soft I could barely hear it. The door opened and he entered with a clipboard in his hands. “Miss Madison,” he said, looking at me as if I was actually a patient. “I’m Dr. Ashton and I’ll be taking care of your pussy today.” “I’m pretty sure that’s not the script...” “It is today.” He smirked and sat on the stool in front of me and clicked his pen. “But first, a few personal questions. Do you currently smoke?” “No.” “Do you currently do any type of recreational drugs?” “No.” “Do you currently fuck other people?” “What?” “Yes, or no,” he said. “Are you currently fucking other people?” “I’m not ‘fucking’ anyone.” “Good.” He wrote on his clipboard. “When’s the last time you had sexual intercourse?” “I can’t answer that question.” “You can, and you will.” I shook my head. “A year ago.” He dropped his pen to the floor in shock, but instead of picking it up, he simply pulled another one from his pocket and shook his head. “Did you come?” “What?”
“You heard me,” he lowered his voice. “Did you come?” “No.” “Interesting.” He set the clipboard down and grabbed a pair of gloves, putting them on as if this was a real exam. “Lay back on the bed, please.” I didn’t make a move. I simply stared at him — half turned on, half beyond turned on, so he stood up and gently pushed me back against the bed himself. He smiled at me and quickly took off the gloves, tossing them into the trash across the room. “It’s a habit. I highly doubt I’ll need those with you today.” “What do you mean?” He avoided my question. “Put your legs in the stirrups and spread your legs for me.” I slowly followed his command and looked up at the bright, white ceiling. Within seconds, I felt his hands gently caressing the inside of my thighs. Then I heard him let out a low laugh. “It’s rude to laugh at a patient’s body,” I said. “That’s the first rule of good bedside manner. With all of your years of experience, you should know that.” “I’m not laughing at my patient.” He trailed a finger against my soaked slit. “I’m just wondering what made you get rid of all of the hair you previously had down here.” My entire body blushed red. “You definitely had hair here when I touched you in my office weeks ago ...” He smiled at me. “For the record, I don’t mind it either way.” “Well, you’ll probably never see it again after today, so what you mind or don’t mind doesn’t really matter. Also —” I immediately stopped talking once I felt him blowing against my clit, once I felt him darting his thick tongue against it. His hands continued to caress my thighs, and as he began kissing my pussy as if he were kissing my mouth, I lost all train of thought. My breathing slowed as he buried his head in my pussy and slid two fingers deep inside of me. “Ahh ...” I felt my legs getting weak from being in the stirrups, but he didn’t let me move.
Moaning, I reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair as he sucked my clit into his mouth. Oh. My. God ... “Garrett ... Can you ...” I cried out, as he began fucking me even harder with his fingers, as the sound of them slipping in and out of drenched pussy filled the room. “Can you ... slow down? Slow ... Down ...” “Shhh ...” He blew against my clit again — making me moan even louder, but he didn’t slow down at all. He continued to tease me with his tongue’s perfect, sensuous rhythm, and each time I tried to close my legs, he tightened his grip on them and held them apart. My pussy began to throb against his mouth and that only made him torture me more. “Come on my face, Natalie ...” he whispered. “Come for me ...” As he began to alternate between rubbing the pad of his thumb and his tongue against my clit, I shut my eyes. My body began trembling beneath his tight grasp, and I tried to hold onto some semblance of control, but it was no use. I cried out as my entire body shook against the table — sending some of the supplies from the cart crashing to the floor. I felt him continuing to kiss my pussy, as wave after wave of pent-up pleasure rolled through me again and again. By the time I was still again, I couldn’t feel my legs and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to stand up for the next two hours, if I wanted to. Garrett trailed his tongue against me one last time before standing up and looking at me. “You’re sexy as hell when you come,” he said softly. “I look forward to seeing that a lot more often.” Keeping his eyes on mine, he grabbed a few soft towels from the cabinet and wiped between my legs until he was satisfied with his work. Then, after picking up my skirt and placing it next to me, he walked to the door. “We’ll need to meet here for a follow-up within the next fortyeight hours. Just to be sure you’re completely satisfied with your treatment ...”
THE DOCTOR New York, New York Garrett
Subject: Progress. I heard you completed a pap smear all by yourself today. Would you like a medal? —Dr. Ashton
Subject: Re: Progress. Correction: I completed two pap smears all by myself today. And yes, if you’re offering. I would like a medal. —Dr. Madison
Subject: Re: Re: Progress. I’d be happy to award you one under three conditions/demands. —Dr. Ashton
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Progress. List them and I’ll let you know whether I can agree to them or not. —Dr. Madison
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Progress. 1. You start talking to me again outside of emails/when you need my help for something. (I apologize for the way I treated you and I will
apologize in person, if you agree to this point) 2. You admit that you regret standing me up that night. 3. You meet me in exam room number six in thirty minutes so I can give you the award personally ... (Hint: It’s not really a medal.) —Dr. Ashton
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Progress. 1. Okay I agree to this. (I definitely want the apology in person.) 2. I do regret standing you up that night, but only because I think we actually match up pretty well and we could’ve had a good conversation about it. (Then again, you would’ve fucked me before I started here, so a part of me still doesn’t regret standing you up. :-) ) 3. I’m already in here waiting. (Hint: I was hoping it wasn’t a medal :-).) —Dr. Madison
THE DOCTOR New York, New York Garrett
What the hell am I thinking? I was going to have to fire this woman. Sooner rather than later. Exactly twenty-two hours after I devoured her pussy in an exam room, I did it again. And again two days after that. And then again every other day, just because. She had yet to complete her first official exam from me because we kept pushing it back due to our “exam room time,” and I was starting to feel like I was becoming more like the other doctors here. I was only doing the things I wanted to do, when I wanted to do them. and that honestly wasn’t good for me or Natalie. What was worse, was that I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I actually liked her beyond whatever the hell we were currently doing. She was hands-down the most intelligent woman I’d ever met, definitely the sexiest, and I felt as if she was the perfect type of person I could see myself dating outside of the office. That, in itself, was a huge problem. I wasn’t the monogamous dating type — at least I wasn’t ready now, and my practice came before everything. Always. Still, I was starting to realize that even though we were both workaholics, we somehow still found a way to spend time together every day. In the break-room, over breakfast in the library downstairs, after officehours in the newly renovated research wing. I even sent her a gift delivery last night ... I needed to put a stop to this. And fast.
THE RESIDENT New York, New York Natalie
Subject: ‘Dirty Doctor’ sent me flowers today. I’m attaching a picture. How cute are these?! (I think he really likes me.) He also sent me a sweet, handwritten invitation for a “makeup date” a few weeks from now. —Natalie
Subject: Re: ‘Dirty Doctor’ sent me flowers today. He sent you flowers yesterday, too. Are you trying to make me jealous? (And of course he really likes you. **eyeroll** It’s quite obvious from that permanent goofy grin he makes you come home with every day.) Please don’t stand him up this time... Wait, you’re not calling him ‘Dr. Nine Inches’ anymore? By the way, why haven’t you told me anything about experiencing these supposed “nine inches” yet? —Shan-Shan
Subject: Re: Re: Re: ‘Dirty Doctor’ sent me flowers today. No, he sent me dinner and wine yesterday. The other set of flowers were from the day before yesterday. Big difference. :-) And yes, I’m trying to make you jealous, but only because I saw some of your notes from Manhattan Medical on the counter today and that made
me jealous... (What they did to me still stings, amazing alternative or not. I’m sorry. :-( ) I definitely won’t stand him up. He’s actually insisting that he pick me up that night. Oh! And I actually like the name ‘Dirty Doctor’ for now, and the only reason I haven’t told you about his ‘nine inches’ is because we still haven’t had sex. PS—Do you think it’s possible that we really could be a 100% match like that silly NewYorkMinute app suggested? —Natalie
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: ‘Dirty Doctor’ sent me flowers today. 100% match? Let’s see: You’re both stubborn, argumentative, and hot tempered when pushed. You also clearly have no morals when it comes to having oral sex in an exam room after hours, so...Yep. 100% match. On a more serious note, yes. I think something might become of this down the line. I see you two dating for years, eventually. ALSO—Since you mentioned Manhattan Medical, I’m attaching an internal memo that went out earlier this week. I know you’re enjoying Park Avenue Wellness, but if you’re the slightest bit tempted, read this. (If not, delete it.) —Shan-Shan
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: ‘Dirty Doctor’ sent me flowers today. I won’t need to read it, but thank you for sending it to me anyway. :-) I’ll call you on my lunch break. —Natalie
THE RESIDENT New York, New York Natalie
So much for that... I hate that I ever started to really, truly like this man ...
It took all of a few weeks for Dr. Ashton to ruin all my memories of what he’d done to me in the exam room, along with all the random sweet things he’d done for me. The scenes of him giving me back to back orgasms with nothing more than his tongue were now erased by the way he’d come into work for the past couple days this week. He was back to being an unhinged, psycho-boss and treating me terribly for no reason at all. The office partition had reappeared between our spaces, the bookshelves were next to me once more — brimming with files, and when I asked him why he was doing this again, he simply blew up on me. As he talked on the phone to what sounded like an angry patient, I pulled up Manhattan Medical’s website and logged into their employee portal. I’d finally opened that internal memo Shannon emailed me and realized it was probably fate trying to send me a message. It was a Human Resources message that revealed that two residents had been fired last month for recklessness, and the hospital was looking to quickly replace them without much fanfare or attention. I opened my drawer and pulled out my resume, hoping for a miracle that I would be accepted again. And if I didn’t get accepted, I was going to apply to other places and hope for transfer options with the new semester.
Falling in love with Park Avenue Wellness — hectic days aside, wasn’t enough for me to constantly put up with Dr. Ashton’s hot and cold behavior. Amazing tongue or not. “Dr. Madison?” He called my name once he hung up the phone. “Dr. Madison?” I pulled out my phone and sent him an email.
Subject: Yes? What can I help you with today, Dr. Jekyll/Hyde? —Dr. Madison
He sighed and stood up from his desk, walking over to mine. “We’re not going through that email-only shit again.” “Aren’t we?” I typed in University of Maryland into the education section. “I told you before that you can’t treat me any type of way and you did it again, for no reason.” “There is a reason.” His voice was tight. “A very good reason.” “Then what is it?” I stopped typing and looked up at him. “What could possibly make you think that you could have me screaming your name in that exam room one day and then completely beneath you like trash the next?” “I’ve told you before, I would never technically have you beneath me,” he said, walking behind my desk. “And to be honest, the reasoning is —” He glanced at my screen, sucking in a harsh breath as the words, “Thank you for filling out part one of the Manhattan Medical Residency application” popped onto my screen in bold. “You’re applying for other residencies while you’re here?” He sounded angry, but there was a hint of hurt in his voice. “How long have you been doing this behind my back?” “Just today, when you started being a condescending asshole again.” I gritted my teeth. “Are you sure it’s just today?” I didn’t get a chance to answer him before a new email popped onto my screen from Shannon, and I knew there was nothing I could do to prevent
him from seeing it.
Subject: Emergency! (Is it now? LOL) Am I supposed to call your office right now so you can tell Dirty Doctor there’s an emergency you have to tend to or is it in an hour? I can’t remember ... Let me know ... —Shan-Shan
“So, you’re a liar as well?” Dr. Ashton clenched his jaw. “Better than being a psycho who doesn’t know how to treat the smartest resident he’s ever had.” “You’re also the sexiest resident I’ve ever had, Natalie.” He closed the gap between us. “And that’s the fucking problem.” “My looks make you treat me bad?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re a therapist and you actually allowed those words to come out of your mouth? Seriously?” “Natalie —” “No.” My blood was boiling. “Your reasoning is absolute bullshit. It sounds more like, I like you, Natalie, but I’m just an alpha-asshole who’s too scared to be a gentleman, so I’ll just treat you badly as my way of showing ‘I like you’ whenever it hits me.” “That’s not it.” “It’s not?” I tried to step back, but he snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me against his chest. “That doesn’t sound the least bit plausible to you?” “Not in the slightest.” “Then why have you consistently brought me, and only me, breakfast and coffee to work every day? Every. Single. Day?” “We share an office. It’d be rude not to do so.” “Why have there been random, nightly flower and wine deliveries to my house, then?” “Maybe I feel bad for breaking the fraternization rules and want to make it up to you.”
“And the handwritten invitation in the mail from you to me?” “To Per Se?” His expression softened, but it didn’t stay long. “Yes, to fucking Per Se for four weeks from now because you said you ‘really, really wanted’ a make-up date.” My chest was heaving up and down, and I was on the verge of screaming. “What’s your excuse for that one?” “I’ve never been stood up a day in my life. I need you to correct it.” “You know what?” I jerked away from him and headed toward the door, hating that I was beyond wet, that I could clearly see the imprint of his hardened cock through his pants. “Fuck you, Dr. Ashton. Fuck. You.” “I’ll happily take you up on that.” He beat me to the door and grabbed the doorknob before I could twist it. Then he spun me around. “Yes, I fucking like you, Natalie. A lot more than I should.” “How easy was that to say?” “Very. Take off your clothes.” He was in front of me in seconds, his mouth on mine, his hands in my hair as I struggled to unzip the side of my dress. Impatient, he moved my hand away and unzipped my dress himself. Then he pushed me down onto the chaise and unbuckled his pants. “Get on your knees ...” He whispered into my ear, and I slowly rose up on all fours. He moved behind me and grabbed my ponytail, gently pulling it back. I heard the sound of him unwrapping a condom, and the next thing I felt was him slowly sliding his cock inside of me. Inch by inch. It’s definitely nine inches... “Ahhh...” I murmured, and he kissed the back of my neck. I dug my nails into the leather as he commanded me to be still, as my body adjusted to the full, thick length of him. He kissed my shoulder softly, but there was an abrupt end to his sweetness. He suddenly gripped my hips and pounded his cock into me relentlessly, making me cry out in pleasure. His left hand cupped my mouth to muffle my loud screams, and he used his other hand to hold me taut against him. Shutting my eyes, I let him have full control and gave into him — not focusing on anything else. As he bit my skin harshly, he whispered, “Your pussy feels so fucking good...so fucking good...”
The phone on his desk rang as he thrust into me deeper. I expected him to simply let it ring as we continued, but he pulled me back by my hair and whispered, “Pick it up.” “What?” “You heard me.” He slid into me again. “Pick up the phone. Answer it.” “Now?” “Right now.” He slapped my ass, never losing his rhythm. With him still pounding into me, I picked up the phone. “Dr. Ashton’s office.” I answered breathlessly. “How may I —” I held back a moan. “How may I help you?” “Hi, my name is Hannah Yates. I was hoping to reach Dr. Ashton about my appointment this evening. I wanted to let him know that I’d be coming a little earlier, and if that would be okay?” “It’s more than okay,” he whispered into my ear. “Tell her it’s more than okay.” “Um, ma’am, it’s —” I bit my lip as his thumb massaged my clit. “I’m sure that will be more than okay. I’ll let him know. Have a great day.” “No, wait! Could you also tell him that I’m open to talking about my sex life? Tell him he can ask me those questions this time, so it won’t be awkward.” I nodded, as if she could see me, unable to say anything as my body began to tremble and shake. “Hello? Are you there?” “Are you, Dr. Madison?” He kissed my neck. “Are you there?” “Yessss....” I moaned and dropped the phone, falling forward against his desk. He caught me before my face could hit the wood, and then he picked up the phone himself. “Miss Yates, this is Dr. Ashton, are you still on the line?” He pounded into me harder as he found his own release, holding me against him as he kept his voice calm as ever. “Yes ...Yes, I was telling Dr. Madison that would be completely fine, so you don’t have to —” He kissed the back of my neck. “You don’t have to check later ... Okay ... Yes, that offer still stands ... Right ... Okay, see you then.” He hung up the phone and slowly pulled out of me before laying me against the chaise. He took off the condom and threw it away, then he walked back over to me and helped me back into my dress. He looked at me, slightly concerned. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. I’d never been fucked like that before, and I was pretty sure I would be replaying today in my dreams for months to come. “Are you planning to stay the rest of the day, or —” He looked at his watch. “Is it almost time for you to pretend like you have an emergency with ‘Shan-Shan,’ so you can leave and keep applying to Manhattan Medical?” “No, I ...” My cheeks reddened. “I wasn’t going to pretend.” “So, there is an emergency?” “No,” I admitted. “But there could be in a few minutes. You never know.” “And is ‘Dirty Doctor’ what you call me behind my back?” He looked somewhat amused. “I have a different nickname for you, actually.” “Care to tell me what it is?” “Never.” I smiled. “But if you’d like me to change it, you can drop the alpha-asshole thing as of today and try to be a bit more romantic.” “And if I don’t?” “You don’t want to know the answer to that, but it includes the return of email-only conversations.” “Hmmm.” He adjusted my bra and stood up to buckle his pants. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Madison. Enjoy the rest of your day. No questions asked.” “Really?” He nodded and walked to the door — holding it open for me. “Really.” I stood up and immediately grabbed the side of the chaise for balance, feeling just how weak and sore my legs were. I caught Garrett smiling as I slowly wobbled toward him. Holding back his sarcasm, he pressed a kiss against my forehead before I stepped out of the room. “See you tomorrow.”
THE DOCTOR New York, New York Garrett
Subject: Thank you for the chocolate covered strawberries you had delivered yesterday. I didn’t get a chance to see you at the office today, but I loved them. (Yes, that counts as being more ‘romantic’. The extra note about really enjoying how my pussy feels against your cock does not, though. O_o. ) —Dr. Madison
I laughed and set my phone down. I shut my office door and headed down the wing, making sure everything was dark and in its place. The light at the end of the hall in the study room was still on, so I walked toward it, and when I stepped inside, I saw Natalie was reading and sipping a cup of coffee. She immediately looked up at me and blushed. “I thought you were gone for the day.” “Not yet.” I pulled out the seat across from her. “What are you studying?” “The London family case,” she said. “They came up in research last week, so I pulled their files from your archives. You’ve been treating them for a long time and I found something odd. Something really odd.” “Is there a question coming?” “Maybe.” She picked up a few other files. “There’s actually something off about twenty percent of all your patients.” “I’m still waiting for the question.” “Every time I drop off certain files at the desk, they come right back within an hour, unmarked. There’s no payment method on file — yes, I
checked illegally, but only because I was investigating.” She looked at me. “This month, not a single payment has been made for any person you’ve seen. Are you trying to go bankrupt or are you really just that generous behind closed doors?” I smiled, but I didn’t answer. “We’re talking about a loss of over two hundred thousand dollars here,” she said. “You can afford to lose that type of money?” “It’s not a loss, but even if it was, yes. My father’s generosity rubbed off on me,” I said. “I run the practice the same way he did for the most part.” She stared at me a long time before saying anything else. “Dr. Ashton —” “Garrett.” I corrected her. “I believe we’re definitely on a first name basis now.” “Yes, well, Garrett. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t necessarily strike me as the super-philanthropist type at all.” “What exactly do I strike you as?” “An asshole.” She laughed and I narrowed my eyes at her. “An attractive and charming asshole, though.” She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Good to know.” “Thank you for that backhanded compliment.” “You’re more than welcome,” she said. “But in all seriousness, it’s very sweet of you to follow in your dad’s footsteps.” “Thank you.” I looked at her. “I take it my practice wasn’t your first choice for completing your residency?” “You weren’t even on my list, no offense. Only Manhattan Medical, as that’s just always been my dream.” “You’re still holding out hope of going back there?” She nodded. “Not as a slight against you, though. It was just —” “Your dream.” I leaned forward and kissed her lips, catching both of us off-guard. “Let me know when you have some free time in your schedule outside of the office soon. I really need to talk to you about something that’s been bothering me about ‘us’ for awhile.” “Are you ending things with me already?” She looked suspicious. “Is that what this is?” “No.” I kissed her again. “We’re just getting started.”
THE RESIDENT New York, New York Natalie
Subject: Your Manhattan Residency Application. I stared at that subject line Monday morning, too anxious to open it, too nervous about what it would say. I distracted myself by opening every other email in my inbox — including the spam ones I never opened, and then I braced myself for the big reveal.
Subject: Your Manhattan Residency Application. Dear Miss Natalie Madison, Thank you for applying to the Manhattan Medical Residency Program. We truly appreciate your enthusiasm for our mission. However, we regret to inform you that we are not able to extend you an offer for our program at this time. Please feel free to call our office if you have any concerns, and feel free to apply again during the next term. Human Resources, Manhattan Medical.
I forced a lump down my throat, and I didn’t let a single tear well in my eye. It just wasn’t meant to be for me, and besides, I was starting to truly fit in and fall in love with a certain doctor here at Park Avenue Wellness anyway. I’ll just be happy and grateful for that ... I deleted the email and left the break lounge, heading back to my shared space with Garrett. I picked up the appointment cards from Emily on the
way and cleared my throat as I stepped into the office. “Dr. Ashton?” I asked, walking over to his desk. “Yes?” “Um, have you looked at the schedule for the day?” I handed it to him. “This can’t be right. It’s a brand new patient and they’re booked for all three of our morning sessions.” “No, it is.” He looked over the sheet and handed it back to me. “This is exactly correct.” “It can’t be,” I said. “There’s not any information on this patient in our system. All we have are the patient’s initials: F.N.A.M. Is this code for an old friend of yours, then?” “No.” He laughed and locked the door. “And those letters aren’t patient initials. They’re an acronym.” He pressed a finger against my mouth before I could ask another question. “Fucking Natalie All Morning.” I blushed. “Does this fall under you being more romantic as well?” “No, just horny and insatiable.” He laughed and pushed me against the desk.
THE DOCTOR New York, New York Garrett
Subject: You Have to Tell Me Something Important? I rushed all the way here when I got your voicemail, so I’m sitting in your office now. Where are you? —Dr. Madison
Subject: Re: You Have to Tell Me Something Important? I’m in a meeting. I’ll be with you in a few, and it’ll only take five minutes. —Dr. Ashton
“Well, Dr. Ashton ...” Dr. Laurel sat at the center of the conference table, flanked by every doctor who had a stake in the practice. “On behalf of everyone else here, I’d like to say we appreciate you for bringing this ‘relationship’ to our attention, and I respect you more and more every day by the fact that, even as majority owner, you truly put what’s best for the practice first.” There were murmurs of agreement from the other doctors. “That said, the rules we agreed on when we came aboard are quite simple. No doctor can engage in a relationship with any employee here, no matter their employment status or level, so you already know that one of you has to go.” “I do.”
“I’m sure I don’t have to guess which one of you it’s going to be, but since this will affect our residency program, you’ll be responsible for working with the coordination team and getting a replacement for Dr. Madison.” “Understood.” I started to stand up from the table, but she raised her hand. “And also —” She let out an exasperated sigh for dramatic effect. “You do realize that we have spent over four thousand dollars on your Twizzler supply over the past year, correct?” “I did not know that.” I headed for the door. “But now that I know, I’ll aim to get it to five thousand.”
THE RESIDENT New York, New York Natalie
I leaned back in Garrett’s chair, waiting patiently for him to see me and roll his eyes about it, but when he entered the room, he looked as if someone had sucked the life out of him. “Is something wrong?” I sat up. “Did you want to see me because something has happened to you?” “Something like that.” He walked around the desk and pulled me to my feet, sitting down in his chair and then pulling me into his lap. “I have some good news and some bad news, Natalie.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “What do you want to hear first?” I shook my head. I was suddenly having a bad case of déjà vu and I didn’t like the episode I starred in last time. “I’m sorry.” I stood up. “What did you say?” “I said I have good news and bad news. Pick which one you want first.” “The bad news.” “Okay.” He paused for a few seconds, pulling me right back down. “I have to let you go from Park Avenue Wellness. Effective immediately.” “What?” “For the record, I think you’re very talented, beyond intelligent, and you were literally born to practice medicine, but —” “You’re firing me?” My eyes widened. “I just had sex with you less than twenty-four hours ago, and came all the way here to talk to you on my off-day. This is what you brought me here for?” “If you would let me finish ...” “I don’t have to.” I shook my head. “Are you firing me — yes or no?” “Yes and no.”
“Wow. Just wow.” I crossed my arms. “You know, for a split second, I really thought that you and I could potentially work out. I’ve actually hoped that you would one day say that you wanted to date me and only me, but I would’ve never guessed that this is what you had up your sleeve.” “I’ll address our personal life in just a minute.” “We won’t have a personal life after we get done with this conversation.” “I beg to differ.” “Then I look forward to seeing you do that on your knees later.” He had the audacity to smile. “Can I finish now, or is there something else your smart-ass mouth would like to say, first?” “There’s something else.” I gritted my teeth, lowering my voice as a nurse walked by his door. “I’ve fucked you, Garrett. Numerous times.” “I can vividly remember each one.” “You’ve had me in your car, on your chaise, all over this office and you ...” I could barely find the strength to finish. “I actually thought I meant something to you.” “You do.” He clasped his hand in mine. “And as much as I would like to hear you talk more about all the places we’ve had sex, I do have a patient coming to see me in twenty minutes, and I did promise you that our meeting would only take five minutes.” I looked away from him and stared out the window, waiting for him to say whatever he had to say. “Natalie ...” He cupped my chin in his hands and tilted my head so I was facing him again. “I asked Manhattan Medical to consider you for their program again, and they’ve agreed to work with us again so you can go back.” “What?” “I had the chance to go where I wanted to complete my dream residency, and as much as everyone loves having you here, I think you should have the chance to do the same.” My jaw dropped. “Oh ...” “Yes, oh.” He smiled. “This has been in the works for the past few weeks when I saw you moping after you returned from lunch with your friend, but I can’t lie and say that’s the sole reason I worked hard on this deal.” “Then what’s the other reason?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t focus for shit with you sharing an office with me.” He trailed his thumb against my bottom lip. “I can barely focus knowing you’re in the same building as me, and this is a way to remedy that.” “Is that so?” “Yes.” He mocked me. “Yes, that is very so ...” He leaned forward and bit my lip, then he whispered. “And I think this arrangement will work out even better for us, since I don’t think I should work directly with a woman who I want to be mine.” “Say that again ...” “You heard me.” He smiled. “I would really like to date you.” “Exclusively?” “Exclusively.” “Well ...” I bit my tongue to prevent myself from smiling. “I have some demands before I can agree to that.” “I would be surprised if you didn’t. List them and I’ll think about it.” “One, you have to delete all of those other dating sites you once told me about.” He reached into his pocket and handed me his cell phone. “I’ve already done that.” “Two, we can’t just have sex all the time. We have to go out to places outside your office.” “We can do that. Three?” “Three, you have to tell me ‘the good news.’ If that was the bad, then I’m really excited about it.” “You shouldn’t be.” He smirked and picked up a piece of paper, handing it to me. “The good news was that I priced those vases that you knocked over and broke a few weeks ago during your tirade in my office. The good news is also that I received a very affordable invoice that will replace said vases and the Twizzlers.” I gave him a blank stare. “You owe me two hundred and eighteen dollars, along with thirty-four cents. That covers everything, including four bonus packs of Twizzlers,” he said. “Now, I can deduct this from your final check that you’ll be receiving today, or I can fuck the shit out of you on my chaise until you apologize for the damage.”
“Garrett,” I said, somewhat concerned about this sweets addiction. “Are you joking right now?” “Not at all.” He smiled and leaned back. “What’s it going to be?” “Well, they’re both quite appealing, but I think I’ll go with option two.” “I thought so.” He kissed me. “I’ll cancel my appointment. Get up and lock the door ...”
A FEW YEARS LATER...
THE RESIDENT (Well, THE DOCTOR because I’m licensed now) New York, New York Natalie
Subject: Anniversary. I truly can’t believe that I’ve been dating this man for over four years...Can you? I got your “Congratulations” card this morning, and I’ll bring you back a dessert from our celebration dinner later. Goodnight. Natalie
Subject: Re: Anniversary. I can definitely believe you’ve been dating ‘this man’ for over four years. The way the two of you have kept me up almost every night with your ridiculous fucking has made time go by ever too slowly for me... Don’t bring me back any dessert, just give me some sleep by spending the night at his place tonight. PLEASE AND THANKS! Goodnight. Shan-Shan
I laughed and slipped my phone into my purse, looking over at Garrett as he coasted through Manhattan’s streets. “Are you going to continue to insist that we go to Per Se for every milestone and celebration?” I asked.
“Yes.” He smiled at me. “I think it’s important that we make this a tradition.” “Or, your ego still has yet to recover from me standing you up, years ago,” I said. “It was years ago, Garrett. I really think it’s way past time for you to get over it.” “I am over it.” He placed his hand on my thigh. “Do you not want to go there anymore?” I didn’t bother answering that. He knew that I loved everything about Per Se, especially since he’d made it his personal mission to take me there once a month ever since I returned to Manhattan Medical. “You have yet to answer my question about moving in with me,” he said when we approached a stoplight. “You said you would decide right after you became licensed, so speaking of things that happened years ago...” “I’ve only been licensed for one year.” “That doesn’t change the fact that you promised to give me an answer.” He pulled the car into a spot the restaurant owner had long designated just for him. “I need an answer, Natalie.” “Right now?” I’d been leaning toward yes, but I honestly enjoyed the state of our relationship as it was. Now that I was licensed and had steady working hours, I met him at his office for breakfast every morning, saw him for regular date nights every weekend, and he didn’t seem to have a problem staying the night at my place more than I stayed at his. Until recently, that is. “Okay...” He turned off the car and cupped my face in his hands. “What’s holding you back from saying yes?” “Commitment,” I said softly. “Commitment? I’m only dating you, and I’ve only been dating you for years.” “No, I mean...More than that.” I admitted. “Moving in together is a big step, and I would just want to be engaged at least before doing that.” “I see...” He let go of my face and leaned back in his seat, sighing. Then he unbuckled his seatbelt. “In that case,” he said, smiling and tapping a small box that was protruding from the inside of his breast pocket. “I fully expect a ‘yes’ after dinner tonight...Two of them.”
**THE END**
COCKY CLIENT
COCKY CLIENT SYNOPSIS Today is officially the worst day of my life ... I woke up five hours late after a reckless one-night stand with the sexiest, cockiest, and most arrogant man I’ve ever met. (And this asshole actually left a note: “I think you were lying to me last night about being “experienced.” You orgasmed three times, and that was before we made it to your bedroom. I also find it hard to believe you “usually wear silk lingerie.” Your drawers are all full of cotton granny panties—The best man you’ve ever fucked ...”) My top two clients from my PR company went to my number one competitor, my roommate ‘accidentally’ bleached my favorite suit, and my favorite coffee shop was shut down for “health concerns.” Still, none of those things dimmed my excitement for what was supposed to be the best four o’clock signing session of my career. I was on the verge of signing the highest paying client in my company’s history, taking on a so-called “impossible” job that no publicist had been able to handle. But at four o’clock, there was no athlete, television personality, or celebrity. Instead, that sexy, arrogant one-night stand stepped into my office with a familiar smirk and introduced himself as my new, cocky client ...
THE CLIENT RYAN There was an art to being a perfect client—a delicate balance between getting what I needed, and ensuring that I was “progressing” behind closed doors in whatever way the publicist needed. Or so I’d heard. Today marked the two-month term for my current publicist and she was glaring at me from across my desk—looking as if she was struggling to get a single word to fall out of her mouth. “Is your throat dry, Heather?” I pointed to the glass of water between us. “Is that why you keep clearing it?” “I keep clearing it because I’m hoping that what I’m about to ask you isn’t true.” She picked up the glass and drank half of it in one gulp. “A reporter from The New York Times called me at three o’clock this morning to inform me that someone you used to date—” “I’ve never dated anyone.” I interrupted her. “Fine.” She held up her hands. “Someone you used to screw. Better?” “Much better.” “Anyway,” she said, “she apparently is sitting down with one of his colleagues to do an expose piece on you, the man who still refuses to sit down and do interviews with reporters himself.” “I highly doubt she has any valuable information.” I leaned back in my chair. “I don’t typically talk about my personal life with whomever I happen to be fucking.” “Well, that’s good to know.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “This expose piece is a deeply personal one, and she’s using it to let the public see what type of man you really are behind closed doors. She’s provided them with some of the text messages you’ve sent her in the past.” She put on her reading glasses and looked at her notebook. “Here are the top four messages: One, I’m looking forward to fucking your mouth this weekend.
Two, How wet is your pussy right now? Three, I’m impressed by the way you swallow. Four, Tell me how wet your pussy is right now.” I smiled. “What’s the problem?” “The problem is that your company is hoping to launch a global initiative within the next two years. You can’t afford any more press like this, so I’ve alerted your CFO and he’s agreed to pay them a sum to kill the story.” “So, once again, what is the problem?” “You need a new publicist.” She stood to her feet. “I’m done as of right now. Thank you very much for hiring my firm and taking a chance on me and my vision for you.” “You’re very welcome.” I stood up to shake her hand. I’d been in this position far too many times before to ask her any further questions, to wonder if something could’ve been done differently, or to even care about her abrupt resignation. The second she left my office, I’d have another publicist walking into the building to take her place. “I wish you all the best, Mr. Dalton. I truly do,” she said. “I hope you find the right firm who’ll be better equipped to handle your account and your huge—” She glanced at the crotch of my pants and blushed. “Ego.” “I will.” I let her hand go. “Best of luck to you, Heather.” Still blushing, she glanced at my pants one last time before walking out of my office. The second the doors shut behind her, I picked up my phone and called my personal assistant and secretary, Linda. “Yes, Mr. Dalton?” she answered. “What do you need?” “I need you to get me a new publicist. Heather just quit.” “How shocking ...” “What did you just say?” “Nothing at all!” She changed her tone. “I’ll go through your requirements and get you someone new right away.”
Four months later ...
Subject: A “Pleasure” + My Resignation Dear Mr. Dalton,
I would love to say that it’s been a “pleasure” working for you, but that would be a lie. You are, without a doubt, the worst client I’ve ever had. I honestly find it quite sad that women in this city flock to you like flies and act as if you’re some type of God. (You’re not.) And after your most recent scandal (that I unfortunately cannot deal with at all) I highly doubt any publicist in this city will want to work with you. I quit. Violet Sanders Embassy PR
Two months later ...
Subject: A Notice & Your Most Recent Interview Dear Mr. Dalton, We appreciate the “experience” we’ve had during our past few months of working with you, but to be quite blunt: We can’t take this shit anymore. The live Today Show interview you did Saturday morning was the last straw. (Do you have any idea how long it will take the American viewing public to forget you saying that “fucking” is your favorite hobby? Hint: FOREVER.) We are done. Veronica & Michael Welch PR
Six months later ...
Subject: I QUIT. THAT. IS. ALL. Eva Daniels Avenue PR
I debated whether I should respond to the latest publicist’s email, but I was slightly pre-occupied by the sight of my brother, Leo, frantically pacing around my office like a lunatic. It was moments like this that made me wonder how the hell we were related, how the hell he ever became my “calm and collected” CFO. “I can’t believe this, Ryan.” He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Another publicist quit on you? This time within her first two weeks? Do you have any idea how this is going to look to the board when they find out?” I didn’t answer. He always tended to ask four or five questions in a row before giving me a chance to answer one of them. “You are the CEO of a billion-dollar real estate corporation.” He said the words as if he couldn’t believe them himself. “You are a billionaire.” “That was more than implied by your first sentence ...” “I just don’t understand you sometimes.” He looked at me like I was deranged. “You have the world at your fingertips, but you’d rather risk it on stupid shit that brings you negative attention. I’m honestly starting to wonder if you care anymore. Like, do you wake up first thing in the morning and think to yourself, how can I possibly make my public image even worse today?” “I’m usually thinking about pussy first thing in the morning. I don’t typically have any other thoughts when I wake up.” He stopped pacing and glared at me. “You’ve been through thirteen publicists this year alone and thirty-six total over the past four years. Do you have any idea what that means?” “This city clearly needs better publicists.” “It means that, once again, we have to delay our global initiative efforts and our stock options because there is no way in hell Wall Street will have anything to do with our brilliant, yet embattled CEO. It also means ...” I stopped listening. My brother overreacted to everything and our views on the company couldn’t have been more different. True, over the past few years, my public persona had taken on a life of its own, but the press made it ten times worse than the reality. Yes, I once partied like there was no tomorrow. Yes, I once fucked a different woman every week—almost every day for a couple of years. And yes, I tended to say whatever came to my mind during press interviews, but after the two decades of nonstop work
and sweat equity I’d put into making this company what it was today, I more than deserved it. And as of seven months ago, I actually hadn’t had sex or partied once since The New York Times decided to run a different version of that “explosive” sexting article. (That, and the board made me sign a sevenmonth agreement that promised no public social outings while my image recovered.) “I can’t get a single PR firm past the word ‘Hello’ when I tell them I’m calling about representation for you.” Leo was still talking. “Now, I’ve done my best with the board in practically begging them not to ask that you resign from your own company, but I don’t know if I can do much more.” “What?” I was paying full attention now. “What did you say about me resigning?” “Look.” He sighed. “You’re one scandal away from them asking you to step down as CEO. You’d still have your stock options, they’d send out an amicable press release to make it seem like it was your idea, and the company will still technically be yours, but ...” “But what?” “But this is getting very tiring. You’ve become quite impossible to deal with and I say that as your brother, with much respect for all you’ve done for me and the company.” “The company I started.” “The same company you need to be held accountable for.” He walked over to my desk and set down a sheet of paper. “I’ve managed to get them all to agree to hold off on pushing you to resign, unless you commit something else egregious—a la saying you enjoy ‘fucking’ on live television.” “I was answering the question honestly.” “Of course, you were.” He rolled his eyes. “This is a list of the remaining, reputable PR firms in this city. Do me a favor and call around to see if one is willing to take you on. If you can, lie about who you are and only use your initials and an LLC.” “Any particular reason why Linda can’t do this for me?” “Not at all.” He tapped his chin. “Well, unless we account for the fact that she’s currently dealing with tying up the loose ends from the last publicist who just quit you minutes ago, and you can’t afford to lose her
right now.” He walked toward the door and then looked over his shoulder. “Oh, and one last thing. Because I know you and I know how you think—” “You don’t know how I think at all.” “I noticed that you had today’s date highlighted on your digital calendar,” he said. “I couldn’t help but realize that it correlates to the last day in your seven-month ‘no-partying’ agreement with the board.” “It also correlates with my birthday.” “Your birthday was yesterday,” he said, his voice firm. “They’re going to redraft that agreement and ask you to re-sign it Monday. If you do choose to go out this weekend and break your self-imposed no-sex rule, I highly suggest that you don’t make the most of it.” “I won’t.” I will ...
THE PUBLICIST PENELOPE I stepped out of a town car at Broadway and Fifth Avenue, juggling my umbrella and coffee in one hand and my clients’ files in the other. Today marked the eighth day in a row that heavy rains had fallen over this city, and I was beginning to regret not renting office space closer to my apartment. “Good morning, Miss Lauren.” The concierge greeted me, as he pulled the door open. “Good to see that you’re two hours early as always.” “Good morning to you as well, Oliver,” I said, smiling. “You know I’m allergic to being late.” I walked inside and hit the button for the elevator, taking it straight up to the seventh floor. The second I stepped off, I stared in awe at the shiny, silver plated lettering that hung high above my double doors: Penelope Lauren & Associates. My firm was one of the smallest public relations companies in Manhattan, and our clients were mostly mid-level athletes, local celebrities and colleges, and a few Wall Street assholes who were incapable of keeping their cocks in their pants. Every now and then, we’d land a huge account but they’d eventually be lured away by the brighter lights of a larger firm. A firm with more staff, bigger resources, and other big name clients that I could only dream about landing. Still, with only six years under my belt, I was proud of how much my team of five and I had accomplished thus far. I unlocked the door to my office and started my morning ritual: Listen to thirty minutes of an audiobook, respond to all the important emails, and vow to give two hundred percent effort for the rest of the day. I read through my current clients’ files—making sure I was on schedule for
everything they needed, and by the time I finished, my secretary, Tina, was setting a fresh cup of coffee on my desk. “Good morning, Miss Lauren,” she said. “I’ve got your daily updates.” “Great.” I looked up and motioned for her to take a seat. “I’m listening.” “Mr. Bradley of V-tech wants us to write his speech for that ribbon cutting ceremony next week. He wants it to be ‘beautiful, poignant, and humorous, all at once.’ And in addition to requesting our help with press interviews, he also wants us to get him a beautiful redhead for a date. He’ll settle for a brunette, but no blondes.” “Have Jenna get me a first draft of the speech by tomorrow and have Bob arrange four interviews with the local stations. Then kindly tell Mr. Bradley that we are not a match making service. He can find his own date.” “Got it.” She scribbled in her notepad. “On to a quick client update: New York University wants to extend their account with us for another six months. Hilton wants a phone call at the end of the month to discuss local rebranding and um, Taylor Carew ...” She mumbled the rest of her sentence. “Could you repeat the last thing you said?” I asked. “I didn’t quite catch that.” “Taylor Carew is ending his account with us effective immediately. He sent us a ‘Best of luck’ fruit basket, and he’s officially leaving us for—Well, you know.” “Drew & Associates?” She nodded and my blood began to boil. Drew & Associates was run by the one and only Sebastian Drew. He was one of the biggest “trust-fund entrepreneurs” and assholes in this city. He was also, unfortunately, my exboyfriend. I picked up my phone and dialed his number, demanding his secretary put me straight through to him. “He’ll be with you in two minutes, Miss Lauren.” She, at least, had the decency to sound sympathetic each time I called. It almost made me forget that she’d betrayed me by leaving my firm to join his. Almost ... “Were those all the updates for today, Tina?” I placed my hand over the receiver. “Actually, no.” She stood up and handed me a pink post-it. “We’ve been getting random calls all week from a guy who claims he needs
representation, but he won’t give us any information about himself.” I raised my eyebrow. “What do you mean?” “He called and said, ‘I need a publicist. I highly suggest you accommodate me.’ I told him I’d call him back, but I couldn’t because he wouldn’t give me his phone number. So, he called again a couple days later and before I could say a word, he said, ‘I’m doing your small firm a favor by even considering you for this. You need to accommodate me’.” She rolled her eyes. “At first, I thought it was Mr. Drew playing a prank on us since the guy continuously refused to fill out our pre-screening questionnaire, so I told him we charged two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a month per client.” “Let me guess. That was when he finally came out and admitted he was hired by Drew to harass us?” “No ...” She pointed to her pink post-it. “He paid it. For a whole year.” “What?” I gasped, as I read over her scrawled note. Anonymous, unsigned client deposited three million dollars into our account this morning ... I didn’t get a chance to completely process my thoughts before Drew’s familiar voice came over the line. “Good morning, Penelope!” he said. “How may I help you on this lovely day?” “For starters, you can stop poaching my goddamn clients.” “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa! Such colorful language.” He laughed. “It’s a bit too early for that, don’t you think?” There was a smile in his voice and I wished I could reach through the line to swipe it right off his face. “You don’t need any more clients and you certainly don’t need mine, Drew,” I said. “You’re only doing this to get back at me.” “That’s not true at all. I’m hurt that you would even think that about me.” “Then stop doing this.” I tried to keep my voice firm, to keep my true emotions from showing. “Stop going out of your way to lure my clients to your company six months after they’ve already signed with me.” “I really think you need to rethink your baseless accusations, sweetheart.” “I’m not your sweetheart anymore.” “Oh, that’s right. You rejected me in front of three hundred people at our engagement party.”
“Because you cheated on me.” I still couldn’t believe he wasn’t over this. That he refused to own up to the true reason behind our break-up from years ago. “You. Cheated. On. Me.” “I cheated one time, Penelope. One time.” I gritted my teeth and grabbed a stress ball from my drawer. There was no point in going down this road of conversation with him right now. It never ended well for either of us. “Now, perhaps you don’t remember the promises we made to each other at one point in time,” he said. “But I do. We were supposed to be Drew & Lauren Associates and we were going to run this city together.” “Those promises were made null and void the moment you let your college intern wrap her mouth around your cock.” I shook my head at the memory. “And for the record, you were caught once. You slept with her far more than one time.” “This is a classic case of ‘he said, she said.’ As a fellow publicist, you know the true details are clearly fuzzy after all this time.” He let out a light laugh and I almost screamed. “Nonetheless, I’m not doing this to get back at you. I’m doing this so you can finally put your pride to the side and join me. And maybe, just maybe, when you come to your senses, perhaps you can forgive me and we can pick up right where we left off. We can be Drew and Lauren Associates forever. What do you say?” I hung up. There was no way in hell I’d go back to him, let alone join his firm. I opened my inbox, ready to get to the bottom of the random, three-milliondollar deposit, and noticed there were two new emails from my best friend, Sean.
Subject: Please Get Rid of Your Goddamn Roommate ... I’ve asked this before, but I’ll ask it again: Why can’t you just put Sarah out? Surely you can find someone else in this city who can afford to split your overpriced rent. Someone who doesn’t insist on imposing her ridiculous germaphobe issues on me each time I come over, and someone who isn’t currently accusing me of leaving “micro crumbs” on your kitchen counter. Thanks in advance.
Sean
Subject: Seventy Sad Months and Counting ... This is your monthly reminder that you haven’t slept with anyone since Drew, and that’s why you’re stressed out and obsessed with your work all the time. If you weren’t like a sister to me, I’d sleep with you myself, but for the umpteenth time: You need to get laid. BADLY. Please do it this month so I won’t have to email you about this next month. (It’s getting really sad.) I can suggest some clubs and pay my sister to help you dress if you like ... Sean PS—I’m not kidding about your roommate. GET. RID. OF. HER. NOW.
I laughed and minimized his email, opening the firm’s bank ledger in a new tab instead. The three million dollars was confirmed, and the bank was requesting an immediate meeting to file tax paperwork. The name on the deposit was simply, “R.D. LLC” and a myriad of companies with those initials popped up on my screen when I hit search. There was no actual “RD LLC” by itself and no business in this city was currently operating under that name. I called Tina’s desk. “Yes, Miss Lauren?” she answered on the first ring. “Tina, has this mystery client ever sent us an email that we can possibly track?” “No, he’s only called and the number he calls from goes straight to a hotel,” she said. “I’ve checked. He usually calls us at noon every day, though.” I glanced at the clock. It was only ten. “What exactly did he say the last time he called?” “Um, well, after I told him about our fake fee, he said he’d call for a meeting with the director Monday. Are we really going to charge him two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a month?”
“Depends on who he really is and all he might require from us,” I said. “If he’s that high profile, we might have to hire more staff and get more resources to get things done, you know? Let me know when he calls again.” “Will do.” I hung up and tried to think of who the hell in this city could afford to drop three million without much thought. Anyone who would bother going to a small firm instead of one of the big three: Embassy, Welch, or Avenue. Or hell, even Drew’s firm ... As I was scrolling through another page of RD LLC listings, a new email from Drew appeared on my screen.
Subject: Maybe you’re right ... I’m going to poach every client of yours until you come to your damn senses, Penelope. You know you can’t run a firm on your own for too much longer, especially without me. I’ll be here whenever you’re no longer solvent, whenever you realize that your clients will always go with me over you. (But they can get both of us whenever you’re ready.) Forgive me and join me before I change my mind, sweetheart, Drew. PS—Reply to me. You know you want to :-)
Ugh! I deleted his email and pulled up Sean’s last message for a reply instead.
Subject: Re: Seventy Sad Months and Counting ... I’ll end my streak this weekend. You and your sister will really help me? —Penelope
Subject: Re: Re: Seventy Sad Months and Counting ... Absolutely
THE CLIENT RYAN I stared outside the window of a town car Sunday night, hoping tonight would end better than the night before. I could still hear my brother’s laughter ringing in my ears and I needed more than a few drinks to silence it. Last night, when I was mid-Jameson and contemplating which woman at the bar I was going to approach, he’d sent me a panicked text message: PLEASE HELP ME, RYAN! GET TO MY CONDO NOW! EMERGENCY! PLEASE! I wasted no time rushing to get to his place—even calling security when I was en-route, but the second I arrived, I realized what was really happening. It turned out the “emergency” was me, and Leo was just ensuring that I didn’t spend my evening “in a club getting in trouble.” Instead, he preferred that I hang out with him and his wife while they watched awful movies on Netflix and burned endless bags of popcorn. I’m not falling for that shit tonight ... “You said Club H2O, correct, sir?” My driver interrupted my thoughts. “Yes, Miller.” “Well, we’re here.” He pulled the car to the curb. “What time would you like me to return?” “I’ll let you know,” I said, opening the door. “Wait, one thing.” I caught his eyes through the rearview mirror. “I know it’s been several months since I partied like used to, but did you honestly ever think I was out of control?” He laughed. “I think I know better than to give you a true answer to that.” You just did ... “Thank you, Miller.” I stepped out of the car and headed to the club’s entrance, skipping everyone in line.
“We weren’t expecting you tonight, Mr. Dalton.” The security guard pulled back the velvet rope. “Would you like to speak to the manager?” “Not at all. I won’t be here too long.” I walked inside and headed to the bar, finding myself face to face with the manager anyway. “Mr. Dalton?” She blushed as she extended her hand. “I would’ve had your VIP booth ready for you if I’d known you were coming. We don’t usually offer those on Sunday nights, but I can make an exception, if you like. I can have someone clear it out right away.” I started to tell her not to worry about it, that I was only going to drink two drinks at the bar and go home, but I glanced at my usual spot and saw a sexy ass woman in a bright blue dress. A woman who was making every man around her stop and stare. She was, hands down, the most stunning woman I’d ever seen, and I was shocked I’d never met her before. Looking out at the dance floor with her emerald green eyes, her auburn colored hair was pulled low in a ponytail, and she was biting her bottom lip as she nodded to the music. When the DJ changed the song, she stood up and motioned for a waitress. The longer she stood there waving her hand, the longer I stared at the way her tight dress perfectly grabbed her hips. The way her ruby red lips complemented her beautiful eyes. “I can have her removed from your booth, Mr. Dalton,” the manager said. “Just say the word and I’ll have security remove her ASAP.” “I’ll move her myself,” I said, watching her sit down again. “Can I have a Jameson first, please?”
THE PUBLICIST PENELOPE I was going to kill Sean if he didn’t get to this club soon. After taking me out to buy a thin, backless blue dress this afternoon and watching his sister perfect my make-up for over three hours, he’d promised that he wouldn’t leave me hanging for my first attempt at a one night stand. Where the hell is he? I sat through two more songs before finally pulling out my phone and calling him. “Hey, there!” he answered. “Where the hell are you?” “Me? Where the hell are you? I’ve been here for two hours.” “Two hours?” He was yelling over the music. “Where are you sitting?” “On the couch in the reserved section.” I stood up so he could see me. “One of the waitresses let me sit in VIP when I told her my heels were killing my feet. How lucky am I?” “Very lucky, since Club Water doesn’t have a VIP section ... Seriously, Pen. Where are you?” “Club Water?” I shook my head. “Sean, you said Club H2O. It’s in every single text message you sent me, and all day today you kept saying Club H2O.” “Ohhh, damn ...” He laughed hysterically. “Sorry about that.” “You don’t sound too sorry.” “I’m really not.” He laughed again. “You want me to come there or do you want to come here? Sundays at H2O are pretty hit and miss.” “I’m just going to go home after the next few songs,” I said. “I promise I’ll try this again next weekend, but it’s already one o’clock and my feet are practically dead anyway. Please don’t hate me.” “I would never.” He sighed. “I’m going to hold you to that promise next weekend, though. Text me when you make it home.”
“Will do.” I ended the call and requested another glass of wine. If Sean was right about this place being “hit or miss,” tonight was definitely the latter. Even though quite a few men approached me on the dance floor earlier, every single one of them reeked of desperation. That, or they gave off the questionable vibes of a potential serial killer. “Nice section you have here in VIP, Miss.” A grey-haired man who looked old enough to be my dad sat down next to me. “Mind if I take a breather with you?” “Not at all.” I smiled at him. “Are you here alone?” he asked. “I am,” I said, figuring he was simply waiting for his partner. “Where’s your date?” “I don’t have a date.” He licked his lips. “Until now, that is. Tonight must be fate for the two of us. How lucky are we, huh?” “I’m sorry, what?” “Fate.” He smiled. “I don’t want to be alone tonight, and you don’t look like you want to be alone either.” My brain couldn’t process my thoughts fast enough for me to respond. He scooted even closer to me and lowered his voice. “I saw you on the dance floor earlier,” he said. “I was keeping my eyes on you because you’re a really good dancer. And the way you moved those hips, I think I would like to watch you forever.” Get the hell up and run, Penelope. Get the hell up and run right now ... I ignored my brain, selfishly thinking of how badly my feet were still hurting. I looked away from the man and stared at the people who were still on the dance floor, hoping he would get the hint. He didn’t. He touched my bare shoulder, forcing me to look at him again. “So, why is someone like you alone?” he asked. “You’re way too beautiful for that.” “Oh, wait. Did I say I was alone?” I shook my head. “I must have thought you asked me something else. I’m not alone at all. I’m here with someone.” “No, no, no.” He moved even closer, looking as if he could see right through my lie. “You definitely said you were alone. I’m harmless, I swear. I’m here for the exact same reason you are.” “What reason is that?”
“Sex with someone who can handle me, of course.” He licked his lips in the most disturbing way I’d ever seen, letting a string of saliva drip onto his chin in the process. Then he picked up my heels and set them in the small space between us. “I can play your little game if you want, though. If you’re not here alone, who are you here with?” I glanced around the room, looking for someone—anyone, that would help get this man the hell away from me. I spotted a man staring at me from the bar, but before I could motion for him to walk over, a man sat down on the other side of me. He was scrolling through his phone—looking completely oblivious to the club scene, so I turned around to face him. “Oh, there you are!” I said loudly. “I didn’t even see you sit down!” I pulled his head close to mine and kissed him, damn near gasping when he began kissing me back. Then he forcefully commanded my tongue with his and bit my bottom lip before slowly pulling away. Catching my breath, I felt my eyes widening when his striking blue eyes settled on mine; when I realized that he was sexier than any man I’d ever met in my life. I could literally stare at you all day ... “Ugh. Okay, you’ve made your point.” The older man groaned and stood up to leave, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the stranger I’d just kissed. “Is this normally how you greet men you don’t know?” he asked, a slight smirk on his lips. “Just so you’re aware, the word ‘hello’ is more than enough.” “Um ...” I was absolutely speechless. His eyes were gleaming beneath the bright lights and he had dimples in both of his cheeks. The custom fit of the navy-blue suit he was wearing made it perfectly clear that there were perfectly toned muscles beneath it, and the cut of the diamonds in his designer watch let me know that he had to be from Wall Street. “I was just trying to get another guy to leave me alone,” I said, finally finding my voice. “He didn’t seem like the type I wanted.” “How unfortunate.” He gazed at my lips. “What type do you want?” I hesitated before answering, watching him set a shiny placard on the VIP table. “My usual type,” I said finally. “Your usual?” He raised his eyebrow and that sexy smirk returned to his lips. “What does that mean?”
I tried to remember what Sean and his sister said about striking up conversations with sexy strangers. Something about not coming off shy, something else about seeming confident and experienced. Think of something an experienced person would say ... “I’m saying that I do this often enough to know exactly what I like in a guy that I’d want to um ... A guy I’d want to—” “Fuck?” “Yes ...” I could already tell that this man was beyond cocky. That he knew just how damn attractive he was and he knew how to use his sexiness to get exactly what he wanted. “I see.” He let out a low laugh and brought his glass to his lips. He took a sip and signaled for the waitress. “How may I help you?” A woman in a black dress walked over immediately. “Since my new friend here took over my usual, private VIP couch for longer than she was supposed to, can you bring over a bottle of whatever she’s having?” I wasn’t supposed to sit here that long? My cheeks flushed pink. “I can do that,” the waitress said, eyeing me with disdain. “What were you drinking, Miss?” “It was just Moscato,” I said softly. “I’m a lightweight.” I heard the stranger letting out another low laugh as she walked away and I turned to face him. “I’m so glad I could be your entertainment tonight.” “As am I,” he said, his eyes locking on mine. “I’m Ryan.” “Rachel.” I quickly gave him my “one night” name, per Sean’s instructions. “Okay, Rachel,” he said my name as if he knew I was lying. “You never answered my question.” “Which one?” “The one about what type of guy you want.” “You don’t need to know. I’ll know him when I see him.” “Tell me.” He insisted, moving a bit closer to me, as the waitress set down a fresh bottle. I froze, completely unsure of what to say. “Is your ideal type a guy who’ll take you home and fuck you until you can’t take every inch of his cock anymore?” he whispered into my ear. “The type who will devour your pussy until you come against his mouth?”
I felt my cheeks heating. “You did not just ask me that ...” “I did,” he said. “You started our meeting by skipping the ‘Hello,’ so I think we can skip right past the bullshit question and answer phase.” His eyes were still on mine. “Tell me what you want.” Everything you just said ... “A gentleman,” I said, lying to both him and myself. “Someone who will make love to me and slowly take off my usual lingerie while he kisses every inch of my skin. Someone who will say sweet things before and while he’s having sex with me.” “If you were after that,” he said, trailing his fingers against my lips. “You would’ve actually worn lingerie—or something, under your dress.” He glanced down at the top of my dress, at my nipples as they hardened through the fabric. “So, clearly that’s not what you’re after tonight. And even if it was, you would’ve gotten up the second I started talking to you.” “You’re saying you’re not a gentleman?” “I’m saying I’m not going to bullshit you.” He poured me a glass of wine. “And I’d appreciate it if you did the same.” I stared at him as he stared back at me, as everything in my body begged me to end my long drought of sexless nights and sleep with him. He handed me the wine and he watched me as I took my time sipping it, as I let four songs play before I finally made up my mind. “I have some conditions before I can ask you to leave with me,” I said. “I’m listening.” “One, you can’t stay the night.” “I never do.” “Two, you can’t have my phone number.” “I don’t recall asking for it.” “Three, you’ll have to let me lean against you when we leave.” He looked confused and I picked up my shoes. “I’m not going to be able to get all the way home in these heels without leaning against someone.” “Understandable,” he said, smiling. “This is when you’re supposed to tell me that you want me to leave with you.” “It was implied.” I blushed. He smiled and pulled out his phone. “How close is your place?” “Close enough for us to walk. It’s in SoHo.”
“I think you need to re-learn the definition of pretty close.” He looked at me like I was insane. “SoHo is a half-hour walk away, at best.” “No, it’s only twenty minutes.” I wasn’t sure why his brand of arrogance was such a turn-on. “Are you saying you won’t walk home with me?” “Absolutely.” He held his phone up to his ear. “Miller, would you come to Club H2O and pick up me and—” he paused, smiling, “my new friend, Rachel. I need you to take us to her place in SoHo.” He spoke a few more words into his phone before ending the call and looking at me. “He’ll be here in two minutes.” He leaned over me and grabbed my heels. I held out my hand so he could give them to me, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept them and slid his hands underneath my thighs and lifted me up, tossing me over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” I asked, beyond wet and turned on for some reason. “Exactly what you asked.” He carried me out of the VIP section, past the dance floor, and out of the club. Outside, he carried me to a waiting black town car and placed me onto the backseat. He sat next to me and shut the door behind him. “What’s your exact address, Miss Rachel?” The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, and it took me a few seconds to realize that by saying “Rachel” he was referring to me. “2000 Lafayette,” I said. “Got it.” He rolled up the partition and pulled into the traffic. I felt Ryan staring at me and looked over at him. “I take it that you do this type of thing often?” “Not as often as you,” he said. “At least, not recently.” “Well, maybe when you reach my level of expertise, you’ll realize why it’s rude to just pick up someone and carry them out of the club without warning.” “I personally think you enjoyed that.” “No.” I smiled. “I definitely didn’t.” Before I could say anything else, his dominating mouth was on mine and he was pushing me down against the leather seat. I shut my eyes as he kissed me harder than I’d ever been kissed before, as he slid his hands against my bare thighs.
It had been so long since I’d been touched, that I was reveling in every brush of his skin against mine. And with each commanding roll of his tongue against my lips, I wondered why a kiss never felt this intense with any of the boyfriends I’d had in the past. Why nothing they did even halfway compared to what this man was doing to me right now. Palming my breasts through my dress, he groaned as I gently bit his bottom lip and playfully tugged at his belt. The car continued to cruise against the bumpy streets of Manhattan and every now and then I felt his hardened cock through his pants, rubbing against my thighs. My eyes fluttered open each time because I just knew his cock couldn’t be that huge. This has to be my imagination messing with me.... When I noticed that the car had finally come to a stop, his lips were still attached to mine, and my hands were in his hair. I was murmuring as he continued to tease my thighs with his touches, and I was on the verge of insisting that we finish this on the backseat. It wasn’t until a series of car honks that he eventually tore away from me and helped me to sit up. Adjusting my dress, he stepped out and held the door for me, once again carrying my shoes. I walked the few steps to the front door of my brownstone, fumbling for the keys. I managed to open the door in record time, and the second I stepped inside the apartment, he pushed me against the wall and we picked up right where we left off seconds ago. He lifted my leg around his waist and continued controlling my mouth with his, not missing a single beat. “Where do you want me to fuck you?” he whispered against my mouth. “My bedroom.” He unzipped the side of my dress and it fell to the floor in a pool of blue silk. He kissed his way down to my neck, to my chest—sucking one of my nipples between his lips. Moaning, I attempted to tell him where my bedroom was, but he returned to my mouth, rendering me completely useless with his kisses all over again. He slid his hand between my thighs and pressed his thumb against my swollen clit, rubbing it in slow torturous circles. “Ah ...” I cried out. “Ah ... Wait.” “For what?”
I bit my shoulder to prevent myself from crying out even louder, and he kept his rhythm, using his hips to pin me against the wall. To prevent me from moving away. My breathing slowed and my pussy began to throb against his hand as he slid two thick fingers deep inside of me. Just as I was getting close to the edge, he moved his hand and whispered into my ear, “Are you sure you’ve done this before?” I nodded, incapable of doing much else. “Hmmm.” He pulled me over to the couch. “I think I need to do something before we go to your bedroom.” “Something?” I asked as he pushed me back onto the cushions. “Something like what?” “Like fuck your pussy with my tongue until you come in my mouth.” He spread my legs and got down on his knees. “That is what you said you wanted, correct?” I didn’t get a chance to answer him. He buried his head between my legs and sucked my clit between his lips, making me scream out in pleasure. I grabbed his hair, to try to get him to slow down, but it was no use. He put one of my legs over his shoulder and took his time devouring my pussy with his mouth. I shut my eyes as I surrendered complete control, as I realized that I was going to let this man do whatever he wanted to do to me for the rest of the night ...
THE PUBLICIST PENELOPE The next morning ...
I rolled over in bed, groaning as every single muscle in my body ached in pleasurable pain. My legs felt as if they were too weak to stand on, as if they had yet to recover from Ryan fucking me against my dresser, my wall, and the edge of my mattress. My lips were sensitive and sore from the way he’d bitten them—when he made me beg him to fuck me harder. And my nipples were numb from the way he’d sucked them while I rode his cock during our final round. I wasn’t sure when he’d left or when he’d dressed me in a T-shirt and tucked me into my bed, but a part of me was wishing I’d broken my second rule and given him my phone number so we could do that all over again. Unable to sit up, I dozed off to memories of him fucking me—smiling each time he buried his head between my legs and teased me with his mouth. After replaying our wall sex for the fifth time, I rolled over to the other side of my bed and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I was still confused about the client who was coming in at four o’clock and I was hoping someone on my team would have some answers so we would be somewhat prepared whenever he came in. I should definitely pick up some breakfast before going in today ... I unlocked my phone’s screen and saw that my inbox was full of similar subject lines: “Where are you?” “Are you okay?” “What’s going on?” “The concierge is going to call the police if you don’t let us know where you are by three ...”
Confused, I opened the first message and started to type back. Then I noticed the time. It’s one o’clock? “What the fuck!” I stumbled out of bed and damn near fell to the floor. There was no way it was one in the afternoon. The sky outside my window was still dark, the usual ‘it’s five o’clock and I’m super early for work’ dark. I pulled the curtains open and noticed the ominous clouds in the sky above. Traffic was at a mid-day standstill and the rain was falling over the city in sheets. Shit. Shit. Shit ... I sent Tina a quick “I’m on my way. Bad morning. Sorry,” text message. Then I texted our town car driver and told him I’d need a ride to work in thirty minutes. Tossing off my T-shirt, I wrapped myself in a towel and headed to the bathroom. I tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Sarah?” I knocked. “Sarah, are you in there?” “I’m actually right here.” She stepped in front of the door, swinging a key. “You had a new lock installed on our bathroom?” I really needed to replace her with another roommate. Fast. “Yes, I did have a new key made for our bathroom. This is our bathroom, isn’t it?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Just me and you.” “What are you trying to say?” I crossed my arms. “Actually, can you hold that thought and just unlock the door, please? Surely we can discuss whatever the issue is after I get off work later today.” “Nope.” She continued swinging the key. “Your guy friend doesn’t need to use our bathroom when he comes over anymore. That goes for your other friends and work buddies as well. We just completed a new study in my lab about the danger of visitor germs.” You have got to be kidding me right now ... “Who knows what type of mutated germs they carry, you know? They all travel somewhere new every month and I never hear them talk about fully cleaning their possessions upon their return. I mean, I’m not paying twenty-five hundred a month to deal with your guests’ germs. Also, speaking of your guests, I couldn’t help but notice that you brought someone home with you last night.”
I tried my best to keep a straight face, to look like I was taking her foolishness seriously. “My music was on its highest volume, but I still overheard you having sexual relations in our living room,” she said. “You had them on the couch, the wall, and the carpet, so I’ve called a deep cleaning service to come here this evening. I expect to be fully repaid by the end of the week for the four hundred dollars this will cost, and from the way things sounded with that guy last night, I hope you plan on getting your mattress steamed. Do you?” I didn’t answer her. I snatched the key from her hand and unlocked the bathroom door, quickly shutting myself inside. I heard her continuing her pointless speech through the door, so I stepped into the shower and turned up the water pressure as high as it could go. Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm my nerves as I washed my hair. All hope is not lost, Penelope ... The new client meeting isn’t until four and you can definitely get to work by two to prepare ... I stepped out of the shower minutes later and headed into the laundry room to get my lucky “signing day” suit. I’d never failed to secure a deal while wearing it, and I always kept it dry cleaned and tucked away for special days like today. Hitting the lights, I expected to see it hanging high on the clothing rack as usual, but it wasn’t there. It couldn’t have been there because in its place was a similar suit that bore discolored, ugly blotches of white and pink. A suit that looked as if it’d lost a long and hard battle with a bottle of bleach. “Sarah!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Sarah!” “Yeah?” She called back. “What?” “What the hell happened to my grey suit?” “I don’t really know,” she said. “I saw it a few hours ago and realized I must have accidentally bleached it. Sorry.” I shut the door and headed toward her voice, straight to the kitchen. I silently counted backwards from ten before speaking, to prevent myself from completely losing it. “Sarah, that was my lucky suit and I only wear it on signing days,” I said. “Today is a signing day.” “Oh. Well, that sounds somewhat exciting,” she said dryly. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “Because I need you to kindly tell me how you accidentally bleached a ‘dry-clean’ only suit.” My blood was boiling. “It’s always in a plastic bag,
and there is always—always, a bright red ‘DRY CLEAN ONLY’ tag hanging from it.” “I guess I don’t really know.” She shrugged, smiling. “How do you bring someone home and accidentally forget to clean up when you know damn well that your roommate is a germaphobe?” I resisted the instant urge to lean over the counter and strangle her, but only because I didn’t have any more time to waste. I can totally do it later ... I rushed to my room and flipped through the other suits in my closet, settling on a black dress and blazer combination. Searching for my lint brush, I pulled my dresser drawer open and noticed there was a folded paper tucked into the side of my mirror. This definitely wasn’t here yesterday ... Confused, I opened it and saw a handwritten note in bright, blue cursive:
Rachel, I think you were lying to me last night about being “experienced.” You orgasmed three times, and that was before we ever made it to your bedroom. I also find it hard to believe you “usually wear silk lingerie.” Your drawers are full of cotton, granny panties. —The best man you’ve ever fucked (Thank you for that compliment afterward, even though I already knew that ...) PS—For the record, your pussy is quite phenomenal.
UGH!
I rolled my eyes and tucked his smart-ass note at the bottom of my drawer, realizing he was right about my nonexistent panty collection. I slipped into my dress and heels, and pulled my hair into a low ponytail. I put on a light layer of concealer and lip gloss, then I grabbed my briefcase and umbrella.
Leaving the condo, I walked halfway down the block to my favorite coffee shop. It was the one place that never failed to instantly turn my dreariest days into my best days with its custom caramel drizzle latte. I pulled on the door handle, but it didn’t give way. I pulled it even harder and peered inside to see that the café was empty, but the lights were on. Since when do they close early on Mondays? I walked to the other entry door and spotted a pink sign in the window.
This establishment has committed HEALTH CODE VIOLATION 78512. CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
“Didn’t you hear?” A woman pushed her stroller next to me. “It’s pretty disgusting how badly they failed the inspection.” “No ...” I sighed. “I don’t even want to know what happened.” “They had a cockroach infestation. It was so bad, that they were grinding some of the dead roaches into the coffee beans.” She smiled and held out her phone. “There’s a pretty funny YouTube video about it. See?” I immediately walked away from her and headed toward my place. This day can’t possibly get any worse ... I waved down the approaching company town car and slipped into the back seat. The driver gave me a sympathetic look, but he didn’t say anything. He simply let his soft music play over the speakers. Scrolling through my inbox, I answered what emails I could and called Tina. “Yes, Miss Lauren?” she answered. “Can you give me the daily updates? I’ll be there soon, but I’m in midday traffic.” “Sure thing.” Papers shuffled in the background. “Well, I have good news and bad news.” “Go with the bad news first so we can get it out of the way.” “We lost two clients, Michael Pilot and Liam Johnson, to Drew and Associates, as of this morning.”
“Of course, we did.” I shook my head, debating whether I should ask the driver to turn around and take me back home so I could sleep the rest of this terrible day away instead. “But there’s good news!” She exclaimed. “I found a few viable references for our mystery RD LLC client.” “Okay, great. Who are they?” “The Welch Group, Embassy PR, and Avenue & Associates.” “He’s been with all of them already?” I scrolled through my list of contacts. “When was this?” “He didn’t say, and I figured you would want to be the one who called to ask questions.” “Got it,” I said. “Thank you, Tina.” “You’re welcome. See you soon.” I ended the call and tried to think about who this guy could possibly be, if he’d already dealt with three of the biggest firms in this city. I was hoping he was a high-profile athlete who was trying to turn his career around, or maybe one of the many newly displaced Los Angeles celebrities who were attempting to start fresh in New York. Smiling at the possibilities, I dialed my contact at The Welch Group first. “Veronica of The Welch Group speaking,” she answered on the first ring. “Who is this?” “Penelope of Lauren & Associates,” I said. “I hope I’m not reaching you at a bad time.” “Not at all, Penelope. What do you need?” “I have a question about a potential client who listed you as reference. He listed himself as RD LLC, so I was wondering if—” She hung up in my face. Seconds later, she sent me a text message.
VERONICA: I have absolutely nothing to say about that client. EVER.
“Okay, then ...” I scrolled down and called my contact at Avenue PR.
“Eva of Avenue PR,” she answered. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with today?” “Hey, Eva. It’s me, Penelope at Lauren & Associates. I’m calling to see if you can give me any information about a former client of yours.” “Sure. Which one?” “He hasn’t given his name yet, but he came to us under RD LLC.” Silence. “Hello?” I asked. “Hello? Eva, are you there?” “Yeah, I’m here.” “Well, um ... Can you tell me anything at all about this client?” “I can tell you that he would have to pay me a million dollars a week to work with him again. I can also tell you that if you’re smart, you’ll reject him the second he brings his special brand of assholery through your doors.” I sighed. “Anything more concrete than that, maybe?” “You’ll see.” She hung up and I didn’t bother calling the other reference. By the time I arrived to the office, it was two thirty and my staff had already set out the snack trays and flower bouquets for our trademark client introduction meeting. I unwrapped a fresh pack of fountain pens and placed them at the center of the conference table. “Did anyone have any luck finding out anything about our incoming client today?” I stepped into our break room. “Anything at all?” The majority of the team shook their heads, but Bob raised his hand. “I did,” he said pulling a mini notepad from his back pocket. “This detail is from Heather at Ransom & Company. And I quote, ‘He’s sexy as hell and I wish I would’ve fucked him before we parted ways. But I would never work with him again’.” He closed his notepad. “Oh, and apparently he has a ‘huge cock’ that she used to stare at from time to time during their strategy meetings.” “Thank you so much, Bob.” I rolled my eyes. “That really, really helps.” “You’re welcome.” He laughed. “Do we honestly care what this guy does, though? He gave us three million dollars in advance, and last time I checked, that’s enough to keep us afloat for a while, especially since Drew is relentlessly poaching from us again. As long as he’s not a crime boss or a murderer, who gives a damn?”
The rest of the staff murmured in agreement and I returned to the conference room. I watched the secondhand tick by on the wall clock—half excited, half worried. Please don’t be a crime boss ... Please don’t be a crime boss ... Four o’clock passed. Then four thirty. Then five. Then finally, five thirty. Convinced that today’s signing session was some type of elaborate joke, I pushed my chair up to the table and headed into my office. I decided to work on the files for our clients who existed in real life, and when six thirty arrived with no sign of RD LLC, I called the bank. I needed to make sure the manager froze that three million until further notice. The receptionist was putting me on hold, when a loud knock came to my door. “Come in!” I said, and Tina stepped inside my office. “Um ...” She cleared her throat, and I noticed her cheeks were a bright pink. “Our potential client just got here.” What? “Does he know that he’s two and a half hours late?” I hung up the phone. “Go ahead and send him in.” She walked out and the door opened seconds later. I forced myself to smile, prepared my lips to say, “Hello and welcome to Lauren & Associates,” but the second the “client” stepped into my office, I felt all color leaving my face. “My apologies for being late,” he said. “My board meeting was—” He stopped mid-sentence and stared at me, letting that familiar, sexy smirk from last night slowly form on his lips. Today he was wearing a three-piece black suit with a sapphire blue tie, and he looked even sexier than he did last night. As he continued to look me up and down, I bit my lip to prevent my jaw from dropping—silently hoping the floor would suddenly open beneath my feet and swallow me whole. “I was told this was someone named Penelope’s office.” He stepped closer to my desk, his eyes moving from my face to my silver nameplate. “Last night, you told me your name was Rachel. Did you not?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. —” I stood up and extended my hand to him, “What exactly is your name, sir?” “My name is the same as it was hours ago when we were fucking,” he said. “Ryan. Dalton is my last name, though.”
“Well, it’s nice to finally get an actual name from you, Mr. Dalton,” I said. “And it’s very nice to meet you for the very first time in my life, because we have never met before this exact moment in time. You can have a seat.” He smiled his perfect pearly whites and sat in the chair. Tina walked in and set a few glasses of water and a fruit tray on my desk before leaving us alone again. “Mr. Dalton, is there any reason why you didn’t tell us exactly who you were instead of using a coded LLC name?” “There are plenty of reasons.” His eyes met mine. “Before I go there, though, is your real name Rachel or Penelope?” “It’s Miss Lauren.” “Okay, Miss Lauren,” he said. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had the best luck with publicists in this city and my reputation tends to precede me everywhere I go. I wanted a chance to introduce myself personally instead of letting the words of the tabloids and the press do it for me.” He leaned back in the chair and it suddenly hit me. Ryan Dalton of Dalton International Estates and Realty. The self-made real-estate tycoon and owner of over a hundred commercial properties and vacation properties. A revered billionaire, yet a complete and utter playboy. I’d never paid too much attention to the tabloids or the lifestyle section in the newspapers, but I’d heard stories here and there about certain socialites who made me happy that I didn’t have to represent billionaires or clients who attracted such a high level of media scrutiny. “Are the images of last night finally coming back to you?” he asked. “Is that why you’re staring at me?” “Nothing happened last night. If it had, I think I would remember it.” “You don’t remember orgasming five times?” “No.” I blushed. “Let’s get back to talking about you.” “I left you an important note on your dresser.” “I never got it.” “You never got it, or you never read it?” “Both.” He laughed his deep, sexy laugh and stood up—pulling an envelope from his breast pocket. “These are my terms. I need you to agree to them before we can go any further with talks.”
“What?” I was confused. “You’re asking us to represent you and you think that you can set the initial terms before we even get to the real initial terms? With all due respect, that’s not how the client-publicist relationship works. We need to talk now.” “We can talk after you sign my NDA.” He pushed the envelope closer to me. “You also need to agree to comply with my company’s representation terms for legal reasons. Surely you can understand why someone like me would need that.” “Right ...” I stared at the envelope and stood up as well. “So, honest question. Why did you even bother requesting a signing meeting if you knew you were only going to drop off a stifling stipulation contract?” “Well, for one, I’ve already paid you three million dollars for your services.” He looked amused. “Two, I like to personally meet whoever I’m going to be dealing with, to ensure that they possess the proper temperament and stamina to handle me.” He looked me up and down again, sending my nerves into a frenzy. “Although, if I had known I would be meeting you again, I would’ve been more than aware that you’re capable of handling every inch of me. Repeatedly.” “Mr. Dalton ...” I hated the way my body was reacting to him right now. “I really would prefer if we at least talked a little bit today. This just isn’t how I normally do business with my clients.” “Are any of your normal clients paying you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a month?” I didn’t answer. “Then I think I’m more than worthy of an exception,” he said. “Read the contract. If you’re open to accepting the terms, meet me at my Manhattan headquarters tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock. The address is stapled to a business card I’ve included and we can discuss things in my office where there’s actually more than ten square feet.” He looked around my office. “I think the terms are quite fair, so I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow, Miss Lauren.” I still didn’t answer him. “Should I assume that you’re going to continue to pretend as if we’ve never previously met?” “We haven’t.” I crossed my arms. “I’ll look at the contract and tell you my decision either way, Mr. Dalton. Have a great day.”
He smiled and looked me over one last time before walking out of my office, placing the final cherry on top of what was now officially the worst day of my life.
ONE DAY LATER
THE CLIENT RYAN There has to be a way I can get out of these boring ass meetings ... I pretended to pay attention as the members of my board discussed the same ten topics they’d discussed for the past two months. Global Initiative. Press Plan. Stock Options. Repeat. It was as if they needed to incessantly reassure themselves that they’d voted to do the right thing, and I was wondering if I could go back in time to when I was nineteen years old and turn down their start-up funding. I poured myself a cup of coffee as the financial officers began reading their monthly report, letting my thoughts drift to the only thing I was truly able to focus on this morning: Penelope. Images of her puffy red lips and that black dress she was wearing yesterday were replaying in my mind every five minutes. They’d seamlessly joined the images from the night we ‘didn’t meet,’ when she rode my cock for hours and let me fuck her against her bedroom wall. I loved the way she screamed my name when we fucked ... “Are we boring you, Mr. Dalton?” The lead board member, Nathaniel, interrupted my thoughts. “I’m scared to ask whether you’ve been paying attention to anything we’ve said.” “You should be,” I said. “I’ll look at my brother’s notes later to see if anything new was said today.” “Ugh ...” He groaned. “Plenty of new things were said, but we’re making sure that we are all on the same page in regards to the global initiative. You know, that initiative we hope to launch as soon as possible, as long as our beloved CEO can make a needed turn around with his public image.” “Your beloved CEO refuses to make any promises.”
His face reddened and he looked as if he was going to launch into one of his usual, “You are so damn impossible” tirades, but my brother held up his hand. “I’ll be happy to let you all know that Ryan is meeting with a brand new public relations firm today,” he said. “He’s assured me that they seem like a perfect fit for him.” “Like that means anything.” Nathan mumbled. “Same shit, different day. They’ll quit like all the others, and my money is on two weeks. Max.” There were murmurs of agreement around the table, and Leo shot me a “Please don’t fuck this up” look. Thankfully, he steered the subject toward our goals for the rest of the year and brought the meeting to a much-needed close minutes later. As the board members filed out of the room, he motioned for me to stay behind. When the last of the members was gone, he let out a breath and loosened his tie. “What’s the name of this new firm you’ve hired?” “Penelope Lauren and Associates.” “Hmmm. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them.” He pulled out his phone and tapped his screen a few times. Then he rolled his eyes and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Ryan, this firm isn’t even in the mid-level class of PR firms, and they have a staff of five. Well, six if you include the founding partner.” “I’m very impressed with your reading abilities. Please read me some more.” “It takes ten people to handle the logistics of a single month for you,” he said. “Twenty when you start talking about multiple conferences and travel plans. So, please don’t tell me that this is the only firm you could get on the phone.” I didn’t answer. We both knew that was the case. “What about Drew & Associates?” he asked. “I found them yesterday and they’re almost a first-tier firm that seems to be doing pretty well.” He grabbed a pen and scribbled a few words on the back of a business card. “Whenever this Lauren & Associates firm realizes they can’t handle you, which will probably be minutes after meeting you, give this Drew firm a call.” “Good to know you have good faith in my decision-making skills.” “I only have faith in your business decisions, not your personal or publicist ones. Speaking of which, where were you Sunday night? I didn’t
see you at the Oasis ribbon cutting ceremony.” I smiled, but I didn’t answer. “Ryan,” he repeated, looking confused. “Where were you Sunday?” “You told me to stop telling you about my sex life months ago. I’m remaining silent because I’m honoring that request.” “Jesus Christ ...” He held up his hands in a mock surrender and headed toward the door. “You’re lucky I’m your brother and CFO.” “I’m well aware.” I tucked the Drew & Associates card into my pocket and headed to the elevator, taking it straight to the top floor. “Good morning, Mr. Dalton!” Linda greeted me as soon as I walked by her desk. “Your eleven o’clock just made it through security downstairs. Should I have her wait a bit when she arrives to our floor or send her right in?” “You can send her right in,” I said. “Did the interns set up the coffee bar and contract tools like I asked?” “They did, sir.” “Good. Thank you.” I let myself into my office with my keycard and looked around, making sure everything was exactly how I preferred it. Then I realized, once again, that my office alone was twice the size of Penelope’s entire firm. I wasn’t sure why I appreciated the fact that her staff didn’t immediately start giving me a rehearsed pitch like the other firms, but I found that quite refreshing. Not only that, but not a single one of them sent me a string of follow up emails with that annoyingly familiar and overused, “So glad you came to see us today!” subject line. I walked over to my windows and pressed a button—forcing the curtains to draw open and expose a gray and rainy view of Manhattan below. I pushed the coffee cart over to my desk and picked up two cups for me and Penelope. As I was setting out the sugars, Linda’s voice came over my speakers. “Miss Lauren has arrived to the floor,” she said. “I’m sending her in now.” “Thank you, Linda.” The door opened seconds later and Penelope stepped inside wearing a light beige dress that made me completely forget what the hell we were supposed to be talking about. Her full lips were painted in the same ruby
red lipstick she was wearing when we first met and they perfectly matched the apple colored heels she was wearing. I could literally stare at you all day ... “Good morning, Mr. Dalton.” She walked over to me and extended her hand. “Good morning, Miss Lauren.” I shook her hand and resisted the urge to pull her closer to me and initiate a much-needed round two. “You can have a seat now.” “You have to let go of my hand first.” I let it go and waited for her to sit down before doing the same. I watched as she pulled a few colored folders from her briefcase and set them on my desk. She bit her bottom lip and mumbled a few words to herself before looking up at me. “Would you like some coffee before we begin?” I asked. “No, not at all. I don’t plan to be here that long.” “Excuse me?” I raised my eyebrow. “Did you need more time to read over my terms?” “No, I read them all just fine.” She slid the yellow folder to me. “Here’s the non-disclosure agreement you asked me to sign, so no worries. If another firm calls to ask me about you, I won’t dare tell the truth or let them know that you’re practically a borderline psycho.” This better be some type of joke ... “Come again?” “You heard me.” She opened another folder, a blue one. “I spent all night researching you and your issues before I read over your terms, so I find it quite ironic that you’re the one who needs a firm to help clean up your public image and work on your behalf, but the things you’re demanding make that completely impossible. In fact, most of what you’re requesting is worth far more than three million dollars, and I can now see why you paid it upfront.” I started to ask what the hell she was talking about, but she continued to speak. “First of all, you demand that we don’t book you for any interviews, and you refuse to practice getting any better at them?” She flipped a page. “This is coming from the man who said he can’t live without ‘fucking’ on live morning television last year? I don’t think so.” “Furthermore,” she said, talking a mile a minute, “I’m not sure why you think you’re above attending strategy sessions with the team, but I’ve never
allowed any client to skip those and you won’t be the first. Huge bank account or not.” “Okay, Penelope, Rachel—whatever you want your name to be today.” I’d had enough of this shit already. “You can get the hell out of my office now.” “I can get the hell out when I’m finished.” She glared at me, parting her sexy ass lips and I lost my next words. At that moment, Leo stepped into the room, but he didn’t make his way over. Instead, he simply stood by the door and stared at us, staying far out of Penelope’s view. “Second of all,” she said, looking down at her folder once more. “You demand that someone from my team be available on a twenty-four-hour basis to personally make your coffee, ensure your dry cleaning is handled, and fetch your breakfast and lunch whenever you ask for it. That is never happening at Penelope Lauren & Associates. We are not interested in being a second branch of personal assistants for you.” “Did you miss the part where I said you could get out of my office?” “Third ...” She ignored me. “You have some nerve to make a list of over fifty ridiculous demands that must be met on a weekly basis. They’re so beyond realistic, that I’ll be surprised if any firm agrees to this.” She tossed the folder onto my desk and narrowed her eyes at me. “Even though this has made me see that you are unbearably cocky and impossible, I’ve done you a favor and made a list of things that I think will help soften your image over the next few months. I’ve also printed out the definitions of a few important terms you should know whenever you start searching for your next PR victim.” I wanted to interrupt her never-ending rant, but I was aroused with every word that fell from her ruby red lips. “Finally,” she said, standing to her feet. “I wish you all the best in your search for a publicist, Mr. Dalton. And so we’re clear on the last checkbox of your term sheet, I’ll verbally confirm it as you require: No, I will not represent you, and no, I will not agree to agree to any of your outlandish rules. Also, for the record, no I did not receive your handwritten note.” She finally took a breath. “I’ll be sending you a refund of your payment later this afternoon.” “I personally think you should keep it,” I said, standing. “Maybe you can use it to buy some actual office space.”
“I’d prefer if you used it to buy some damn manners.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I liked you a lot better in my apartment, when I didn’t know who you were.” I liked you a lot better when my cock was buried inside your pussy ... Before I could get a chance to say those words aloud, Leo walked toward us—clapping as if he’d just witnessed a real-life drama. “Please don’t go, Miss.” He extended his hand to Penelope. “My name is Leo Dalton and I’m the CFO here. I’m also, unfortunately, Ryan’s brother.” She looked back and forth between us before shaking his hand. “I’m Penelope Lauren.” “Well, nice to meet you, Penelope,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re not having a better introduction to Dalton International Estates & Realty. I would love to give you a formal tour and talk to you about our company, if you’re up to it. I would also really appreciate it if you allowed us to start over.” “There’s no need to start over,” I said, pulling out the business card he’d given me earlier. “Miss Lauren clearly doesn’t want to play by our rules and we have another option we can call.” Leo snatched the card from my hand and ripped it to pieces. “Miss Lauren, if you don’t mind, can I speak to you alone so we can try to agree on some new terms? I’ll gladly welcome your input and I’ll be very grateful for the opportunity.” He looked at me, daring me to interrupt his words. ‘The tour will only take fifteen minutes and we can talk briefly afterwards in the board room. Just me and you.” “I would love a tour,” she said. “Can I step outside and make a phone call first?” “Absolutely.” He smiled at her. “Thank you, Miss Lauren.” “Goodbye, Miss Lauren.” I couldn’t help myself. “Mr. Dalton.” She gave me a look and left the room. When the door closed, Leo picked up one of the folders she’d left behind. “You’ve been taking your own terms and stipulation contracts to the PR firms? I don’t recall anyone here helping you draft these.” “That’s because I drafted them myself.” “I see ...” He put on his glasses and read my words aloud. “Clause Four: The representative company for the client will ensure that he is not subject to any bullshit meetings. Bullshit meetings include, but are not limited to:
strategy sessions, interview preparations, or press readings.” He tossed the folder to the floor and looked at me. “If those are your terms, what’s the point in hiring a PR company at all?” “You tell me.” “You really are a piece of work,” he said. “But you know, I really like Miss Lauren—small firm or not. She’s the first person I’ve ever seen stand up to you.” “She’ll also be the last.” “We’ll see.” He picked up the folder labeled, “Ways to Better Mr. Dalton’s Image” and headed to the door. “Wait, one last thing. She mentioned something about you leaving her a handwritten note. What is she talking about?” “A note she definitely read and received. She’s fucking with me by denying it.” “Forget I asked.” He walked out of my office and I grabbed the last of Penelope’s folders. The one that read “Definitions for Mr. Dalton.” I flipped it open and saw she’d written definitions, but they were her own interpretations in regard to me:
Mr. Dalton, There are three terms and definitions you need to know before you start your next search for a publicist and I’m happy to spell them out for you below:
PUBLICIST This is what you need, Mr. Dalton. This is a person who can HELP you look like less of a cocky asshole to the press and your peers. This is also a person who you have to take direction from, not vice versa. (They run YOU. You don’t run THEM.)
MAGICIAN This is what you need to FIND. This is the only person who can honestly help you right now ...
COCKY, IMPOSSIBLE, ARROGANT CLIENT No words are necessary for this one. The picture below should sum it all up for you.
My picture ...
THE PUBLICIST PENELOPE “Here is where you’ll be free to bring your staff to the property for onsite staff meetings whenever necessary.” Leo Dalton showed me into a massive meeting space that was at least three times the size of our entire firm. “If you follow me across the hall, I’ll show you our world class spa and fitness facility that you’ll be free to use whenever you’re here as well.” I smiled and tried my best to look like I was giving him my full attention, but all I could think about was Ryan. How when I first stepped into his office, I had to completely resist the urge to tell him to take me against his desk and fuck me again. How my panties were instantly wet the second his dimples gave way with his smile. How his jaw clenched when he realized I was going to reject his offer ... Despite the fact that the man was practically walking sex, his contract was nothing but red flags from the very first page. I knew the moment I read over it last night that there was no way I could agree to it. Three million on the line or not. “Do you have any questions for me, Miss Lauren?” Leo led me onto the elevator. “Not at the moment,” I said. “I really appreciate the tour.” “I’m glad to hear that.” He took off his reading glasses and let out a breath. “I have to be honest with you for a minute, Miss Lauren. I didn’t have much faith in a small firm handling Ryan well, and I figured you’d be out the door within minutes of meeting him. But before I walked in on you two, I’d called around this city to get references from both your current and former clients. They all had nothing but great things to say, and a couple of your former ones even admitted that they regretted leaving you.” He paused. “That said, I’m assuming you’re looking to become a larger, full service firm in the future?”
“Yes, definitely.” “Good.” He led me off the elevator and into the glittering lobby. Then he glanced at his phone. “I tell you what, Miss Lauren. I’ll draw up exactly what me and the board are going to need to see from Ryan over the next ninety days, and then I’ll send a temporary contract to you tonight. You can email and call me with your concerns at any time, but I’ll need an answer about the job in a week. Fair?” “Almost,” I said honestly. “If you’re going to insist on a temporary contract, we need to renegotiate the financial terms for tax purposes. He already paid us for the year, which I’ll happily refund. I just don’t want to keep more than what you’re willing to pay for a shorter time.” “How much has he paid you?” “Three million.” “That’s it?” He looked offended. “We’ve spent more than that killing negative press. I’ll double that for the ninety days.” “What?” I was certain I misheard him. “I’ll double it.” He smiled. “I’ll be sure to get the first draft of the contract to you tonight. My apologies for not being able to sit down with you anymore. I have to go put out another fire.” “I understand.” I shook his hand. “Thank you for the tour, Mr. Dalton.” “I’ll accept your ‘thank you’ after you accept my offer.” He laughed and returned to the elevator. When the doors opened, Ryan stepped off and immediately stopped walking when his beautiful eyes met mine. I tried to turn away from him and rush out of the building, but I couldn’t will my feet to move. He made his way over to me, giving me a look that made me wet all over again. “I would say that I look forward to potentially working with you, Miss Lauren,” he said, “but that would be a goddamn lie.” “I feel the same, Mr. Dalton.” I ignored my frantic heartbeat. “I can admit that it was a pleasure seeing you again, though.” “It was a pleasure seeing you underneath me two nights ago,” he said, his voice low. “It’ll only be a ‘pleasure’ for me if that happens again.” “I can promise it won’t.” “Then that’s too bad,” he said. “Because once again, I think you’re lying to me. This time it’s about not receiving my note.” He leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “I’d be more than happy to leave you another one ...”
I stepped back once I realized I was on the verge of giving in to him again. “I hope you find whatever person you keep talking about, Mr. Dalton. Have a great day.” I turned away and rushed out of the lobby before he could respond, realizing that new terms or not, the tension between us was going to make this job more than impossible. *** Later that night, I sat on my couch with a glass of wine in hand—reading over the new terms for the umpteenth time. The board of Dalton International Estates & Realty only want me to complete three main things over the next ninety days: 1) A successful press tour for Ryan without incident, “since he’s the face of our company and everyone loves a ‘changed man’ story.” 2) A strategic and public reveal about his private charity donations as, “Behavior aside, Mr. Dalton has donated over three hundred million dollars to various charities he holds dear over the past few years.” 3) An “atonement style interview” with one of the anchors at RMC-TV for “an incident that was thankfully never seen or revealed to the public, but an incident that has caused a huge strain between our company and one of our lead suppliers.” I was certain I could get Ryan through a successful press tour, even more certain that I could make sure every person in this city swooned over his impressive charity record, but I was confused about the “atonement style interview.” I’d asked every person on my team to see if they could find out more about the “incident,” but they’d all come back to me with nothing but confusion. Curious, I sent Leo an email.
Subject: Atonement Interview Good evening, Mr. Dalton, I’ve read over the contract thoroughly and am close to making a decision, but would you mind giving me a bit more information on the incident you want Ryan to be forgiven for? I was unable to find any information on this. —Penelope
His response was immediate.
Subject: Re: Atonement Interview Penelope, See the attached video and promptly delete it after viewing. —Leo Dalton
I clicked on the video and saw a grainy image of Ryan standing in a green room. He was attaching a wired mic to his suit jacket, smiling as a female producer handed him a stack of notecards. For three straight minutes, he simply nodded his head as the producer went over a few facts with him. I was about to ask Leo if he’d sent me the wrong video, but in the final thirty seconds of the clip, a man in a blue suit entered the room. He extended his hand for a handshake, but Ryan simply stared at him. Then he punched him in the face. The tape ended as the man in the blue suit fell to the ground, and Leo sent me another email.
Subject: Re: Re: Atonement Interview Penelope, The man Ryan assaulted (i.e. the TV host who was supposed to interview him that day) is the son of AJ Aguirre, the CEO of Aguirre Bedding. They supply all our linens at every international property, and we begin negotiations for a renewal term soon. So, surely you can understand why Ryan apologizing for what he did is key to defrosting our relationship with Aguirre. Let me know if you need anything else, —Leo I watched the video a few more times and did a quick info search on AJ Aguirre and his son. Then I looked over the final clauses in the contract once more, confirming that most of the terms were in my firm’s favor.
“I don’t understand why this is such a hard decision for you, Pen.” Sean plopped down on the chair across from me. “They’re offering to pay you double for half the work in half the time, all for one client. What part do you really need to think about?” “The part where I’ve previously slept with this one client and there’s an automatic termination clause in the contract for any fraternization.” “You only have to worry about that if you plan on sleeping with him again, and your first time together doesn’t count.” He set his beer on the table. “You don’t want to sleep with him again, right?” “Right.” The lie rushed out of my mouth. “Well, problem solved. Besides, I highly doubt Ryan Dalton would continue to bring up the fact that you’ve had sex while you’re working for him. Hell, given the fact that he really needs good PR right now, I’m willing to bet he’ll be a complete professional.” I poured myself another glass of wine and steered clear of that line of conversation. “You know, the terms of this contract are more than amazing, and six million is more than enough to keep my firm afloat for a long time. And with the money, I can even hire a few part time assistants and outsource some much-needed research help for any incoming clients.” “Six million will also allow you to buy me a much-deserved Tesla for Christmas, so thank you in advance.” He joked, but then his tone changed completely. “It would also help you get rid of a certain someone sooner rather than later.” “Huh? A certain someone?” I shrugged. “Who are you talking about?” “Did the two of you wipe off the bottom of your shoes before coming into the living room today?” Sarah stared at Sean with a panicked look on her face, wielding a tube of wipes. “Yes.” Sean uncapped another beer. “I’m pretty sure I did that, Sarah. I also sanitized my hands before grabbing my beers from the fridge and wiped down every surface I touched in the kitchen. Would you like me to start taking showers in your guest bathroom before sitting on the furniture as well?” “Would you really do that?” She smiled. “That’s amazing and so very thoughtful of you.” Sean shot me a “What the hell?” look and I immediately emailed Leo.
Subject: Client Representation Offer Mr. Dalton, I happily accept the terms of your offer and I can start ASAP. Penelope Lauren
THE CLIENT RYAN Subject: P. Lauren & Associates Ryan, Penelope has graciously accepted our financial package in exchange for representing you for a limited time. She will officially begin this morning, so PLEASE try to make this work. With the date now set for the global initiative launch, we don’t have room for any unwanted media attention. In the interest of not repeating the same thing again, perhaps you should treat her to breakfast so you two can get on the same page and begin this partnership in a different way from all the others. Leo
This partnership has already begun in a different way from all the others ... I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage working with Penelope at all, since simply catching sight of her in the lobby this morning was more than enough to get me aroused. Shaking the thought of her away, I stepped off the elevator and headed straight to my office. I had enough work this week to keep me completely distracted, but for some reason, my door wouldn’t open. I swiped my keycard against the panel repeatedly, waiting for the light to turn green, but it only flashed an “access not granted” red. Annoyed, I walked over to Linda’s desk. “Linda, do you know if IT reset all the key pads last night?” She shook her head, not looking up at me. “They didn’t reset the pads.” “So, all of your keycards work?” She nodded.
“Well, can I kindly borrow your emergency key to my office so I can get to work, please?” “Well, I ... It’s kind of ...” She stuttered, finally looking up. “I don’t have it anymore.” “You lost it?” “No, it was taken, and your keypad is the only one that’s been reprogrammed.” The words rushed out of her mouth. “I told her it was a bad idea and I didn’t want to do it, but she insisted. She even threatened me.” “Who is she?” She didn’t have to answer that question. At that moment, Penelope stepped off the elevator and walked over to us, her silver heels clacking against my marble floors with her every step. “Good morning, Mr. Dalton.” She smiled at me. “It’s good to see you here on time today. I’ve heard that you normally come into work two hours late.” “There’s no such thing as late when I’m the goddamn CEO.” I glared at her. “There also shouldn’t be such a thing as getting fired on your first day, but you’re pretty damn close right now. Reprogram my keypad and let me into my office. Now.” “No.” She threw my glare right back at me. “I’ve talked to quite a few people in the building over the weekend. They all say that you immediately go to your office when you arrive and you hardly come out and personally talk to them.” “That’s not a criminal offense, so reprogram my keypad and let me into my office. Now.” “Even though my plan calls for us to fix your outer image for the public ...” she continued talking, “I think it’s quite necessary to work on your inner image as well. So, this morning and every morning for the next ninety days, you are going to personally greet the global department heads that work for you before starting your day. You will also join me for interview preparations in the morning for at least one hour, and then and only then will I allow you to retreat into your office.” “Did you just say you would ‘allow’ me?” “I don’t believe I stuttered.” “Linda,” I said, keeping my eyes on Penelope. “Could you please leave the floor so I can talk to Miss Lauren privately, please?”
“I think you should stay right there, Linda.” Penelope crossed her arms. “Just in case I may need a witness.” “The only thing she’ll be witnessing is the CEO putting his new publicist in her rightful place.” “This new publicist has already signed a contract saying that her place is actually above the CEO for the next ninety days.” “I don’t give a fuck what that contract says.” I stepped closer to her. “I had no hand in writing it, so I’ll have no hand in following it.” “You’re going to do exactly what I say, how I say, or there are going to be some consequences.” “Are you threatening me?” “No, I’m warning you ...” Linda stood to her feet, looking back and forth between the two of us, and then she rushed toward the elevators. The second I heard the soft ping and the doors close, I spoke very slowly so Penelope could perfectly understand who the hell she was dealing with. “Miss Lauren,” I said, ignoring the fact that she looked sexy as fuck in her grey dress today. “You’re going to let me into my office within the next ten seconds, or else.” “Or else, what?” She raised her voice. “Who’s threatening who now?” “Ten ...” I started counting backwards, knowing damn well she would come to her senses before I reached one. “Nine ...” “Eight ...” Her face was red. “Seven ... I’ll happily join you.” “Six. Don’t make me fucking continue ...” She stood completely still, not batting an eye. “Five ... Four ...” I hesitated on four. No other publicist had ever made me think of doing something as childish as this before, but they almost always gave in to my demand. “Three ... Two ...” She didn’t move. “One,” I said, completely confused as to why she was still standing there. “Are you ready to be an adult now, Mr. Dalton?” She stepped closer to me. “Or since you’ve made it to the end of your childish countdown, would you like to give me a punishment of some sort?” I simply stared at her.
“Glad we could clear that up,” she said. “Now, if you would like to follow me onto the elevator so we can greet your department heads, I would greatly appreciate that. If not, I can have the IT team pull our encounter from the security cameras and show your board how you’ve treated me on my first day.” I glanced at the security camera above us and smiled. Then I stepped even closer to Penelope, matching her step for step until her back was against the wall. “First of all, even if you did ask the IT team to pull our current encounter from the cameras, there wouldn’t be anything to see,” I said. “And that’s because by reprogramming my keypad behind my back, you’ve disabled the cameras, and the CEO is the only one who can reset them. They can’t see a goddamn thing right now.” Her cheeks turned bright red. “Mr. Dalton—” “Second of all ...” I said, gently pressing my finger against her lips. “I’m not sure what type of game you’re trying to play, but I want you to know that you will lose every time. Every. Single. Time.” “I’ve never lost, Mr. Dalton.” She bit my finger and I moved it. “I don’t consider my contract with your company as a game, but I’m willing to predict that you’ll eventually give in and lose to me.” “Is that a bet?” “It’s a guarantee.” I covered her mouth with mine to prevent her from saying anything else, to finally alleviate the thick, sexual tension between us. She murmured as I bit her bottom lip, briefly shutting her eyes. “This is why you shouldn’t have locked me out of my office ...” I felt her unbuckling my pants. “Now you’ll have to settle for me fucking you in the hallway.” Pushing her dress up to her waist, I admired the sight of her dark red lingerie. “I didn’t wear this for you ...” she whispered, a faint blush crossing her cheeks. “I’m sure you didn’t.” I spun her around so she was facing the wall, kissing the back of her neck. “You won’t need them for much longer anyway.” I pushed her panties to the side and slipped a finger deep inside her wet pussy, groaning as she let out a soft murmur. I pulled a condom out of my back pocket, but the sound of the elevator stopping on the floor broke my focus.
Penelope gasped and I turned her around, smoothing her dress back over her thighs before adjusting my pants. “There you two are!” Leo walked toward us, smiling. “I heard the CEO is about to start doing daily greeting tours for the department heads who work their asses off for him. Is that true?” “Yes ...” I was still upset about this, near-sex with Penelope or not. “Yes, that is very true.” “Great! Well, if you two don’t mind, can I join you?” “Absolutely,” we said in unison, and we did our best to avoid looking at each other for the rest of the day.
THE CLIENT RYAN Subject: Seriously?!!! You put me on your security team’s WATCH LIST? Can you kindly inform them that I’m not a real threat and that I don’t need to be patted down or sent through the metal detectors every time I come to your building? Penelope Lauren
Subject: Re: Seriously?!!! You are a real threat. You changed my keypads without my permission and you sexually harassed me on my floor because you knew the cameras weren’t watching. I was quite shell-shocked about the latter incident and I’m still recovering emotionally ... (Penelope: 0. Me: 1) Ryan Dalton
Subject: Board Meeting. Please explain to me why you told the board that I would not only be making an apology for an old interview incident (I will NEVER agree to that), but that I’d re-signed a ‘no party and sex’ policy for a year? I don’t recall signing such a contract ... Ryan Dalton
Subject: Re: Board Meeting. That’s more than okay. I knew you were itching to sign it since you’re not really into sex anymore. :-) I saw how busy you were this past week, and since I was an Art Major, I happily drew the signature for you. (Penelope: 1. Ryan: 1)
Subject: Late to work? So soon? Miss Lauren, It’s currently nine thirty in the morning and that makes you an hour and a half late to work. Seeing as though this is only your third week working under the contract and you’re such a perfectionist when it comes to being on time, I sincerely hope all is well with you this morning. If you need anything, or if I can be of any assistance to you, please let me know. Ryan Dalton. PS—(Penelope: 1. Ryan: 2)
Subject: Re: Late to work? So soon? Mr. Dalton, Thank you so much for your kind concern when it comes to a rare tardy. It seems as if someone called my new town car driver and told him to pick me up from a hotel in New Jersey this morning instead of at my actual home. Nonetheless, I should be arriving to work shortly so we can continue working on the preparations for your live interviews. You’ll be happy to know that I invited the head of every charity you’ve ever donated to (twenty total) to join us for wine and cheese so they can watch you rehearse. I know you’ve actually never met them before, so I figured them seeing you in your element (and at a nice dinner at your expense afterward) would help you behave. PS—(Penelope: 20. Ryan: 2)
Subject: I’m impressed!
Ryan, On behalf of the board, we are very impressed with the launch of your press tour with Penelope Lauren & Associates thus far! (And the staff loves the morning greeting tours. It makes them truly feel like part of your team.) The New York Times, Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, and The Business Journal have all printed glowing profiles on you this week, so we’re all looking forward to seeing how you’ll improve in your live interviews while announcing our global initiative. ON ANOTHER NOTE: I’m sure this was a typo in your tech and transportation requests, but did you really mean to take Penelope’s town car access away for next week? (You also have the words “Block her ass from the building” written for the security team. That’s a joke, right?) Let me know. -Leo
THE PUBLICIST PENELOPE I stared at the subject lines of my most recent emails, unsure of whether to laugh or sigh.
Subject: Never thought I’d see the day when “Ryan Dalton” was likeable. Good job! Subject: Congratulations on making Mr. Impossible possible! Subject: What type of drugs did you slip into his system? Subject: Are you fucking him? (People are wondering if that’s your secret, but you can trust me with the truth. Are you?)
Over the past thirty days, Ryan had tested everything I thought I knew about being a publicist. He was definitely stubborn, beyond arrogant, but he had a soft side that reared its head occasionally. A soft side that did nothing to ease the sexual tension between us. He was now up fifty to thirty in our game of “Who Can Drive the Other Person Insane the Best,” but he made it his personal mission to drive me home at the end of every day. We went at each other’s throats during our morning strategy meetings (He still had problems refraining from saying the word ‘fucking’ in mock interviews), but he insisted on treating me to lunch every afternoon. And even on nights like tonight, when he was refusing to work on the “atonement interview,” he volunteered to pick up some dinner for us in the meantime. It was moments like those that should’ve made me feel guilty about using him as a muse for all my late-night fantasies, when I often fell asleep
with my fingers buried deep in my pussy. I should’ve been ashamed of picturing him fucking me in the middle of our mock interview sessions instead of giving him my complete attention. I was a complete and utter fraud by purposely buying real lingerie and wearing it under my dresses, hoping he would notice. I stood up from the boardroom table and looked outside the window. There were only sixty days left in my contract and I was honestly wondering if the two of us could possibly be friends after it was all over. Or at least have sex again ... The sound of my phone ringing interrupted my thoughts and I looked at the screen. Sean. “Hello?” I answered. “Hello, Penelope.” There was a smile in his voice. “This is Penelope Lauren, my supposed best friend, right?” “It is.” I laughed. “I’m sorry I haven’t been returning so many of your calls and messages. “What’s going on?” “Not much. The stock market has been kicking my ass, I’m still waiting on you to volunteer to buy me a Tesla, and Sarah and me had sex the other day. We’ll probably continue doing that with each other for awhile and um ... Yeah, that’s about it. Nothing new.” “Did you just say that you and Sarah had sex? Is this another Sarah or my germaphobe roommate Sarah?” “The second one.” “What!” My mind was blown. “How?” “What do you mean how?” He laughed. “There’s only one way to have sex. I was actually waiting for you to come home, but that was before you told me you were spending the night in your office. Anyway, she sat next to me while I was watching a marathon, and it kind of just happened. Okay, granted, she did get some weird, plastic paper for us to fuck on top of before we could go any further, but other than that, it was pretty incredible.” “I can’t believe this.” I couldn’t stop laughing. “Well, good for you two. Maybe she’ll be more bearable now.” “Outside of the sex? Doubt it.” He put me on hold to order a cup of coffee. “What about you? Have you fucked your boss again?” “No, I have not fucked my boss again. Thanks for asking.” “You’re welcome. Besides, after all the time you’ve spent together without crossing the line, I’d say you more than deserve to. You should just
go for it. If you really want it, that is.” “Trust me, it’s not that I don’t want to fuck Ryan Dalton,” I said, leaning against the window. “Because I totally do and I feel like every day I’ve spent here is a lost day of having him again. I just think we’re trying our best to fight it and remain professional. At this point, I honestly don’t think he would fuck me.” “He would.” I gasped at the sound of Ryan’s deep voice and slowly turned around. He was standing in the doorway with that familiar cocky smirk, holding the bags with our dinner at his side. “By all means ...” he said, setting the food onto the boardroom table. “Feel free to continue your conversation. It sounds quite interesting.” “I’ll call you back, Sean.” I ended the call and tried not to look directly at Ryan. “You know, since you’re not open to doing the atonement interview preparation anyway, I think I’m going to head back to my office and do some work from there.” “Would you like me to drive you?” “No.” My eyes finally met his. “I think I’d rather call a cab.” “That’s a waste of money.” He stepped closer to me, tilting my chin up with his fingertips. “You know I don’t mind driving you anywhere after hours.” “Yes, I’m well aware of that. I’m kind of hungry right now and need to get some dinner, though.” “Then you really don’t need to leave.” He placed his other hand against my waist. “You were the one who insisted that we eat dinner here tonight. Unless you were only saying that to get me out of the room ...” “No.” I stepped back, feeling like my cheeks were on fire. “It’s just that ...” I stepped back again. He smiled. “It’s just that what?” I thought my next move through for all of twenty seconds, knowing damn well it seemed like the most immature thing I could ever do. Just do it ... I grabbed my purse and my dinner bag, and then I rushed out of the room, heading straight for the emergency stairs. I took them down three flights, and then caught the elevator on the copy floor. When I stepped outside, I hailed the first cab that approached.
“Broadway and Fifth Avenue, please,” I said to the driver. “The Office Suites.” He nodded and pulled onto the road, and as he passed the first stoplight, my phone buzzed against my lap. Ryan. I didn’t answer it, and he called five more times before I placed my phone on silent. When I arrived to my firm, I didn’t bother walking to my own office. I plopped face-down on the entry room couch and groaned. I can’t believe he heard me say I wanted to fuck him again ... I decided I would deal with seeing him tomorrow, but ten minutes later there was a knock at the door. I knew it was him without even answering it, but I didn’t get up. Instead, I called his phone. “Yes?” he answered. “Is there any reason why you can’t open your office door for me?” “I’m in the middle of an important interview.” “This late at night?” He had to be smiling. “I highly doubt that. Open the door or I will.” I remained face down and seconds later I heard the lock on the door slowly turning. What the? I sat upright as he was pushing it open. “How did you get a key to my private firm?” “The same way you got a key to my private office.” He shut the door behind him, locking his eyes on mine. “I don’t believe we were finished working on my atonement interview.” “You said you had no interest in doing it, so I’m not going to push you.” “I find that hard to believe ...” He walked over to the couch and I stood up, moving into the hallway. He followed me and smiled. “I think you should at least ask me why I don’t want to do it.” “It doesn’t matter since your mind is clearly made up.” “Ask me, Penelope.” “Fine. Why don’t you want to do the atonement interview, Mr. Dalton? “Because I have nothing to atone for,” he said. “The interviewer was fucking my almost-girlfriend behind my back, and he knew damn well that she was my almost-girlfriend. He’d been bragging about it for weeks.”
“Almost-girlfriend?” I asked. “Between that and your random backwards countdown episodes, I’m beginning to think you really are a child.” “She was the closest relationship I’d ever had, and the closest I’d ever come to asking someone to be mine,” he said. “I refuse to give her the official ‘girlfriend’ title since she was fucking almost all of my former friends behind my back.” “That’s more than understandable ... Thank you very much for telling me that.” I realized he wasn’t going to let me get around him and leave. “Well, I’ll find a way to get around the atonement thing. I’ll try to find a way to prove that he has been playing the victim this whole time, and maybe I can work with that and restore the supplier’s relationship with your company that way.” He said nothing. He just looked at me, turning me on with each second that passed. “Well, if that’s all you wanted to talk about, Mr. Dalton ...” I managed to step backwards a few times, to make it all the way inside my office. I secured my hand firmly on the doorknob so I could shut the door in his face. “I think we can talk more tomorrow.” “We can definitely talk tomorrow,” he said, moving my arm. “And we can definitely fuck tonight.” His lips covered mine in seconds and he pushed me back against the wall. His hands immediately went under my dress and he yanked off my panties—letting out a low laugh as he caught sight of the black lace falling to the floor. “I take it you didn’t wear those for me today?” He bit my bottom lip. “That none of the lingerie you’ve been wearing to work recently was in hopes that I would notice?” “Did you notice?” “Every time.” He pinned me to the wall with his hips and continued his expert domination of my mouth. He was kissing me so wildly, that the folders on the cabinet next to me fell to the floor—leaving scattered sheets all over the carpet. “Unbuckle my pants ...” He commanded softly, but I didn’t listen. Instead I wrapped my arms around his neck and returned his forceful kisses, fighting him for full control. He slid his hands under my dress and squeezed my ass until I softened my kiss and gave in to him completely, returning the control to him.
As his tongue danced against mine, he lifted me up by my cheeks and carried me over to the desk, plopping my bare ass against the cool metal. Pulling away from my mouth, he pushed all my files and papers to the floor before laying me flat atop the surface. Keeping his eyes on mine, he unbuckled his pants himself, quickly freeing his huge, hardened cock. He stepped forward, grabbing my hand and silently commanded me to stroke him. He groaned as my hand moved up and down his length, as I leaned forward a bit and slowly took him into my mouth. I moved my mouth against his cock even faster and he fisted his hands in my hair and began to breathe harder. “Fuck, Penelope ...” His voice was harsh. “Fuck ...” I could feel his cock getting even harder between my lips, feel him on the verge of exploding right onto my tongue, but he gently pushed my head away before he could finish. Looking beyond impressed, he kissed my lips and moved to the other side of me. My breath caught in my throat as he suddenly pulled me forward by my ankles so my legs were dangling off the edge. I didn’t get a chance to ask what the hell he was doing before he knelt between my thighs and sucked my clit into his mouth, making me cry out his name in mere seconds. With the soft strokes of his tongue, he teased me and brought me to the edge of an orgasm, but he never let me have it. Each time I was on the verge of coming, he simply stopped and blew against my clit—cruelly leaving me stranded between pleasure and an unbearable need to release. Still teasing, he slipped two thick fingers deep inside of me and my hips began to jerk. I grabbed the edges of my desk for support. “Please don’t stop, Ryan ...” I begged. “Please ...” “I don’t plan to,” he said, his voice low. He continued to torture me with his tongue until I could barely handle anymore, until I screamed his name and my pussy throbbed against his mouth. Anxious to return the favor, I attempted to sit up, but he pressed his palms against my thighs—preventing me from moving. “Don’t get up.” He warned, briefly letting me go so he could put on a condom. When he was done, he took a seat behind my desk and pulled me up, positioning me over his cock and lowering me onto him inch by inch.
“Ahhh ...” I cried out, as he roughly bit my bottom lip, as he attempted to distract me from taking the full length of him this way. “Ryan ...” “Penelope ...” He grabbed my hips once he was completely inside of me, keeping his mouth attached to mine as he rocked my body against his. “Come on my cock ...” He briefly tore away from my mouth and kissed my neck. He planted wet kisses up and down my skin while still rocking me, and I felt tremors building inside of me. “Oh, god ...Oh ...” I shut my eyes and bit his shoulder as my body convulsed for the second time in a row. I felt him go stiff seconds after me, heard him asking me something I didn’t quite understand. We remained entwined and panting for what felt like forever. I didn’t want to move again, but he eventually lifted me off him. He set me on the desk and threw away the condom. Then he stood up to readjust his pants and headed to the door. “You’re leaving?” I asked softly. “Now?” “Not at all.” He locked the door. “We have thirty days of lost fucking to make up for ...”
THE CLIENT RYAN Subject: WOW. I never thought I’d say this, but you did a damn good job announcing our global initiative today. I actually enjoyed watching your live interview, and I’m happy you learned how not to drop an F-Bomb on live morning television. (Thank God for Penelope Lauren & Associates. Can you please give them a raise or something?) This email never happened and I still think you have another scandal up your sleeve somewhere ... Nathaniel Chief Organizing Officer & Board Member Dalton International
Subject: Re: WOW. Thank you for the rare compliment, Nathaniel. I truly appreciate it and I will be sure to give Penelope Lauren & Associates a bonus at the end of their term with us. You’re completely right about me having another scandal up my sleeve: Apparently, I’ve managed to get three women pregnant at the same time. You’ll be reading about it in the press tomorrow morning. Ryan
Subject: Re: Re: WOW. You better be fucking with me, Ryan. Pick up your phone. NOW. Nathaniel
Chief Organizing Officer & Board Member Dalton International
Subject: Utter perfection from Penelope. Ryan, I’m currently heading to Mexico for a few days, but I just saw you on your fifth television interview this month. Good job. I also wanted to let you know that I’m not sure what Penelope did, but AJ Aguirre has agreed to supply our linens for the next ten years. He called me personally and said he “holds nothing against us anymore.” (Do you know how she did this?) Who would’ve known that a small firm would’ve been exactly what you needed to turn your image around? It makes me wonder what all those larger firms in the past were doing wrong and if we should ask for refunds ... Anyway, good luck on the remainder of your press tour. I’m honestly going to be a bit reluctant to let Penelope go at the end of her contract. —Leo.
Subject: Re: Utter perfection from Penelope. In regards to your last line, I need to talk to you about that. Let me know when you get back in town. —Ryan
THE PUBLICIST PENELOPE I took the elevator up to Ryan’s floor the following Thursday, my legs feeling weaker than ever. It’d taken me days to recover from the way he fucked me, and I was grateful that no one from my team had stopped by the office that night. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to look at him and even attempt to act professional after that. Not only that, but now he had the ultimate trump card and could have me fired per the fraternization clause, if I did anything he didn’t like over the next few weeks. So, to prevent it from happening again, I’d used up three of my personal off days at the beginning of this week so I could formulate a plan. I vowed to show up four hours early every day. That way, I’d only have to be around him for five hours in the morning, the same time when our teams were around us and he wouldn’t be able to get me alone. “Good morning, Miss Lauren!” His secretary greeted me as soon as I stepped off the elevator. “You’re here super early today. Why?” “Good morning, Linda,” I said. “I just have lots of work to do.” “Need help with anything?” Avoiding your boss ... “Just the key to the conference room. Is Mr. Dalton here?” “This early?” She laughed and tossed me a key. “Never. It’s just you and me.” “Great.” I carried my files to the conference room and looked over the past week’s press coverage. Everything was positive, again. I checked my emails to make sure his event appearances were still set and noticed I had more emails from other PR firms.
Subject: Please tell me he’s at least paying you a million ... You deserve it. Subject: What. A. Turnaround. Congrats! Subject: No, really. What type of drugs did you get Mr. Dalton to take?
I laughed and leaned back in my chair. I began writing out my team’s assignments for the week, and when I looked up, I saw Ryan staring at me from the doorway. Looking tempting as hell, he was dressed in grey lounge pants and a black T-shirt. “Mind if I join you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He simply walked over to me. “What if I told you that I do mind?” “I’d say tough shit.” He smiled. “Why are you here four hours early?” “I couldn’t sleep.” I shrugged. “Plus, I figured it made perfect sense to get here and be ready for your board’s final stock strategy meeting.” I paused. “Why are you here four hours early?” “I live in the penthouse across the street,” he said. “I also have an alarm that goes off anytime someone other than Linda accesses my floor during off-hours.” “Good to know.” “I think you’re attempting to avoid me lately.” He looked into my eyes. “Because we’ve fucked and you honestly think I would hold that over your head ...” “I’m not attempting to avoid you.” I lied. “You have quite the schedule coming up and I want to be sure it’s still on track.” “You’ve had my schedule on track since the day you started,” he said. “And if you think you’re going to get away with getting here four hours early every day so you’ll only have to deal with me for five, you’re sadly mistaken.” I didn’t say anything. I just sat there, completely speechless. Without another word, he stacked all my files and placed them into my box. Then he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my chair. “You’re going to let me into your office so I can finish?” I asked. “No.” He led me out of the conference room and to the elevator. I’m going to show you exactly where you need to go whenever you feel like
coming to work four hours early. Hint, it’s my penthouse.” “And if I decide I’d rather come here instead?” “I’ll come here to get you again.” He pressed his lips against mine as the doors closed. “Or I’ll fuck you in the boardroom. I’ll be a gentleman and let you choose.”
THE CLIENT RYAN Several weeks later ...
I could still smell the sweet scent of champagne in the boardroom when I walked by a few days later. My board members had spent all night celebrating the end of my successful press tour, and I’d surprised them all by leaving early. Of course, my excuse to them was that I was “tired,” but I’d spent my night in the same way I’d become accustomed to in the recent weeks. With Penelope. Her firm’s initial contract with us ended today, and not a single person on the board objected to extending it for another six months. They even offered to increase the amount by more than triple. There were just a few things I needed to personally amend before we pursued the deal. “Okay, lay it on me,” my brother said as soon as I stepped into my office. “I’ve got three meetings today and I’m hoping I can make two of them less than ten minutes long. Where are we with the contract extension with Penelope Lauren and Associates?” “Everything is set, but I’d like us to amend the fraternization clause.” “Amend it or end it?” “End it.” “Why?” He shrugged, laughing. “Are you going to sleep with Penelope? I can’t imagine her ever doing that with you. She’s too classy, too smart, too—” He immediately stopped talking as if the truth was dawning on him. And then he began to pace my floor. “Please don’t tell me that you have fucked Penelope ...” “Okay, I won’t.”
“Are you shitting me?” He paced even faster. “Just when I thought you’d changed, just when I thought, ‘He finally gets it,’ you find a way to not get it. No wonder you were doing so well on your press tour ...” “I like your rants better when you prepare them in advance,” I said. “They sound less juvenile that way.” “Have you two been fucking this whole time?” “Not the whole time. We didn’t fuck at all yesterday.” “Be serious with me.” He stood still, looking concerned. “Is this a fling that could come back to bite us in the form of a sexual harassment lawsuit, or is this an actual relationship?” “The latter.” “Okay, that’s a start.” He plopped down on the couch, holding his hand over his heart. “That’s a very good start. For covering your ass purposes, when did this begin?” “Before she started here. She was the reason I missed the ribbon cutting ceremony at Oasis. We met at a club and had a one night stand, and I saw her again when I showed up to her firm. The irony in that is that I might’ve pursued her anyway if that hadn’t been the case.” “You really expect me to believe that?” “I don’t have a reason to lie.” “True.” He sighed. “Continue.” “The sex didn’t start until thirty days into her contract,” I said. “And even then, sex with her wasn’t like it previously was with other women.” “You mean there were rainbows and butterflies?” “There were feelings. Small feelings, but feelings nonetheless.” He raised his eyebrow, looking as if that was the most shocking thing I’d ever said. “So, you want to end that clause so you can continue sleeping with her?” “I would prefer the term dating.” He stood up and walked over to me, placing his open palm against my forehead. “Are you sick today?” “I’m very well, thank you.” I ignored his laughter. “Just say you’ll agree to end the clause.” “I’ll definitely agree to it,” he said, looking at his watch. “But we’re going to discuss this—thoroughly, and I’m going to be sure there won’t be any legal ramifications from her or objections from the board.” “Sounds fair.”
“It’s more than fair.” He headed toward the door. “I’ll call you tonight.” I took a seat at my desk and wrote the number twenty million in place of the six million for Penelope’s pending contract. Then I began masking the fraternization clause with a tube of white-out. “Mr. Dalton?” Linda’s voice came over my speakers. “Miss Lauren is here. Shall I send her in?” “Yes, please.” The door opened and Penelope walked right over to me, looking as if she wasn’t sure whether she should kiss me or not. It’d become a habit to do so when we went out on private dates or met up at each other’s places, but there was still that awkward ‘pause and deflect’ reflex when we saw each other at work. “You can have a seat, Miss Lauren,” I said. “Miss Lauren?” She sat down, looking slightly confused. “I thought this was supposed to be a personal meeting for us.” “It is.” I pushed the contract across my desk. “I want you to consider an extended contract with Dalton International. You are undoubtedly the best publicist I’ve ever worked with, and my board can’t sing your praises high enough. I made a few amendments to the contract, more importantly the amount we’re offering and the fraternization clause.” She picked up the contract and glanced at it. “That’s a huge increase, Mr. Dalton.” “I’ll be sure there’s enough work to go with it.” She smiled, but it quickly faded. “So, you amended the contract so we can publicly tell people that we’re fucking?” “I’m sure certain people already assume that we’re fucking, but yes, this is a way to confirm it. And to also protect us both legally.” “This is ...” She crossed her arms, and I braced myself for a rant of epic proportions. “This personal meeting you’ve been telling me about all weekend was just a ruse for you to ask me to sign an extension? “It was a ruse to ask you to be my girlfriend.” She pretended to look upset, but her cheeks gave her away. “You could’ve asked me that over the weekend.” “You would’ve said no.” “No.” She smiled. “I would’ve said that the only reason you’re asking me to be your girlfriend is because you think we might possibly have more sex that way.”
“We’re definitely going to have more sex, but if that was my reasoning, I would’ve just amended the fraternization clause in your contract and left it that. I’m asking you to be my girlfriend because I think I might actually like you.” “You might? How compelling. If that’s any indication of how you’d write a love letter, I don’t think I’ll ever marry you.” “I don’t think I’ll ever ask you to.” She laughed and I couldn’t help but break into laughter with her. “All jokes aside, are you being serious with me, Ryan?” “About the girlfriend part, yes. About the marriage part, it depends on if we’re still together in a few years.” “I see.” She stood up and walked behind my desk, sitting in my lap. “Well, I accept the offer to be your girlfriend, but I would like us to discuss the terms.” “What is there possibly to discuss about this?” “You committing to being a better client. That, and us finally having sex in your office.” “I can commit to the first part.” I covered her lips with mine and unzipped the side of her dress. “There’s no need at all to discuss the latter part. That’ll be happening every day ...”
**THE END**
REASONABLE DOUBT (Sneak Peek)
REASONABLE DOUBT SYNOPSIS The complete New York Times Bestselling serial, now available in one book!
My cock has an appetite. A huge and very particular appetite: Blonde, curvy, and preferably not a fucking liar... (Although, that's a story for another day.) As a high profile lawyer, I don't have time to waste on relationships, so I fulfill my needs by anonymously chatting and sleeping with women I meet online. My rules are simple: One dinner. One night. No repeats. This is only casual sex. Nothing more. Nothing less. At least it was, until Alyssa... She was supposed to be a 27-year-old lawyer, a book hoarder, and completely unattractive. She was supposed to be someone I shared law advice with late at night, someone I could trust with details of my weekly escapades. But then she came into my firm for an interview—a college-intern interview, and everything fucking changed...
REASONABLE DOUBT (VOLUME ONE)
Prologue Andrew New York City is nothing more than a shit-filled wasteland, a dump where failures are forced to drop all their broken dreams and leave them far behind. The flashing lights that shined brightly years ago have lost their luster, and that fresh feeling that once permeated the air—that hopefulness, is long gone. Every person I once considered a friend is now an enemy, and the word “trust” has been ripped from my vocabulary. My name and reputation are tarnished thanks to the press, and after reading the headline that The New York Times ran this morning, I’ve decided that tonight will be the last night I ever spend here. I can’t deal with the cold sweats and nightmares that jerk me out of my sleep anymore, and as hard as I try to pretend like my heart hasn’t been obliterated, I doubt that the agonizing ache in my chest will ever go away. To properly say goodbye, I’ve ordered the best entrées from all my favorite restaurants, watched Death of a Salesman on Broadway, and smoked a Cuban cigar on the Brooklyn Bridge. I’ve also booked the penthouse suite at the Waldorf Astoria, where I’m now leaning back on the bed and threading my fingers through a woman’s hair—groaning as she slides her mouth over my cock. Teasingly darting her tongue around my tip, she whispers, “Do you like this?” as she looks up at me. I don’t answer. I push her head down and exhale as she presses her lips against my balls, as she covers my cock with her hands and moves them up and down. Over the past two hours, I’ve fucked her against the wall, forced her to bend over a chair, and pinned her legs to the mattress while I devoured her pussy.
It’s been quite fulfilling—fun, but I know this feeling will only last for so long; it never stays. In less than a week, I’ll have to find someone else. As she takes me deeper and deeper into her mouth, I tightly tug her hair —tensing as she bobs her head up and down. Pleasure begins to course its way through me, and the muscles in my legs stiffen—forcing me to let go and warn her to pull away. She ignores me. She grips my knees and sucks faster, letting my cock touch the back of her throat. I give her one last chance to move away, but since her lips remain wrapped around me, she leaves me no choice but to cum in her mouth. And then she swallows. Every. Last. Drop. Impressive... Finally pulling away, she licks her lips and leans back against the floor. “That was my first time swallowing,” she says. “I did that just for you.” “You shouldn’t have.” I stand and zip my pants. “You should’ve saved it for someone else.” “Right. Well, um...Do you want to order some dinner? Maybe we could eat it over HBO and go at it again afterwards?” I raise my eyebrow, confused. This is always the most annoying part, the part when the woman who previously agreed to “One dinner. One night. No repeats.” wants to establish some type of imaginary connection. For whatever reason, she feels like there needs to be some type of closure conversation, some bland reassurance that’ll confirm that what just happened was ‘more than sex,’ and we’ll become friends. But it was just sex, and I’m not in need of any friends. Not now, not ever. “No, thank you.” I walk over to the mirror on the other side of the room. “I have someplace to be.” “At three in the morning? I mean, if you just want to skip the HBO and go for another round instead, I can...” I tune out her irritating voice and begin to button my shirt. I’ve never spent the night with a woman I met online, and she isn’t going to be the first.
As I adjust my tie, I look down and spot a tattered pink wallet on the dresser. Picking it up, I flip it open and run my fingers across the name that’s printed onto her license: Sarah Tate. Even though I’ve only known this woman for a week, she’s always answered to “Samantha.” She’s also told me—repeatedly, that she works as a nurse at Grace Hospital. Judging by the Wal-Mart employee card that’s hiding behind her license, I’m assuming that part isn’t true either. I look over my shoulder, where she’s now sprawled across the bed’s silk sheets. Her creamy colored skin is unmarred and smooth; her bow shaped lips are slightly swollen and puffy. Her green eyes meet mine and she slowly sits up, spreading her legs further apart, whispering, “You know you want to stay. Stay...” My cock starts to harden—it’s definitely up for another round, but seeing her real name has ruined any chance of that for me. I can’t stand to be around anyone who’s lied to me, even if she does have double D tits and a mouth from heaven. I toss the wallet into her lap. “You told me your name was Samantha.” “Okay. And?” “Your name is Sarah.” “So what?” She shrugs, beckoning me with her hand. “I never give my real name to men I meet on the internet.” “You just fuck them in five star hotel suites?” “Why do you suddenly care about my real name?” “I don’t.” I glance at my watch. “Are you spending the night in this room or do I need to give you cab money to get home?” “What?” “Was my question unclear?” “Wow...Just, wow...” She shakes her head. “How much longer do you think you’ll be able to keep doing this?” “Keep doing what?” “Chatting someone up for a week, fucking her, and moving on to the next. How much longer?” “Until my dick stops working.” I put on my jacket. “Do you need cab fare or are you staying? Check out is at noon.” “Do you know that men like you—relationship avoiders, are the type that typically fall the hardest?” “Did they teach you that at Wal-Mart?”
“Just because someone from your past hurt you doesn’t mean that every woman after her will.” She purses her lips. “That’s probably why you are the way you are. Maybe if you tried to actually date someone you’d be a lot happier. You should take her out for dinner and actually listen, see her to her door without expecting an invitation inside, and maybe bypass the whole ‘let’s go fuck’ in the hotel suite thing at the end.” Where are my keys? I need to go. Now. “I can see it now...” She can’t seem to shut up. “You’re going to want more than sex one day, and the person you want it from is going to be someone you least expect. Someone who will force you to give in.” I pull my keys from underneath her crumpled dress and sigh. “Do you need cab money?” “I have my own car, dick-face.” She rolls her eyes. “Are you really this incapable of having a regular conversation? Would it kill you to talk to me for a few minutes after sex?” “We have nothing more to discuss.” I put my room key on the nightstand and walk toward the door. “It was very nice meeting you, Samantha, Sarah. Whatever the hell your name is. Have a great night.” “Screw you!” “Three times was more than enough. No, thank you.” “Things are going to catch up to you one day, asshole!” She yells as I step into the hallway. “Karma is one hell of a bitch!” “I know.” I toss back. “I fucked her two weeks ago...”
Contract (n.): An agreement between two people that creates an obligation to do or not do a particular action.
Six years later... Durham, North Carolina Andrew The woman who was currently sitting across from me was a fucking liar. Dressed in an ugly ass grey sweater and a red plaid skirt, her hair looked as if it’d been dyed with a box of crayons. She looked nothing like the woman in the picture online, nothing like the smiling blonde with C-cup breasts, butterfly tattoos, and plump, pink lips. Before I’d agreed to this date, I’d specifically asked for three separate proof of truth pictures: one of her holding a newspaper with the most recent date on it, one of her biting her lip, and one of her holding up a sign with her name on it. When I requested these things, she’d laughed and said that I was “the most paranoid person ever,” but she’d done them. Or so I thought. With the exception of telling her my real name—I stopped giving out my real name years ago, I’d been completely honest and I expected that in return. “Well, now that we’re alone...” She suddenly smiled, revealing a mouth full of metal and rubber bands. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Thoreau. How are you today?” I didn’t have time for this. “Who’s the girl in your profile picture?” I asked. “What?” “Who is the girl in your profile picture?” “Oh...Well, that isn’t me.”
“No shit it isn’t you.” I rolled my eyes. “Did you hire a model? Buy a bunch of stock images and use Photoshop?” “Not exactly.” She lowered her voice. “I just thought you’d be more likely to talk to me if I used that photo instead of my own.” I looked her over again, now noticing the strange unicorn tattoo across her knuckles and the “Love is blind” quote that was inked onto her wrist. “What were you expecting to happen when we actually met?” This shit was boggling my mind. “Did you think about what would happen when that day came? When I realized that you weren’t who you said you were?” “I was kind of expecting for you to have lied about your picture too,” she said. “I didn’t know that you would really look like you, you know? This is the first time a guy on Date-Match has told the truth. I think it’s a sign.” “It’s not.” I shook my head. “And the model? How did you get someone to take all those pictures?” “It wasn’t a model. It was my roommate.” Her eyes widened as I stood up. “Wait a second! All the things I said to you on the phone were absolutely true. I am interested in politics, and I do love studying the law and keeping up with high profile cases.” “What law school did you go to?” “Law school?” She raised her eyebrow. “No, not law school type of law. Law like, I’ve watched every episode of SVU and I’ve read all of John Grisham’s books.” I sighed and pulled a few bills out of my wallet, putting them on the table. I’d wasted enough time with her. “Goodbye, Charlotte.” I walked away, ignoring the rest of her apology. The moment the valet pulled my car around, I slipped inside and sped off. This shit is getting ridiculous... This was the sixth time this had happened to me this month, and I didn’t understand why someone would willingly lie with a potential face to face meeting on the line. It didn’t make any fucking sense. Annoyed, I picked up a bottle of scotch from the store across the street, and made a mental note to block this latest liar from my page. I was starting to feel like I’d run out of available women to sleep with in Durham. I was also starting to feel like I needed to switch cities and start all over again; the
cold sweats from years ago had returned, and I knew the nightmares were coming next. As soon as I stepped into my condo, I poured myself three shots and tossed them back. Then I poured three more. I scrolled through my phone and checked my emails for the day—client referrals, more requests to chat from Date-Match, and a message from the sexy blonde I was supposed to meet this Saturday. The subject-line read, Honesty is Key, right?
I tossed back another shot before opening it, hoping it was an invitation to meet tonight instead. It wasn’t. It was a goddamn essay. Hey, Thoreau. I know we’re supposed to meet each other this Saturday and trust me, I was sooo looking forward to it, but I need to know that you’re interested in me for me and not my looks. I’ve met a lot of creepy guys on here because they just like my picture, and when we meet, they just want to have sex. I can assure you that I am who I say I am, but I’m looking for something a little more fulfilling than casual sex. We don’t have to have a full blown relationship, or engage in an intense affair, but we could at least build a friendship first, you know? I’m looking forward to seeing you, so let me know if you’re still interested in meeting me —Liz.
I immediately clicked on my profile and opened the “What I’m Looking For” box, making sure that it still read the same: “Casual sex. Nothing more. Nothing Less.” That line wasn’t there for decoration, and it was in bold print for a reason. I returned to the woman’s message and responded. I am no longer interested in meeting you. Best of luck finding whatever you’re looking for —Thoreau.
She replied instantly. Are you for real? You can’t use another friend? We can’t be ‘just friends’? —Liz. Hell no
—Thoreau.
I signed off and blocked her address. Another shot made its way down my throat, and I scrolled through the remaining emails—immediately opening the one that came from the only person I considered a friend in this city. Alyssa. Subject: Desert Dick So, I’m emailing you right now because I just thought about how much pain you’re in currently...We haven’t talked about you getting laid in quite a while, and that concerns me. Greatly. Like, I’ve CRIED about your lack of pussy...I’m very sorry that so many women have sent you fraudulent pictures and given you a severe case of blue balls. I’m attaching the links to a top of the line lotion that I think you should invest in for the weeks to come. Your dick is in my prayers, —Alyssa.
I smiled and typed a response. Subject: Re: Desert Dick Thank you for your concerns about my dick. Although, seeing as though you’ve NEVER discussed getting laid, I think having Cobweb Pussy is a far more serious illness. Yes, it is true that so many women have sent me pictures, but it’s quite sad that you’ve never sent me yours, isn’t it? I’m more than willing to send you mine, and eventually help you cure your sad and unfortunate disease. Thank you for telling me that my dick is in your prayers. I’d prefer if it was in your mouth. —Thoreau.
Just like that, my night was now ten times better. Even though I’d never met Alyssa in person and our conversations were restricted to phone calls, emails, and text messages, I felt a strong connection to her. We’d met through an anonymous and exclusive social network— LawyerChat. There were no profile pictures, no newsfeed activity, only message boards. There was a small profile box where information could be placed (first name only, age, number of years practiced, high or low profile status), and a logo on each user’s profile that revealed his or her sex. Every user was “guaranteed” to be a lawyer who’d been personally invited via email. According to the site’s developers, they’d “crossreferenced every practicing lawyer in the state of North Carolina against the
board’s licensing records to ensure a unique and one of a kind support system.” I honestly thought the network was bullshit, and if it weren’t for the fact that I’d fucked a few of the women I’d met on there, I would’ve cancelled my account after the first month. Nonetheless, when I saw a new “Need Some Advice” message from an “Alyssa,” I couldn’t resist trying to replicate my previous results. I read through her profile first—twenty seven, one year out of law school, book lover—and decided to go for it. My intent was to answer her legal questions, slowly steer the conversation to more personal things, and then ask her to join Date-Match so I could see what she looked like. But she wasn’t like the other women. She sent me constant messages, and she always kept the topic of conversation professional. Since she was such a young and inexperienced lawyer, she asked for advice on the simplest topics: legal brief editing, claim filing, and exhibition of evidence. After we’d chatted five times and I’d grown tired of having three hour long info-dump sessions, I asked for her phone number. She said no. “Why not?” I’d typed. “Because it’s against the rules.” “I’ve never met a lawyer that hasn’t broken at least one.” “Then you’re not a very good lawyer. I’ll find someone else to chat with now. Thanks.” “You’re going to lose that case tomorrow.” I typed before she could end our session. “You have no idea what you’re doing.” “Are you really that upset about me not giving you my phone number? What are you, twelve?” “Thirty two, and I don’t give a fuck about your phone number. I was only asking for it so I could call and tell you that the brief you sent me is littered with typos, and the closing argument reads like a first year law student wrote it. There are too many mistakes for me to sit here and type them all.” “My brief isn’t that bad.” “It’s not that good either.” Before I could sign out of our chat, her phone number appeared on the screen, and underneath it was a short paragraph: “If you’re going to call and help me, fine. If you’re using my number to talk
me into joining a dating site later, then forget it. I joined this network for career support, that’s it.” I stared at her message long and hard—debating whether I should help her with no chance of getting anything out of it, but something made me call her anyway. I walked her through every mistake she’d made, insisted that she clear up a few sentences, and even re-formatted her brief. Just when I was about to tell her goodbye and hang up, the strangest thing happened. She asked, “How was your day today?” “That’s not in your brief.” I said. “You only want to talk about lawyer shit, remember?” “I can’t change my mind?” “No. Hang up.” I waited to hear a beep, but the only thing I heard was laughter. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was such a raspy and sexy sound, I would’ve hung up myself, but I couldn’t put the phone down. “I’m sorry,” she said, still laughing. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” “You didn’t. Hang up.” “I don’t want to.” She finally stopped laughing. “I apologize for that hostile message I sent you...You’re actually the only guy I’ve met on here who answers all my questions. Are you busy right now? Can you talk?” “About what?” “About yourself, your life...I’ve been asking you boring legal questions every day, and you’ve been very patient so...It’s only fair that we talk about something less boring for once if we’re going to be friends, right?” Friends? I was hesitant to respond—especially since it didn’t seem like the ‘less boring’ topics would involve sex, and she’d said the word “friends” so easily. Yet, I was in the middle of another sex-less night already, so I began to have a regular conversation with her. Until five in the morning, she and I discussed the most mundane things—our daily lives, favorite books, her dream of becoming a late, professional ballerina. A few days later, we spoke again, and after a month, I was talking to her every other day. Tossing back another shot, I pressed the call button on my phone and waited to hear her soft voice. No answer. I considered sending her a text, but then I realized it was nine o’ clock on a Wednesday and we wouldn’t be able to talk at all tonight. Practice...Wednesday nights are always ballet practice...
“Mr. Hamilton?” My secretary stepped into my office the next morning. “Yes, Jessica?” “Mr. Greenwood and Mr. Bach would like to know if you want to participate in the next round of intern interviews today.” “I don’t.” “Okay...” She looked down and scribbled something onto her notepad. “Did you at least look over the resumes then? They have to narrow it down to fifteen today.” I sighed and pulled out the stack of resumes she’d given me last week. I’d read through them all and written notes, mostly—“Pass” “Double Pass” and “I don’t feel like reading this.” All the remaining applicants were from Duke University, and to my knowledge, we were the only firm in the city who accepted pre-law and law school applicants for paid internships. “I wasn’t impressed with any of the applicants.” I slid the papers across my desk. “Was that the entire selection pool?” “No, sir.” She walked over and placed an even larger stack in front of me. “This is the entire selection pool. Do you need me to do anything else for you this morning?” “Besides getting my coffee?” I pointed to the empty mug at the edge of my desk. I hated that I always had to remind her to bring it; I couldn’t function in the morning without a fresh cup. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get that right away.” I turned on my computer and scrolled through my emails, sorting them all by importance. Of course, Alyssa’s latest email was pushed straight to the top. Subject: Get Over Yourself. Thank you for the childish picture text of the white dust that was outside your condo this morning. I really appreciated it, but I can assure you that that is NOT what the inside of my vagina looks like right now. Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t need to get laid every other day to satisfy my needs. They are WELL taken care of with a VARIETY of tools. —Alyssa Subject: Re: Get Over Yourself.
I sent you two pictures. One of the white dust and one of a dried up lake with dying animals. Was the second picture more accurate? The only tool your pussy needs is my tongue. It’s here whenever you want it, and it works in a “VARIETY” of ways. —Thoreau
“Here you are, Mr. Hamilton.” Jessica suddenly set my coffee on the desk. “Can I ask you something?” “No, you may not.” “I thought so,” she said, lowering her voice and looking into my eyes. “I know this is a bit unprofessional, but I need a date for the gala next month. “Then find a date for the gala next month.” “That was my way of asking you to be my date...” I blinked. I needed to find a way to word this “Hell no” very carefully. Jessica was fresh out of college—way too damn young for me, working here because her grandfather started this firm, and looking for much more than I’d ever be willing to give. I’d overheard her several times on her lunch breaks, talking about how she wanted to be married before she turned twenty five. She also apparently wanted to be a stay-at-home mom with six kids, and live in a house in the suburbs. In other words, she was completely out of her fucking mind. “So, what do you say?” She smiled. I tried not to roll my eyes. “Jessica...” “Yes?” Her eyes were full of hope. “Look, sweetheart. Not only would it be highly inappropriate for the two of us to ever engage in any type of relationship outside of this office, but I’m not the man you’re looking for. At all. Trust me.” “Not even for one night?” “The words ‘one night’ in my book hold certain expectations that you couldn’t possibly meet. So, no. Go do some work.” “Is ‘one night’ a code for sex?” “Why are you still in my office?” “I wouldn’t tell anyone if we had sex,” she whispered. “I’ve actually fantasized about it since we first met. And, since you never have any calls on the books from a girlfriend, I’m assuming you’re available.” “I’m not.”
“I walked in on you while you were in the restroom once... You’re at least nine inches I think.” What the fuck?! I was five seconds away from recording this conversation on my phone and emailing it to her grandfather. “I’m really good at giving blowjobs,” she said. “I’ve been doing it since high school. All the guys I’ve blown have said my mouth is amazing.” She bit her lip. “Is there super-glue on my floor? Is that why you’re still standing there?” “If you were my date to the gala and we ended up having a good time, you’d be the first man I’d actually went all the way with.” She blurted out, blushing. “I’m still a virgin, down there.” “Then I’m definitely not the man for you.” I rolled my eyes. “Now, leave before I call Mr. Greenwood and tell him that his precious granddaughter is offering to suck my dick over morning coffee.” Shocked, her cheeks tinged red and she quickly walked to the door. Then she looked over her shoulder and winked at me—fucking winked at me, before stepping out. I immediately typed a note into my planner: Find a new secretary—an older, married one... Before I could finish organizing my inbox, my cell phone rang. Alyssa. “I’m busy,” I answered. “Then why did you pick up the phone?” “Because the sound of my voice makes you wet.” “Funny.” She laughed. “How’s your morning?” “Typical. My secretary just came onto me for the third time this month.” “She sent you another ‘You and me belong together’ note with chocolates?” “No, she offered to suck my dick.” “What?” She gasped. ”You’re kidding!” “Unfortunately not. After that, she told me she was willing to give me her virginity. Needless to say, I’ll be posting a replacement ad pretty soon. Anyone from your office want to work for a better firm? I’ll double the salary.” “How do you know that my firm isn’t better than yours?”
“Because you call and ask me for advice on cases all the time—silly cases at that. If your firm was better, you’d never have to ask.” “Whatever.” She groaned. “Have you bucked off the online dating wagon yet?” “Bucked? Wagon?” I could never understand her little Southern metaphors. “What the hell does that mean?” “Ugh, god...” She sighed. “It means you didn’t update me about your date last night so I guess it was a bust, which means you haven’t slept with anyone in over a month. That has to be a record for you.” “It is.” “Do you want some advice?” “Not unless you want to come to my office and tell me in person.” I smiled. “No, thanks. Speaking of advice, I’ll need your help Friday night.” “With what?” “I just landed a pretty big case. I haven’t gone through all the documents yet, but I already know I’m in over my head.” I leaned back in my chair. “If it’s that big of a case, you could bring the documents to my condo tonight. I’d be happy to help you sort through them. Categorization has always been my specialty.” “Ha! Nice try, but I don’t think so.” She continued to talk about her case, but I was only halfway listening. It still struck me as odd that she didn’t want to meet me in person, that she shut down the very thought any time I brought it up. “Also...” She was still rambling. “I’ll probably have to do some research on those changes. I’m not sure if—” “Tell me the real reason why I can’t meet you in person.” I cut her off. “What?” “We’ve known each other for six months now. Why don’t you want to meet?” Silence. “Do I need to repeat the question?” I stood up and walked over to my door, locking it. “Did you not understand me?” “It’s against the LawyerChat rules...” “Fuck LawyerChat.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s against the rules for you and me to have each other’s phone numbers in the first place, for us to act like
fucking teenagers and make each other cum over the phone at night, but you’ve never complained about that.” “You’ve never made me cum...” “Don’t lie to me.” “You haven’t.” “So, last week when I said that I wanted you to ride my mouth so I could eat your pussy until you came all over my lips, you were pretending to breathe hard?” She sucked in a breath. “No, but—” “I thought so. Why can’t we meet in person?” “Because it would ruin our friendship and you know it.” “I don’t.” “You’ve told me that you never sleep with the same woman twice, that after you sleep with someone you’re done with her.” “I’ve never fucked one of my friends before.” “That’s because I’m your only one.” “I’m aware, but—” I stopped. I had no defense for that. Silence lingered over the line, and I tried to think of another argument. She spoke up first. “I honestly don’t want to ruin our friendship over one senseless fuck.” “I guarantee we’ll have more than one senseless fuck.” Her light, airy laugh drifted over the line, and I sighed—attempting to envision what she looked like. I wasn’t sure why, but over the past few weeks, I’d been longing to experience her laughter face to face. “You know,” she went on, “for a high profile lawyer, you have a pretty dirty mouth.” “You’d be surprised how much filthier it can get.” “Filthier than what I’ve already experienced?” “Much filthier.” I’d been treading the waters since we began this friendship—still hopeful that we’d meet in person someday, but now that we weren’t, there was no point in holding back. “I guess I’ll talk to you tonight.” “Not unless you find another date between now and then. I know you’ll be searching.” “Of course I’ll be searching.” I scoffed. “Is Alyssa your real name?” “Yes, but I’m sure Thoreau isn’t yours. Do you care to finally give it to me?”
“I’ll give it to you when you come to your fucking senses and let me see you.” “You just won’t let that go, will you?” She laughed again. “What if the real reason I don’t want to meet you is because I’m ugly?” “I have a good feeling that you’re not.” “But if I was?” “I’d fuck you with the lights off.” “I prefer the lights on.” “Then I’d make you wear a paper bag over your head.” “WHAT?!” She burst into giggles. “You’re ridiculous! Ugh, there’s a client at my door right now. I have to go. Can I call you later?” “Always.” I hung up, smiling. Then it hit me. Fuck...She always finds a way out of that line of questioning...
Perjury (n.): The willful giving of false testimony under oath.
Alyssa (Well, my real name is “Aubrey”...) “Lies always catch up to people in the end. Why don’t people understand that?” That’s what Thoreau’s text message said this morning. “You don’t think some lies are justifiable?” I texted back. “No. Never.” I hesitated. “So, you’ve never lied to me?” “Why would I?” “Because we barely know each other...” “Only because you keep me at a distance.” He sent me another text before I could respond. “Would you like to know my real name and where I work?” “I prefer our anonymous arrangement.” “Of course you do, and I’ve never lied to you. I trust you for some strange reason.” “Some strange reason?” “Very strange. I’ll talk to you later.” I tossed my phone into my purse and sighed, letting that familiar feeling of guilt wash over me. I’d never meant to continue talking to him, to become his friend outside of LawyerChat, but I was in too deep, and I didn’t want to let him go. Months ago, when I’d spotted the invitation to the exclusive network on my mother’s desk, I swore to only use it when I needed to ask questions for my pre-law classes. I’d used her access code to log in, built a fake profile, and made sure all the questions I asked were weaved in a way that no one would know that they were for homework assignments. Unfortunately for me, the pre-law program at Duke was unlike any other program in the country. It consisted of more hands-on classes, one-on-
one mentoring from practicing lawyers, and it was mandated that each student find an internship for the final four semesters. In addition to that, they expected us to read through and interpret case files like we were already lawyers. If I had known that asking Thoreau for so much homework advice would lead to an actual friendship, I might have stopped talking to him sooner. Then again, just like I was his only friend, he was my only friend, too. He was open and honest every time we spoke, and I only wished that I could be the same—especially since he seemed to have a habit of saying, “I hate fucking liars” whenever one of his dates deceived him. Damnit... Smoothing the tulle fabric of my tutu, I took several deep breaths; I could think about my friendship with Thoreau later, right now I needed to focus. Today was audition day for a production of Swan Lake and I was a nervous wreck; I’d barely slept the night before, skipped breakfast, and showed up to the theater five hours early. “Please clear the stage, ladies and gentlemen!” The director shouted from below. “The official auditions will begin in thirty minutes! Please clear the stage and make your way to the wings!” Before heading backstage, I looked out into the audience. Most of the faces were familiar—my classmates, instructors, a few directors from the ballet company I’d worked for last summer, but the faces I needed to see weren’t there. They never were. Hurt, I found a corner in the dressing room and called my mother. “Hello?” she answered on the first ring. “Why aren’t you here?” “Why aren’t I where, Aubrey? What are you talking about now?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “My open audition for Swan Lake. You promised that you and dad were coming.” “It’s Aubrey, honey!” She yelled to my dad in the background. “Your recital was today?” “I haven’t been in a recital since I was thirteen.” I gritted my teeth. “This is an audition, a once in a lifetime audition, and you’re supposed to
be here.” “I guess my secretary forgot to tell me about it this morning,” she said. “Have you landed any internships for your major yet?” “I have two majors.” “Pre-law, Aubrey.” “No.” I sighed. “Well, why not? Do you think one is just going to fall from the sky and land in your lap? Is that it?” “I had an interview yesterday at Blaine and Associates,” I said, feeling my heart grow heavier by the second, “and I have another one next week at Greenwood, Bach, and Hamilton. I’m also about to audition for the role of a lifetime if you’d like to pretend to give a fuck for five seconds.” “Excuse me, young lady?” “You’re not here.” There were tears in my eyes. “You’re not here...Do you know how huge this production is going to be?” “Are you getting paid? Is the New York Ballet Company running it?” “That’s not the point. I’ve told you over and over how important this audition is to me. I called and reminded you last night, and it would be really nice if my parents showed up and believed in me for a change.” “Aubrey...” She sighed. “I do believe in you. I always have, but I’m in the middle of a huge hearing right now and you know that because it’s all over the papers. You also know that becoming a professional ballerina is not a stable career choice, and as much as I would love to leave my high-paying client to watch you tiptoe around on stage—” “It’s called dancing en pointe.” “Same thing,” she said. “Regardless, it’s just an audition. I’m sure your father and I won’t be the only parents who couldn’t make it today. Once you graduate from college and get into law school, you’ll see ballet for what it really is—a hobby, and you’ll be grateful that we pushed you into double majoring.” “Ballet is my dream, mother.” “It’s a phase, and you’re way past the prime age for becoming a professional last time I checked. Remember how you suddenly up and quit at sixteen? You’ll quit again, and it’ll be for the best. As a matter of fact—” I hung up. I didn’t want to listen to another one of her dream-killing speeches, and it angered me that she’d called ballet a “phase” when I’d been dancing since
I was six years old. When she and my dad had poured countless dollars into private classes, costumes, and competitions. The only reason why I’d “quit” at sixteen was because I’d broken my foot and couldn’t audition for any of the dance schools anymore. And the only reason I started to show the faintest interest in law was because I couldn’t do much outside of my rehab sessions except read. My heart had always belonged in pointe slippers, and that fact would never change. “Aubrey Everhart?” A man suddenly called my name from the theater door. “Is that you?” “Yes.” “You’re next to take the stage. Got about five minutes.” “Be right there...” I stuffed my bag into a locker. Before I could close it, my phone rang. Knowing it was my mother calling to offer a half-assed apology, I tried my best not to scream. “Please spare me your apologies.” I immediately picked up. “They don’t mean anything to me anymore.” “I was calling to tell you good luck,” a deep voice said. “Two minutes!” A stagehand glared at me and motioned for me to head onto the stage. “Thoreau?” I turned my back to the stagehand. “What are you telling me good luck for?” “You mentioned having some type of audition weeks ago. It’s today, right?” “Yes, thank you...” “You don’t sound too excited about your dream right now.” “How can I be when my own parents don’t believe in it?” “You’re twenty seven years old.” He scoffed. “Fuck your parents.” I laughed, guiltily. “I wish it was that simple...” “It really is. You make your own money, and despite the fact that you don’t really know shit about the law, you seem to be a pretty decent lawyer. Fuck them.” “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, trying to steer that subject away. “I’m shocked you remembered that my audition was today.” “I didn’t.” He hung up, and I knew he was smiling as he did that. “Fifteen seconds, Miss Everhart!” The stagehand grabbed my arm and practically pulled me onto the stage.
I smiled at the judges and stood in fifth position—arms over my head, and waited for the first note of Tchaikovsky’s composition to play. There was a rustling of papers, a few coughs from someone in the audience, and then the music began. I was supposed to demonstrate an arabesque, a pirouette, and then perform the routine that I’d been rehearsing in class for the past month and a half. I didn’t feel like it, though, and since this was one of my last opportunities to make an impression, I decided to dance how I wanted. I shut my eyes and completed pirouette after pirouette, fouette turn after fouette turn. I wasn’t even on beat with the music, and I could tell the pianist was confused and trying to keep up with me. I demonstrated every jump I knew, perfectly landing each one of them, and when the pianist gave up and struck the last note, I returned to fifth position—smiling. There was no applause, no cheers, nothing. I tried to read the judges’ faces to see if they looked mildly impressed, but they were stoic. “That will be all, Miss Everhart,” one of them said. “Will Miss Leighton Reynolds please take the stage?” I murmured “Thank you” before stepping off and rushing out of the theater. I didn’t bother watching the rest of the auditions. For the remainder of the afternoon, I walked around campus and tried not to cry. When I was sure that no tears would fall, I sent emails to Thoreau; that was the only thing that could possibly make me feel better. Subject: Thinking... “One dinner. One night. No repeats.” Do you pick a cheap or expensive restaurant? Do you pay for the dinner and the hotel room? Or do you make the woman split it with you? —Alyssa. Subject: Re: Thinking... Expensive dinner. Five star hotel suite. I pay for everything. Would you like me to book a few reservations for us so I can show you? —Thoreau. Subject: Re: Re: Thinking... Of course not. And a “few” reservations? What happened to just one?
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Thinking... I told you I’d make an exception in your case. I invested in a box of paper bags today. —Thoreau
I laughed and looked at my watch. It was five o’ clock and I was sure the results for the production had been posted hours ago, but I was too scared to look. All I wanted was a chance to be a member of the swan corps, or even an understudy for the lead. Why did I fuck up that routine? What the hell was I thinking? After driving myself crazy with questions, I forced myself to make the trek back to the dance theater to look at the final cast posting. When I arrived, there was a huge crowd in front of the sign, and I could hear the usual “I’m in! I’m in!” and “How could they not pick me?” revelations. I squeezed my way through everyone and squinted at the sheet, looking for my name on the minor cast sheet but it wasn’t there. It was on the major cast sheet, and right next to the lead role of Odette/Odile, the white and black swan, was my full name in bold. I burst into tears, jumping up and down in disbelief. I wanted to call my mom and tell her the good news, but my heart suddenly sank at the thought. I knew that at this very moment, she was probably telling my father that I’d hung up in her face, and that he needed to make sure I knew the strings behind them paying for my education: “If you drop pre-law, we’ll stop writing the checks...Pre-law pays for your classes, ballet doesn’t.”
I lifted my aching feet out of a bucket of ice and patted them dry with a towel. I wasn’t sure how I was going to juggle a leading role, classes, and a potential internship, but I didn’t have a choice. Sighing, I glanced at the calendar on my desk where I’d scribbled “Interview prep day” in today’s slot. My upcoming interview with Greenwood, Bach, and Hamilton—one of the most prestigious firms in the state, was more than just an interview. It was a process, and every intern-seeking student knew that landing an internship at that firm could do wonders for a resume. The firm was so selective that they conducted four rounds of phone interviews, three online tests, and required each applicant to complete
several essays before the final interview with the partners. I’d soared through the phone interviews and the exams, but the essays— regarding hundred paged case files, were something that I hadn’t expected. I’d even thought they’d sent me the wrong packet so I called to say, “I believe my packet was switched with the law-school level intern application.” The secretary simply laughed at me. She’d said the firm expected all of its interns—law school level and undergraduate level, to fill out the same packet to the best of their ability. “Don’t worry,” she’d said. “We’re not expecting perfection from you. We just want to see how your mind works.” I grabbed the case file that was giving me the most trouble and placed it into my lap. Then I went to the GBH firm’s website and familiarized myself with the three partners who would be interviewing me. Greenwood, the founder of the firm, was a salt and pepper haired man with wiry framed glasses. He touted Harvard as his reason for being so demanding and thorough, and boasted that in his thirty years of practicing the law, he’d attained one of the highest victory rates in the country. Bach, partner of the firm for over ten years, was a bald man in his early forties, though he looked a bit older. He’d worked his way up through the firm, and since he was “such a hardworking individual with unparalleled passion,” Greenwood had no choice but to make him his first partner. He had one of the second highest victory rates in the country. Last was Hamilton—Andrew Hamilton, and he was...He was sexy as fuck. I tried to focus on his biography and ignore his picture, but I couldn’t help it. His deep and piercing blue eyes were staring right at me, and his short, dark brown hair was begging my hands to run through it. He had the face of a Greek God—evenly tanned, perfectly symmetrical, strong and chiseled jawline, and his full lips were curved into a slight smirk. Even though the picture only showed the top part of his body, I imagined that by the way he filled out his navy blue suit that there were hard and defined muscles underneath it. I was getting wet just looking at him. Focus, Aubrey...Focus... Strangely, his bio was the shortest one of them all. It didn’t list his education, his background, or the year he became partner. It was just a bunch of filler words about how “the firm was so honored to have such an
esteemed and proven lawyer” on their team. Oh, and he enjoyed eating chocolate. How informative... I copied and pasted all of their bios into a word document, and then I called Thoreau. “Good evening, Alyssa,” he answered, making me melt with his voice as usual. I swore he could talk me into doing anything—almost anything. “Hey, um...” “Yes?” God, I loved his fucking voice... He hadn’t said much of anything and I was already turned on. “You called so I could listen to you breathe?” He had to be smiling. “I did, actually.” I rolled my eyes. “Are you enjoying my sounds?” “I’d enjoy them a lot better if you were underneath me.” I blushed. “Um...” “The case, Alyssa.” He laughed. “Tell me about your latest case.” “Right, um...” I cleared my throat. “Long story short: My client carried a gun into a federal bank and forgot to turn on the safety lock. Someone bumped into him and his hands instinctively went to his pocket, and the gun fired—shooting him in the leg.” “Since when do you practice criminal law? I thought your specialty was corporate.” Shit... “It is, it is. I’m taking this case for a friend, pro bono.” “Hmmm. Well, your friend is looking at two to five years in a federal prison if he doesn’t have any priors. What part of this do you need help with exactly?” “The pleading part. He didn’t hurt anyone but himself.” “Did he have a license to carry?” “No...” I looked through my notes. “Then I’m sure the prosecution will convince the jury that he carried that gun into the bank with the intent to harm someone other than himself. Take whatever deal they offer.” “Well, I...” I looked at what the assignment sheet said. “What if I already rejected that deal?” He sighed. “Call the prosecution and try to get it back. If they say no, plead no contest.” “No contest? Are you out of your mind?”
“Are you? What type of corporate lawyer agrees to take an open and shut criminal case? A fairly inexperienced one at that...” “For your information, it’s an assign—” I coughed. “Never mind. Telling me to plead no contest is pretty much the same thing as telling me to plead guilty.” “If that was the case, I would have said plead guilty.” He sounded annoyed. “No contest is your client’s best option, and any real lawyer would know that. Are you sure you passed the bar exam?” “I wouldn’t have been invited to join LawyerChat if I hadn’t, would I?” I felt my heart ache with that lie. “I’m just trying to avoid my client being sentenced to prison.” “Then you really should stick to corporate law.” There was a smile in his voice. “Your client is going to prison and there’s nothing you can do about it. The only negotiable thing about his case is how long he’ll spend there. Anything else I can help you with? Do I need to lecture you on the difference between guilty and not guilty?” I rolled my eyes and put the file away. “Thank you for your condescending help as always.” “My pleasure,” he said. “I need to ask you something important.” “About my case?” “No.” He let out a low laugh. “What do you look like?” “What?” I could barely hear my voice. “What did you say?” “You heard me. Since I may never get a chance to see you, I’d like to know. What do you look like?” I stood up and walked over to my mirror, letting my eyes roam over my reflection. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to answer that...” I needed to change the subject, fast. From everything he’d told me about his dates over the past few months, he definitely had a type he liked best, a type that intrigued him like no other: Blonde, slightly curvy, full lips... Me. I’d tried to envision what he looked like plenty of times. Dark haired, maybe? Dirty blond? A mouth made for kissing with deep green eyes? Six pack, no, eight pack that leads down to a lick-able V? He does mention working out every day... I was more than certain that he was attractive—he had to be if so many women put up with him on those dating sites, but each time my mind drew a picture, I’d convince myself that I had him all wrong.
“You know what?” I said, snapping out of my thoughts. “I’ve never been good at describing things. What do you look like?” “I look like a man who wants to fuck you.” Tingles ran up and down my spine. “That’s not a description...” “What color is your hair?” He didn’t sound amused, and I knew he wasn’t going to let me direct the conversation tonight. “Red.” I yanked the band from around my bun and let the blond strands fall to my shoulders. “How long is it?” “It’s short...” “Hmmm. What about your eyes?” I stared at my blue and grey irises. “Green, light green.” “Do you have freckles?” “No.” At least that part was true. “And your lips?” “You want to know how thin or thick they are?” “I want to know how they’d look wrapped around my cock.” I gasped. “Are you playing shy tonight?” Ice cubes clinked against a glass in his background. “How much of my cock do you think you could take into your mouth?” I remained silent, and my breathing began to slow. “Alyssa?” His voice was soft. “Are you going to answer me?” “It’s hard to make a prediction about something you’ve never done.” I heard him inhale a deep breath, and the line went completely silent. I thought he’d ask me how I’d managed to have sex with boyfriends in the past without ever giving a blowjob, but he didn’t. “Hmmm. Are you a natural redhead?” “What does it matter?” I moved over to my bed. “I’m clearly not your type.” “I have a preference, not a type, and a smart mouthed redhead who’s never had another man’s cock in her mouth is more than worthy of an exception.” I hooked a thumb underneath my panties and peeled them off before slipping under the sheets. “Too bad I’m not a full blown virgin, huh?” “I don’t fuck virgins.” He paused. “But considering the fact that you and I have never fucked, you might as well be one.”
Wetness slipped down my thighs, and I felt my nipples hardening. “I highly doubt—” “I’m tired of only being able to talk to you on the phone, Alyssa...” Silence. “I need to see you...” His voice was strained. “I need to fuck you...” “Thoreau...” “No, listen to me.” His tone was a warning. “I need to be buried deep inside of you, feeling your pussy throb around my cock as you scream my name—my real name.” A hand trailed down past my stomach and between my thighs, and my fingers began to strum my clit. Slow at first, then faster, faster with every sound of his heavy breaths in my ear. “I’ve been very patient with you...” His voice trailed off. “Don’t you think?” “No...” “I have,” he said. “I’m tired of imagining how wet your pussy can get, how loudly you’ll scream when I suck your tits as you ride me...How hard I’ll pull your hair when I bend you over my desk and fuck you until you can’t breathe...Tired.” I shut my eyes, letting my other hand squeeze my breast, letting my thumb pinch my nipple. “I’m giving you two weeks to come to your fucking senses...” “What?” “Two weeks,” he whispered. “That’s when you and I are going to meet face to face, and I’m going to claim every inch of you.” “I can’t...I can’t agree to...that.” “You will.” His breathing was now in sync with mine. “And the second you do, you’re going to invite me over and I’m going to remind you of everything you’ve teased me with over the past six months.” I was speechless. My clit was swelling with each rub of my finger, and my breaths were getting shorter and shorter. “I’ll be gentle at first,” he whispered, “especially when I slide my cock into your mouth and pull on your hair, showing you exactly how I like it to be sucked.” “Stop...” I was panting. “Please...Stop...” “Trust me, I won’t.” “Thoreau...” My legs were trembling.
“I can’t just talk to you anymore. I need to feel you, I need to taste you. Say yes to two weeks...” I bit my lip, knowing that if he said it again, if he asked me one more time, I would say yes. “Alyssa...” He was begging. I was seconds away from coming, seconds away from screaming “Yes! Yes! Yes!” “Promise me you’ll let me fuck you in two weeks...” As if my mouth was under his command, it freed my bottom lip and prepared to say yes, but I hung up. Keeping my eyes shut, I lay in bed and let the waves of an orgasm roll through me as I screamed the three yeses he couldn’t hear. When I finally stopped shaking, I rolled over and grabbed a pillow, pulling it to my chest. Before I could force myself to sleep, I heard my phone ringing beneath me. It was a text from Thoreau. “I’ll take that as a yes. Fourteen days.”
**End of excerpt**
Reasonable Doubt is now available in one full series set for $4.99! (You can also read the remainder of Reasonable Doubt #1 in its original serial format for free on all retailers.)
A Letter to the Reader Dear Incredible Reader, Thank you so much for taking time out of your life to read this book! I hope you were thoroughly entertained and enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you LOVED it and have any extra time, PLEASE leave a review, OR find me here on Facebook so I can personally thank you :-) If you hated it, well...keep that shit to yourself! LOL (Just kidding. Feel free to let me know how I can improve next time!) I’m forever grateful for you and your time, and I hope to be re-invited to your bookshelf with my next release. Speaking of my next release, if you’d like to be a part of my mailing list so you can be notified of my upcoming release dates and special offers, please sign up via this link. Love, Whitney G.
ALSO BY WHITNEY G. Erotic Romances:
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*denotes that title is available for pre-order and/or an upcoming release