by Kylie Parker
“Tu m'excites!” She cries. I’m annoyed as hell at her, and I think it's showing through my violent movements, but she is eating it up. “Damn it, James!” she groans as I shake her bed. I don’t respond; I just go faster and harder. I’m so pissed off at her –making me late for my gym opening intentionally and always trying to convince me to sell my company. I’m not too interested in making this pleasurable for her so much for me this time around. She is still into it nonetheless. Éclair is an amazing woman –too bad she annoys the hell out of me.
Chapter Eight
Office work. I could stab my eyes out with a pen as I sit behind my desk aimlessly responding to emails and filling out paperwork. Sometimes I wonder if Eddie would have been better suited for this crap. I lean back in my chair and rub my temples. I am so bored. I pull out my cell phone after hearing it go off. Much to my pleasure, Éclair is up for some dirty sexting. Thank God. She knows me really well. I had told her I had a long day at the office coming up, so I know she is doing this for my benefit. We text back and forth as I work, and I can feel a tingling sensation in my pants. I have to avoid texting her back for several minutes to keep from getting a serious hard on while I’m working. That’s the last thing I need, although I’ll probably be alone in my office for most of the day.
Suddenly the phone goes off again, and I receive really filthy pictures of Éclair in her office without her panties on –showing off her hips, but that’s it. Is she serious? That’s so not cool. A new text arrives: Send me one, and I’ll send you something steamier. Damn, woman! What am I supposed to send her? Chest picture? A cock shot? I decide to go for a chest picture. I hurry out of button up and stand to take a picture. I take two and then choose my favorite. As I am sitting back down, still without my shirt on, Eddie comes barging into my office. He looks angry, but the look disappears for a second as a look of confusion replaces it. “Um?” he says.
“Uh, I was cutting a tag off my shirt. Forgot to lock the door. Sorry.” I say, and I am a little proud of the excuse as I hurried to get my shirt back on and buttoned up.
Eddie rolls his eyes, marches up to my desk, and slams his paycheck down on my desk, his anger returning to him, “What the hell is this, James?”
“What?” I question once I finish buttoning myself back into my shirt.
“You gave me a raise?” he asks.
Why the hell is he angry about that? “Well, yeah,” I say. “You’ve earned it.”
“I’ve earned it?” he asks. He looks so pissed. What the hell did I do? Eddie bangs a fist down on my desk, “Listen, you think that giving me a fucking raise is going to make you sleeping with my girlfriend go away? I’m not her damn pimp.”
“What?” I stand up, “Eddie; that’s not it at all!”
“What, then?” He asks, “Is it because you found out I am in debt? Is this some sort of charity?”
“Charity?” I say, “Man, you got it all wrong. I was just trying to-”
“To what?” he snarls.
“To show you you’re worth something to me,” I say.
“That’s cute.” He rolls his eyes, “This is just you flaunting your money again. This is bullshit.”
“That’s not it!” I shout.
“Yes, it fucking is.” He says, “You always do shit like this. Meanwhile, I’m stuck running your stupid factory.”
I stare at him. He’s wearing a factory worker's uniform, and he’s covered in filth from working the bottom end of the business. Sure, he does half my job too, but looking at him you would probably assume he’s just some damn factory guy. I shouldn’t have given him a raise. I should have given him a damn promotion. He doesn’t want more money. He wants more responsibility with our father’s business. Our father –not my father. He feels like he got shorted, and he did. I can’t deny that. Eddie seriously got screwed. Sure, I gave him a job, but I gave him a pretty shitty one. Assistant to the PR department –he’s not even the head guy. And the head factory manager. That sucks. It really sucks. He thought he would be co-inheriting a billion dollar company, and he got stuck doing the grunge work. He works the mail room some days, for crying out loud. When Éclair told me to make a grand gesture, that was what she meant. She did not mean for me to give him a stupid raise.
“Look, you’re right.” I say, “I should give you a lot more credit-”
“Awe, shut the hell up, James.” He says, “I spent my summers here in the office with Dad while you spent your time chasing bimbo girls around. I worked here. I sat with Dad in this same office every weekend learning the business. I know more about this company than you could ever hope to learn. I understand the stocks. I understand what goes into every trivial piece of keeping this place together. And all of that time was wasted. I was always trying to impress him. I was always the good one!”
“The good one?” I question, “So what did that make me?”
“The fucking screw up!” he shouts, “That’s what you have always been. You were the lazy asshole who spent his money. I was the responsible one. I was the one learning the business. And what did I get after wasting my entire fucking childhood with my nose up his ass? A measly check, a summer house that floods when it rains, and a damn letter telling me he was just playing pretend with me my whole life –that I should consider myself lucky to be included in his will at all and to treat my legitimate brother with some respect. He didn’t even tell me he was sorry or that he loved me or anything in that stupid letter. It was cold. And what do you do? You give me a job where I watch over a bunch of high school dropouts while they sort vitamin pills and where I get bitched out by your PR rep every other day. Do you have any idea how fucking demeaning my life is?”
“Look, I was just trying to-”
“Save it.” He snarls, “I am taking the day off.” He storms out of my office and slams the door behind him.
I slump down into my seat; he left his paycheck sitting on my desk. I feel like an idiot. I look at the picture sitting on my desk. It was one of me and my dad when I was a kid. It was my dad’s old office, and I had found the picture when I had come to clear out his stuff after learning that I would be taking over the company. It did not occur to me at the time, but I realize now that there had been no pictures of Eddie in that box of supplies I had carted off on my first day. Just a wedding photo of Dad with Mom, and this stupid picture of the two of us in fishing hats from when I was ten. Had Dad treated Eddie like shit his whole life? Looking back, it seems kind of obvious. I had not noticed back then. Honestly, I just always noted that Mom treated Eddie really well. Now I realize she only did that to make up for how crappy our old man was towards him. I slam the frame facing downward so that I don’t have to look at it.
There has got to be something I can do. I can’t focus on work. My head is spinning slightly. I call my secretary and tell her to hold my appointments because I’m going to take an early lunch off site. I need to clear my head.
Chapter Nine
I decide that I’m going to walk to the café for lunch. Not my best idea, but I need the extra time away from my desk after getting into it with Eddie. He has me angry –not so much at him as much as I am angry with myself. How do I keep screwing up with him? It’s not like I am doing it on purpose. I am just being me –but whenever I am me, I somehow manage to screw Eddie over. I could go piss on our old man’s grave for this shit. I love my dad; I really do, but his final act, his stupid will, drove a serious wedge between Eddie and me. We used to be really close. Now he can hardly stand to be in the same room as me. When did life get so damn complicated?
This is turning out to be a longer walk than I had originally anticipated. I decide I’m going to have my driver come pick me up at the café because I’m not trekking all the way back to the office. If I had some workout clothes and some tennis shoes and not dress pants, dress shoes, and an expensive button up, that would be another story. Eventually, I wind up outside of the café, and my stomach grumbles. I’m starving.
I hurry inside, and a
cute young server smiles excitedly. I always come here, and they all know I tip well. I am given a seat, and the young girl asks if I want my usual. I say I do, and she trots off behind the little counter. They have great sandwiches here –especially if you’re a health nut like myself. The place is full of vegans, athletes, and paranoid health-craved first-time moms. The server plops my favorite tea down in front of me as well as my carefully prepared sandwich, and I dive in like a pig.
I’m about halfway through my sandwich when the door opens, letting in a slight breeze. Instinctively I look up when the little bell is hanging over the door rings. I almost choke on my food. It’s her. The woman from Éclair’s billboard –the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen. Same blonde hair, perky breasts, tan skin, toned body…. that billboard was definitely not photoshopped. She really looks that perfect. She has just come from a run, so she is not decked out in makeup –but it is her without a doubt. Her long blonde hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and she has earbuds in her ears. She is wearing a black sports bra and fairly conservative pink gym shorts with matching tennis shoes. I’m in a slight panic. The woman I’ve fantasized about for the past year –ever since the billboard went up –is standing just a few feet away. I have never been nervous to talk to a woman before, but I cannot move from my seat.
The server plops a bill next to me, and I instinctively start looking for my wallet with my hands as I stare at the model. She looks sexy, but there is also a certain cuteness about her with the way she is tapping her chin while staring at the chalkboard menu behind the counter, trying to decide what to reward herself with after a run. I watch as she removes her earbuds and places her MP3 into her gym shorts. She wipes her brow. Suddenly, I realize I’ve been digging around in my pockets for a considerable amount of time. I don’t have my wallet. “Shit,” I say.
“Everything all right, James?” the server asks.
“Not really.” My face turns red. “I think I left my wallet back at the office.” I keep digging around. “Man, I left my cell phone too.” So much for calling my driver. The server looks really disappointed. I attempt to reassure her, “If you have a phone or something, I can call my assistant and have her come out this way. Don’t worry; I’m going to take care of you.” The server smiles and hurries off to locate her cellphone that I am sure she has stashed behind the counter somewhere.
“Hey,” I hear a lovely voice, and I look up and realize the model is talking to me and standing right over me. I open my mouth, but no words come out. “Do you mind if I sit down here?” she points to the empty chair across from me, “They don’t have any empty tables, and I think I might have twisted my ankle while I was out running.”
“Of course!” I say, a bit too eagerly.
She raises a brow at me before sitting down. She takes out a cell phone and starts scrolling through it, and I can tell she’s doing it, so she does not have to talk to the awkward stranger she is sitting with. A few minutes’ pass, and I have yet to say anything. I feel like an idiot. Soon the server is bringing her order to her, and hanging me a cell phone. “Thank you,” I say to the server, “I’m really sorry about that.”
“It’s okay, James,” the girl says, “You come here all the time. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” She trots off.
I am staring at the cell phone, I slowly start dialing the number, but before I finish the model interrupts me, “What did you do? Forget your wallet?”
I take a breath, and I remind myself to act charming instead of like an awkward moron. “Yeah. I walked here, and I left my wallet and phone back at the office.” I say, “I’m just going to have my assistant bring it.”
The model laughs, “Don’t do that. The traffic is terrible. You’ll be sitting here another hour. I’ll buy you lunch.” She waves the server down before I have time to oppose. She slips the woman a twenty and tells her that she’s paying for my lunch and to keep the change. The server leaves us, fairly content with the tip she received.
“That was awfully kind of you.” I say, “You don’t even know me.”
She smiles, “You have a nice face. Pay it forward.” She takes a bite out of the sandwich she ordered and a sip of her drink.
I smile, “What’s your name?”
“Sylvia Stapleton.” She says.
“I like that.” I say, “My name is James Caldwin.”
“A pleasure.” She says and then pauses, “How do I know that name? Sounds familiar?”
“I’m the CEO of Shattered,” I say.
She laughs, “That’s right. Wow. Now I get to say I bought a billionaire lunch.”
I laugh too, “Yes. I suppose so.”
“You look familiar as well.” I say, trying to play it cool, “Have we met before?”
She looks embarrassed, “I have gotten that a lot ever since that billboard went up. I’ve model for your competition, Mr. Caldwin.”
I laugh, “You can call me James. And I believe I know what billboard you’re talking about.” Of course, I know! I have a picture of it on my phone that I’ve gotten off on before, but I’m not telling her that! “So you’re a model?” I ask.
“I do it on occasion.” She says, “I prefer sporting. I test athletic gear for a living.”
“Really?” I ask, excited. As an athlete myself, I find that quite intriguing.
She nods, “Yeah. I make decent money doing it, but I model for a little extra income.”
“What sort of gear do you test?” I ask.
“Anything and everything.” She says, “Clothes, shoes, rock-climbing gear, surfing gear, skateboards, you know –sports stuff.”
I smile, “That sounds like a dream job.”
She laughs, “This coming from a multi-billionaire?”
“If there is one thing I have learned from having money, it’s that money really isn’t everything.” I say, “I’d like to walk in your shoes for a day.”
“So you’re an athlete, I’m guessing?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, “I’ve actually done a bit of modeling for my company too. Looks like we’re two like souls.”
She laughs, “Don’t judge me, but is that your chest on all your promo’s?”
“That’s me,” I say.
“Wow, conceited much?” she smiles, “This is embarrassing, but I have one of your fliers up in my apartment just because, well…” she grins. “Damn.” She blushes slightly, “I stare at that stupid flier whenever I run on my treadmill.”
I smile big back at her, “Okay, okay, I got, to be honest. I knew who you were the moment you walked in here. I stare at that billboard on my way to work every day.”
“Oh my God, are you serious?” she asks, “How funny! Have we both met our fantasy pairing today?”
“Looks that way,” I say, “I don’t suppose you would be interested in going on a date?”
Sylvia leans forward on the table, “I really would.”
Hell yeah! This guy just scored a date with a model. Not just any model, though, the model! The model I have gawked over for the past year. Today is starting to look up after all.
Chapter Ten
I decide that if I am going to be going on a date with my fantasy girl, I need to make it a good one. As a woman who makes a living testing athletic gear for a living (and loving it), I decide to do something a little different. I tell her to dress comfortably, and I have my driver take me to her apartment on the outskirts of the city. Being the gentleman I am, I, of course, bought her a few flowers. Roses.
I leave my driver waiting outside and head up to her second-floor apartment. I knock, and she answers wearing a pair of jean and a nice looking blue shirt. I myself am dressed similar in a pair of jeans and a gray V-neck. She smiles when she sees the mall bouquet of roses. “Well, aren’t you adorable?” she teases.
“Of course,” I say, and she takes the flowers.
“Hold on. I want to put these on water.” She says and hurries back into her apartment before meeting me at the door. She locks the door behind her
, and I took her arm in mine.
“Are you ready for the most fabulous first date of your life?” I ask.
“You’re cocky, you know that?” she laughs. “And I hope it will be better than my last first date. The guy forgot his wallet, and I wound up paying for his lunch.”
“Very cute,” I say with an eye roll. “That was not a date. And believe me, I assure you that I will make up for that sandwich you got for me.”
“I hope so,” she jokes, “It was kind of expensive for a coffee house sandwich.”
We get into the back of my car, and my driver takes us straight to a local airstrip where my private jet is awaiting us. I can tell she is somewhat excited and trying to play it off as if it is nothing. “So… where are we going?” she asks as we are boarding up.
I laugh. “What? And ruin the surprise?”
We sit in the cabin, and my personal stewardess brings us two glasses of Champaign and some chocolate covered fruit to snack on. It’s going to be a long flight. Sylvia and I start talking, and I find her exceptionally easy to talk to. She is not just a pretty face. I love the fact that she is really into her job. She talks about some of the amazing things she’s done before and some of the new equipment that’s not even out yet that she has worked with. She tells me she has gotten flown out to beaches before by companies just to test beach gear like the top of the line surfboards. “I wish I had your job,” I say.
“I wish I had yours.” She laughs, “Come on, you make being a playboy billionaire sound like a bad thing.”
“It has its perks, I’ll admit, but it's way more trouble than it’s worth.” I say, “It has caused more family drama than you could imagine.”
“Now that’s something I can relate to.” Sylvia grumbles, “I have a big sister who thinks she is a big shot. I love her and all, but damn! If I have to hear her talk about herself at our family dinner one more time, I might punch her.”
