by Liz K. Lorde
Still inside of her, my heart hammering away, I had to fight the urge to rake my hand through my hair while I looked at Rebbecca. “Private party,” I insisted to her, “you knew what I was doing in here.”
She dropped the battering ram onto the floor, having it make a thud as she moved out of view. I already had a feeling what she was going to do next, so I reluctantly pulled myself from the girl, which made her turn her head to look at me both frustrated and confused.
I slid my eyes down to her while I unrolled the condom, having it make a snap as it came off of my semi-hard cock. “My lovely assistant,” I explained, hoping that she understood. “Best get dressed.”
Right on cue Rebbecca came back into view with her red megaphone, striding into the room as the pony-tailed woman was already heading for the door, looking back at her friend.
Rebbecca put the megaphone to her mouth, clicking it to life. “Get your clothes and get the hell out,” she stormed, looking in particular at the short haired one still on the bed, her innie pussy lined with white. “Let’s go!” She ejaculated, “rapido whatever language you speak it’s time to pull up those panties and get out. Go on,” she brought the megaphone right up to the woman’s face. That was a bit excessive, Rebbecca.
The woman finally had enough, smacking the megaphone out of her face and shooting me a nasty look before scrambling to get dressed.
She practically stumbled out with her tight, light-olive colored ass still visible as she was adjusting her skirt.
I fell back on the bed, breathing in and out quickly, my body slick with sweat and smelling of the both of them. I never took my eyes off of my assistant as I grabbed a pillow and covered myself. “You really kill my fun, you know.”
Rebbecca put a hand on her hip and clicked the megaphone to life once more. “You’re late,” she said through it. “You have all the time in the world to get your dick wet,” she had a great way of talking down to the guy that helped sign her paychecks. “Get fucking dressed,” she brought the megaphone down and started moving through the hotel room, picking and throwing my clothes at me; I managed to catch my pants, not wanting to get the custom tailored shit stained from these girls.
“Christ, alright,” I finally submitted, “let me shower first.”
She saw it fit to use her normal voice, and on the inside I was putting my hands together and pleading my thanks to the ceiling above me. “There’s no time now. Next time you decide to be a dick, just blow your load first,” her frustration cut through the air, those red painted lips scowling at me. “Handling you gives me a massive headache,” she sighed.
And being handled by you gives me blue balls.
***
Stepping out of the gray 2017 Lexus, I slammed the door shut and folded my arms against one another, waiting for Rebbecca Childes. She was a royal pain in my ass, but the last one that I could ever bother to tolerate. Smart, sassy, and full of that youthful hunger. She pulled out her phone and began talking with someone, remaining seated in the car. She looked to me with a glance and gave me the go-ahead to continue without her.
My father was smart to use her against me in the past, but I’ve put the old man in his place – dug my heels in the ground enough times that even he can’t deny I won’t go the distance for her.
I headed out from the parking lot and walked briskly to the public entrance of Smoak Incorporated. It towered over everything like an onyx behemoth, it’s many glass panes mutely watching over all. The street-side was full with the usual bustle of life. Business cronies yammering on their phones; young upstarts hopeful to make a fresh-blooded deal glance my way in recognition. Slim Charles, a black colored man on the other end of the street, could only be described as looking like he’d been tossed into a dryer full of quarters. He wore a beige coat over a plain black shirt, with old, sagging blue jeans and red boxers that you could barely make out. Charles was a rough, tough kind of man always looking to earn money for what he knows. We exchanged nods, and I pushed open the glass doors of my building.
The long hallway served as an antechamber to the heart of the building. Orange sunset paint graced the walls along with the traditional and stylistically done ‘S’ symbol in gold. Down towards the opening to the main lobby was the security checkpoint; fully equipped with state-of-the-art scanning systems and retina identification. Alongside this, there were also two fully equipped guards, Mike and Rio, each of them covered below the neck in black padded ballistics armor. Off to the side in his circular booth, was Thomas Hall, watching over the monitors with his feet kicked up on the desk.
Dad never liked him for that, but the job seemed to stick with him anyway.
Swaggering towards Thomas’s desk, I raised my chin at Rio and Mike. Ignoring standard protocol completely, I put my gray shoe on the desk and jumped over. “Looking sharp,” I said to Thomas before spotting his coffee next to one of the monitors. “What’s this?”
Thomas brought his feet off of the table and looked at me with mild annoyance on the lines of his face. “That’s to keep me—“ I snatched the gas station coffee from the table and took a long sip. “—From going insane.” He looked at me with a measurable degree of contempt. “Thanks Mr. Smoak.”
“I don’t know if you got the memo, but my father eighty six’d sarcasm.” I placed the coffee down and pointed at Thomas, “don’t make me write you up for it.”
“Right,” he quipped, “I’m not sure you even wipe your own ass by yourself without your assistant.”
Well it is in the word. I smiled at Thomas, pleased with his usual clever streak. I turned on my heel and made my way into the heart of the building. It was a large circular chamber with sixteen floors, not including the roof level. At the twelve o clock position, there was a pristine glass elevator with the familiar golden S that would part when the doors open. On the ground floor, there are various offices for our lower level employees. I made a few quick stops to pop in and say hello; if you don’t respect the people at the bottom, you’ll never be respected at the top.
After I said hello to my people, I strolled over to the elevator and closed the doors, positioning myself next to the panel. Inside the elevator with me was the bald headed Matthew Royce, one of our loss prevention officers. I gave him a quick chin nod and then let my eyes settle on the always pretty and strong willed Zoe Barnes; one of our finest legal experts. She’s a wild one in private for sure. She had long, tightly curled blond hair with a slender frame and sweet doe eyes of green. “Which floor you going to?” I asked them, sharing a quiet knowing look with Zoe. There was something I couldn’t place in the way she looked at me though, like she knew something wasn’t right. After they individually replied, I hit 3, 6 and 16, telling Matthew to rock it out before he left, and I reminded Zoe not to twist too many arms.
The elevator made it’s disgustingly familiar and no longer satisfying ding at the sixteenth floor. Where my father was waiting for me. I hadn’t intended to be as late as I was, more or less I wanted to be fashionably late – not unprofessionally so. Hell, I’m sure they’d smell the scent of sex on me. Stepping out from the elevator, I made my way along the last circular floor. Walking along the three, bright silver railings that enclosed the floor, I looked down at the smattering of people walking between offices and their various workings. This was supposed to be my kingdom, my rule, but for as much love as I had for pretty much everyone here – it wasn’t my throne.
Yet.
Making my way to the long corridor that would take me to the top executive table, I shoved my hands into my pockets, trying to ignore the kiss of anger at the soles of my feet. See my father had a little rule in place that was keeping me between what was his, and what was mine. Keeping me from inheriting title as CEO was his way of motivating me to marry.
Just the thought of it makes me sick, makes me want to spend the night at my private gym and kick the shit out of a punching bag. It’s been a very long time, but it seems like time is never quite enough – that forgetting or burying
the past is just slightly out of reach. Every time I grasp out for it, it just gets that much further away.
Approaching the massive amaretto double-doors, I gripped the silver handle with a flourish of engravings. It didn’t help things much that my father had a strict view on who I should or should not be marrying; if they lacked class, or money, proper etiquette, didn’t look a certain way, didn’t talk a certain way, then they weren’t for me.
He felt that way about them all, ever since I lost my way.
Opening up the door, I could hear the sound of my father’s rough voice, like it’d been soaked in whiskey and cigarettes since his birth. The room came to a quiet as I burst in, and all heads turned to face me. It was the board of directors, all six of them, my father Jonathan Pendragon Smoak, and Tim Vermaine. Tim’s always been my best friend since we were growing up together. Hell, he’d helped me to build the fence around my personal retreat. Spent nights trying to figure out what girls liked us at that damnable private school my father had sent me to.
Tim swept back a lock of his sleek shoulder length brown hair, tucking it behind his hair. He was the only guy in the company to have his hair grown out like that. “Oh hey Mike,” he said in a tone that conveyed the most minimal amount of excitement humanly possible. His brown eyes conveyed a sense that something was wrong, but what exactly I couldn’t tell. On the extremely expensive Croatian Vanderwood table sat his customary Mega Gulp halfway filled with a cherry cola.
“Tim,” I said sharply, giving him a slight smirk. He wasn’t stupid, but he didn’t particularly excel at anything in the company.
Jonathan tightened his lips into something resembling the shadow of a frown. See my father had this talent, where I had the whole brooding thing on lock down, he had this insane ability to look like everything in the world was made for him to crush – that even just breathing around him was somehow displeasing to him. He had what remained of his balding silver hairline cut at less than an inch, and his equally silvery eyebrows were drawn close together. He wore a traditional three piece suit in all black, a little too traditional for my tastes, and most men viewed him with a credible fear.
But I didn’t fear my father anymore.
I loathed him.
“This meeting does not concern you,” my father said pointedly before his jaw clenched together.
Tim was quicker to the bat than me. “Well, actually—“
I cut him off completely, “Just because I’m a little late to the bash doesn’t mean I can’t find a seat pops.” I casually strolled over to the empty chair at the opposite end of my father and sank back into it’s black leather, kicking my feet up on the desk and putting them in the face of board member Charles Wraithwood. He’d just turned fifty and five, his worn, gentlemanly face scowling at me with disapproval. The man had dark almond eyes, a widow’s peak and lightly wavy brown hair slicked back; he didn’t have too many streaks of gray on his head, but the salt and pepper of his full, half-inch beard was plainly evident. Charlie here had a particularly wild resume before he joined the company.
“So. What’s the deal then,” I announced.
Jonathan Smoak was not one for mincing his words. He narrowed his steel blue eyes in my direction. “The deal,” he said, cocking his head almost imperceptibly to the side, “is that your irresponsibility within the company and outside the company.” He’s hypocritical, I know for a fact that he tries to keep up with me when it comes to women. Keyword being try. “Has spurred me to reach just one decision.”
I folded my arms over my chest and turned my head to better face him, whilst Tim loudly sipped from his Mega Gulp. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not gonna’ enjoy this so called decision.”
Dresden House wouldn’t even look at me. That couldn’t be a good sign. He was another senior board member, with us from the very beginning of the company’s inception. He had a ragged white beard against his black face, with a smattering of pristinely groomed silver hair on his head; they were done in fine, tight, frizzy curls.
Jonathan straightened out his back against his chair, the room growing to a palpable tension. “Timothy Vermaine will be processed and groomed for the position of CEO.”
Lightning wormed it’s way through my system, and my jaw dropped. If my mind wasn’t reeling from the shock of it, I normally would have found the sense to pick it back up. “Tim,” I hesitated, not being able to wrap my head around this shit.
Tim inched his head towards my direction, “Yeah?” He asked, immediately unsure of if I was talking to him or not.
I wasn’t.
“You’re kidding me, right?” I felt the first rivulets of anger run up my spine, and a hot, thick warmth rushed to my knuckles making them twitch once. I unfolded my arms and brought my feet off of the table, leaning in closer against it as I felt the eyes of the board members boring into me. Their faces told me that this was something they had been discussing behind my back.
That’s what Zoe must have been keeping to herself in the elevator.
Jonathan was motionless, his countenance giving nothing away. Poker face was an understatement – it was more like a carefully constructed mask that he’d built since before I was even born. “The process will take three month’s time, and I’ve already spoken with our lawyers. Given the nature of the situation, that is the minimum required I give you to fulfill your prerequisites.”
Tim looked like he’d walked into a pie throwing festival and if he looked or said anything wrong to anyone, he was going to be hit. “I mean if you need more time…” Tim began, his voice growing softer and softer still, “I could, I could just wait.” Both myself and my father looked towards him, and Tim pressed his lips together tightly. “Yeah… I’ll just not. Three months is, it’s good.” He looked down at the table and raised his brows, trying to mask his embarrassment.
I shot straight up from my chair, and the motion of doing so made it spin behind me. Every bone in my body was singing to yell at my father for doing this.
He’d never gone so far. Not like this. Is this really what he wants?
This had to be some twisted ploy to force my hand. “I want to see the papers,” I proclaimed in a low, seething tone that conveyed just how displeased I was with everyone – save for Tim – in the room.
“That can be arranged with Ms. Barnes.”
I glared at my father for what felt like forever. It felt like we were each perched upon a stony pillar amidst the churning sea. He thought that a woman’s love was required to make me succeed, and I thought that it was just my own skill and merits that was needed – but in reality I couldn’t ever feel the real warmth of a woman’s grace. Not anymore.
“You’re a real old bastard,” I kindly informed him, wanting to strike him for playing these games. Not only with me, but with Tim.
“And I’m a busy one at that,” he steepled his somewhat wrinkled hands together. “I suggest you start following in my footsteps.”
Chapter 3
Jane
I was always the last patient to see Ms. Fields, so when I saw the familiar and quiet red haired girl who always came before me, I felt a sharp jolt in my chest.
There was something wrong today.
When the door opened for the red haired girl in her yellow sun-dress, it was a mysterious and pretty faced man that I saw. He wore these thin, black rimmed glasses that contained mysterious, charming and most beautiful green eyes. They were low on his face, not spaced much apart, giving him an instantly serious appearing look. When he moved, his perfectly straightened hair looked as though it had been spun straight from gold itself. The man’s face was rough, but built circular, giving it a somewhat effeminate edge; his nose slightly curved to one side, and his lips were cut small and soft, with a light smattering of facial hair that had just started to grow out.
The young girl smiled at me, and I mirrored her before picking myself off the green pleather chair. The mysterious man waited at the door, his eyes locking with mine, and a slow smile spread across hi
s face. Butterflies invaded my stomach, but not in a kindly way. There was a reason that I chose to be with Ms. Fields and not just some random therapist.
The man opened the door wider for me and he stepped aside, welcoming me in. Some basic part of me didn’t wish to enter, but it was like I was watching myself far away in the darkness of a lonely theater – all of my body moved to a customary rhythm, and I went inside.
Tightness formed in my throat, and even though nobody else was here I had to fight back the urge to ask the man to keep the door open. The room did not look anything different from how it usually appeared. Pale green walls, light Chestnut Hill Hevea hardwood flooring, and a white ceiling fan spinning on the lowest setting. There was a dark rug with floral decorations encasing a large gray diamond, with white stitch outlining. It covered a good portion of the room, the seating and the black, glass coffee table.
There was a loud click.
The door shut and my heart crawled up into my throat. That was when I realized how truly out of myself I was over this simple but subtly terrifying change in pace; I hadn’t even taken a seat yet, and my legs felt unsteady.
“Are you well?” The voice asked behind me, and my body flinched ever so slightly. My cheeks filled with fire at the embarrassing thought of him seeing me react so nervously. “You are Ms. Chatworth, yes?”
“I am,” I responded automatically, clearing my throat. Locking my vision on the blue sofa, I tried to act normal and moved over towards it, sitting down and keeping my eyes from directly looking at the man just yet. “Sorry,” I said, trying to apologize somehow for my nerves, “where’s Anna?” I brushed back a strand of my platinum hair just to give myself something to do.
The man sat down in Ms. Field’s ornate wooden chair with the maroon leather padding. "She's taken a two week sabbatical," he explained. His voice was soft but charming, and although his English was perfectly fine, I could tell from it alone that he wasn't born here. He brushed back some of his blond hair, which with it's delightful symmetry framed his face most well. "So for now I will be taking her place. You can call me Mr. Lambert," he announced with a slight smile, extending a hand towards me to shake.
