His hands picked up where they’d left off, caressing me slowly and softly, feeling every part of me, covering every inch. I was trembling with every movement, moans gurgling out of my lips. Then he cradled my head in his arms, slipped his dick inside me, and fucked me good.
There was no need to start off slow—by now, I was so wet I was nearly dripping. Instead, he lifted both my legs up to my head and fucked me deeply and roughly. Already I was almost there, and his cock was rock-hard. By the time he flipped me over for doggy style, I was almost shaking. One slip of his dick in me from behind and I was gone, an orgasm overtaking me while his hot cum shot inside me. Afterward, we lay there, his dick still inside me, his hand stroking my head over and over again.
Perfect wouldn’t have been a good enough word for the rest of the trip. Every day, I thought that it had been the best day, that the next couldn’t top it, and every day I was proven wrong. We tanned on the beach, reveled in the quiet nature of so many wildlife sanctuaries that I lost count, rolled around in bed, laughing at how we acted, and ate the delicious food they delivered right to our door—grilled meat and succulent vegetables.
We also went into the villages, danced with the locals, learned how to weave and make bags. We went to my non-profit’s headquarters; we built a well. And, when it was time to go, we were ready to. There was no way to top it, this perfection. All there was left to do was be grateful for the experience and take the plane back to Denver.
Inside Lungi Airport, which looked like two gray lumps, we stared dismally out the window as our flight was declared full.
“A horrible mix-up. Bad, very bad. Very sorry,” the porter said, not looking sorry at all.
He kept sneaking looks at Jake, although I was the one who had asked what the situation was.
After another three hours of waiting, they directed us to a “special direct flight” that was apparently “complimentary.”
So, onto the passenger-less flight we went. It was only when we stepped inside that I realized something was very, very wrong.
JAKE
“What’s going on?” Alice asked in a low voice, and I wanted to kiss her then.
Kiss her and tell her everything—only that would ruin the surprise.
I did kiss her, but I only whispered in her ear, “You’ll see.”
The fearful look on her face changed into a mischievous smile.
“Jake, you’re the worst!”
Laughing, I took her hand and led her to the padded seat by the window.
“Well, babe, you always said you liked the window seat after all.”
The plane roared to life, our hands clasped, and we were off.
Soon my sweet Alice was slumbering, and I studied her face. She looked tired, and for good reason. We’d been going nonstop for a whole week—activity after activity after activity. Was what I had planned a good idea?
I looked out the window at the expanse of blue below us. We were hours out of the airport, hours away from anything. Whether it was a good idea didn’t matter anymore; it was too late now.
Alice slept the entire flight. Every once in a while, I’d glance over and marvel at her ability to block out the rumbling of the engine, the shaking of the plane, the uncertainty coiling in my chest (me, who knew where we were headed!). But on and on she slept, even after the plane touched down. I had to shake her several times before her eyelids finally opened.
“We’re here?” she asked, and I nodded.
“We are here.”
She smiled, and I kissed her and then took her hand. Once we were a few feet off the plane, she giggled.
“I know where we are.”
I squeezed her hand.
“Oh yeah?”
She kissed my cheek.
“New York City.”
I shrugged.
“Yeah, well you don’t why we’re here, princess.”
She lightly smacked me.
“Don’t call me that.”
As I led her to the building, I only smiled in response.
“Where are we going?” she asked when we reached the building and started angling our way past slow travelers with their hulking luggage.
“You’ll see,” I said.
“Don’t we have to get our luggage?” she asked.
“No.”
In the airport, I bought her a hot dog—New York was famous for them after all—and then we continued on. Outside, the limo pulled up just in time. Inside, we sat on lush, blue velvet sheets.
“When will I get to know where we’re going?” Alice asked.
I patted her head.
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
And she did. When we pulled up to the hulking, columned building, she let out an astounded little “oh!”
Taking her hand, I led her up the steps, past the throngs of camera-bearing tourists, and through the tall black doors. And then, there in front of us they were. The dinosaur bones. The first time we’d met and not even known it.
When I glanced over, Alice’s eyes were filled with tears. Maybe she was seeing what I was—the little boy and the little pigtailed girl, the first sign of hope in a dark world.
Holding her hand, I whispered, “Thank you, Alice, for everything. You have saved me more than you can know.”
Staring up into my eyes, her own an impossible shade of blue, she murmured, “Thank you, Jake. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
And then I kissed her, my wife, my love, the woman of my dreams, the girl who saved me. Alice.
As I held her, all I could think was that I had never been happier.
The End
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Fake It For Me
Layla Valentine & Ana Sparks
Hungry for more? Here is mine and Ana’s previous book, Fake It For Me, in full!
Copyright 2017 by Layla Valentine and Ana Sparks
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author. All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
This book was previously published under another pen name, Evelyn Troy.
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Chapter One
Eva tilted her head back against the ergonomic support at the top of her chair, stretching against the tightness she could feel in her neck and shoulders. A glance at the clock on her desk phone told her that she only had two more hours left in her shift; the rush had soon tapered off into the mid-afternoon slump. By the time she clocked out, there would be another rush—people calling in right after work to take care of their business with the bank—and Eva wanted to make sure that she clocked out exactly on time to avoid being roped into staying “on the floor” as they called it.
She closed her eyes, imagining fleeting memories of better days: the Louis Vuitton handbag she’d had to give up, along with the Louboutin shoes, and the vacation she’d taken to Cancun. How the mighty have fallen, she thought bitterly, opening her eyes once more.
Eva blinked a few times, scrubbing at her face with her hands. Just two more hours and I’ll be out of here, she reminded herself, glancing at the time once more. She could hear Jana, one cubicle down, patiently explaining something to a customer. Eva gritted her teeth and took a slow breath.
She had known it would be a bad day as soon as she’d arrived on the floor, stepping off of the elevator and into the cacophony of a rush. Eva had quickly learned the apparent cause of the influx of calls: there had been a system issue the night before, which had made twenty-five thousand accounts reflect “past due” status. The tech team didn’t have
an ETA on when the issue would be resolved, but had simply told everyone to flag the accounts in question.
Same as always, Eva had thought bitterly. She had been through two similar incidents with the company within about six months after training; and generally speaking, unless there was an issue that the higher-ups thought really merited a “mea culpa” from the company, any and all customer satisfaction surveys that came in during those incidents still counted against the metrics that all the call center employees had to meet. “We trust that you have the resources and intelligence to turn a negative moment into a positive branding opportunity,” they always said.
Eva was certain that her surveys—if any went out for that day—would all come back with solid negatives. No matter how she explained the issue, using the script provided in the update in her own words, none of the callers had sounded satisfied at the end of the conversation. They had—almost to a one—wanted a statement credit to compensate them for the inconvenience of having to see a big, red, Account Overdue on their homepage online. Of course, Eva—as a first-tier representative—didn’t have the clearance to do that, and even if she had, she knew she probably wouldn’t have done it for more than maybe three of the thirty calls she had taken that day.
Beset by mind-numbing boredom, she reached out for the water bottle she kept on her desk, pushing her chair back enough to look down the line of cubicles that extended across the entire floor of the office. There were easily a hundred people just in her section, though at night there would be less than fifty. Eva sipped her water and debated putting herself in Aux to run to the bathroom; she didn’t really have to go, but even the threat of being reprimanded for “aux overage” wasn’t quite enough to remove the temptation of getting away from the desk for five minutes. Her last break had been an hour before, and even if there were fewer than two hours left in Eva’s shift, that seemed like entirely too long a time.
“How you hanging in there, Johansen?” Eva turned her head and saw one of the other team leads, Rebecka, walking up the aisle.
“Glad we finally slowed down a bit,” Eva admitted. “That was a brutal first half.”
“Well, at least it wasn’t boring,” Rebecka said, beaming with the kind of fake brightness that Eva immediately recognized. She wouldn’t last ten minutes in a real game, she thought, returning the woman’s smile with her own best fake grin.
“I’m glad of a little boredom right now,” Eva quipped.
“See? There you go: the bright side to that rush this morning.”
Eva simpered at the team leader as Rebecka walked past, heading over to another section of the immense cubicle farm. Eva pushed her chair back into place, wiggling her mouse to keep the screensaver from coming up. A bleep in her headset announced an incoming instant message, and Eva opened up the application, glancing at the screen to see who was messaging her.
When do you think they’re going to learn not to mess with things outside of their understanding?
Eva snorted at the message; it had come from Clarence, a member of her team who had recently moved up to Online Services Specialty. It wasn’t a real promotion—he only earned about a dollar fifty an hour more than she did—but it had given him at least a little prestige, and a little bit of clout in the cubicle farm.
Right about the time the asteroid hits the planet and wipes us all out, Eva wrote back.
The running joke in the call center was that tech were all people who had come in with fake resumes, who managed to screw up more than they actually fixed. It wasn’t entirely true; Eva assumed that they made plenty of repairs to the system without incident. But the issues with the system—ranging from the payment system going down, to the website itself going offline—were legion, and they always seemed to happen at the worst possible time.
You doing anything after? came the reply.
Eva considered that, pressing her lips together.
Clarence wasn’t a bad guy, but he wasn’t her type at all; if he were asking her out personally, she would have to think of a way to decline him without ruffling feathers. It was harder than she would have assumed—especially in the cramped and confined environment of the call center.
She’d been asked out by three men in her short time at the company, and the first two had come completely unhinged as soon as she’d said no; the third, Eva was convinced, had gone to her supervisor about something that most of the other employees generally agreed to look the other way on, whenever it happened; certainly, she’d gotten a “random call monitoring” session within days of turning Richard down; she hadn’t been slated for one for another week or two. The “random” in the call monitoring sessions was less accurate than the assertion her employee packet had made that the company valued its employees even more than its customers.
The sound of a call coming in—two steady beeps in her headset—cut through Eva’s thoughts. She took a deep breath and tapped the “unmute” button on her phone base.
“Good afternoon, and thank you for calling DigiFinancial. My name is Eva. How may I help you today?” She heard the roar of wind over the other line and rolled her eyes to herself, waiting for the caller to speak.
“This is DigiFinancial?”
Eva pressed her lips together to resist the retort that rose up on her tongue.
“Yes, sir, it is. How can I help you today?”
“You can help me by telling your company to stop illegally charging me fees!”
Eva closed her eyes. The man’s account—or so she assumed—had come up on her screen.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, sir,” Eva said, as calmly and as coolly as she could.
“Your stupid company keeps charging me an ‘account maintenance fee’ which is totally illegal and I want the fees for the last six months credited to my account right now.”
Eva counted to three mentally.
“Let’s look at your account and see what we have going on, shall we?”
The man made a noise that sounded weirdly like a growl on the other end of the line.
“Fine. Do you have my account up?”
“I believe so—but in order to access your information I’m going to need for you to confirm the answers to a few security questions,” Eva explained, sitting up straighter in her chair.
“Those goddam questions…why do you even ask them? I’m clearly the account holder.”
“Unfortunately sir, since I do not know you personally, there’s no way for me to know who you are. You have not even provided me with your name—much less verified that you are that person,” Eva pointed out. She pressed her lips together to prevent herself from speaking further; she counted to five in her mind, slowly. Don’t let the rude ass get to you.
“My name is Steve Jersik,” the man said, exaggerating each syllable.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Jersik,” Eva replied, as levelly as she could. “In order to access your account, would you please tell me the month and day of your mother’s birthday?”
“January third,” Jersik said, once more with exaggerated slowness.
“Thank you again,” Eva said. She typed the answer into the field and the next question popped up. “For our second verification question: what are the last four digits of your account number with us?”
“Oh my God!” Jersik sounded as though he were on the point of throwing his phone. “Four-five-six-three,” he said after a moment.
“Thank you, I’ll put that in now,” Eva said, feeling the beginning trickle of a rush of irritation. The man had to have accessed his account over the phone before; the fact that he had security questions set up for phone access proved that. How he could be surprised at the fact that he was being asked to verify his ID was beyond Eva’s understanding.
“Do you have my account up yet?” Eva clenched her teeth and the tone of the man’s voice.
“It’s coming through now,” Eva said, struggling to keep her voice patient and calm. “So we’re looking at your monthly maintenance fee, you said?�
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“Yes! Yes, that’s what we’re looking at.” Eva pressed her lips together, reaching over to her phone base to press the “mute” button while Jersik continued.
“Why do I have to keep repeating myself over and over? I want you to remove these illegal charges on my account right now—that’s all.”
Eva rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she accessed the account transaction details. It was true that the man was receiving a monthly maintenance fee—but it was for a product that he would have had to apply for, an investment package that the company offered. The fee was part of the standard contract for that product, and would have been explained to him when he signed up.
“I’m seeing this monthly maintenance fee,” Eva said, after unmuting her phone. “However, what I am seeing is that this fee is for our Digi-Investment product.”
“So? That doesn’t matter. It’s an illegal fee. Just like the late fee you put on my account last month.”
Eva shook her head, clicking through to the previous month’s transactions. The man had paid late—there was a notation on the account that he had acknowledged paying late, and that his reasoning was that he ‘didn’t feel like he should have to pay for something he wasn’t using half the time.’
“Unfortunately, sir, that maintenance fee is part and parcel of the service you signed up for,” Eva said, keeping her voice neutral.
“It’s illegal to charge fees for services like that that come with my account!”
Steal The CEO's Daughter - A Carny Bad Boy Romance Page 52
