CE O

by M T Stone

  A couple of bribes later, everything is set. “Ok, hun, here’s how it’s going to work. You are going to tell him that you’ve been at a job interview. Here is the card for our office in Nassau. If he calls the number, it will reroute to my assistant. She will answer and confirm that you were on the island for the interview.” I give her a stern glare to let her know that she will be going along with the plan.

  “Okay, so I’ll tell him I’ve been at an interview and give him this card.” She studies the front of the business card. “He’ll ask why I didn’t tell him about the interview. What should I say?”

  “You wanted it to be a surprise. Unfortunately, you won’t be getting the job, but as a consolation prize, the two of you will have a night on the town, courtesy of the firm,” I inform her, scrolling through the contacts in my phone. “You will leave JFK in a limousine, which will then stop by his place and pick him up. You will both be treated to the best meal that either of you have ever eaten. I’ll call ahead to Mercille’s on fifth and make all the arrangements.”

  “Oh, that sounds great!” she squeals. “Hopefully, he’ll go along with it.”

  “I hope so too. Now go get freshened up.” I give her another stern look and point toward the lavatory. “I don’t want you smelling like me when he gets ahold of you.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be fresh as a daisy.” She giggles. “A wilted daisy, maybe. A daisy that has been fucking and sucking for two solid days.” She giggles even harder.

  “That’s not funny.” I smirk. “There’s a shower and all the bath products you can imagine in there, so take full advantage of them. You’ve got an hour and forty minutes until we land.” I pull my phone from my pocket and sit down in one of the overstuffed recliners. I’m getting too old for this shit. In fact, I’ve got another birthday coming up on Friday, and it’s kind of getting me down. I remember the days when I thought I would be older than shit at age thirty-five. I don’t feel old, but these girls are definitely seeming more and more immature. After checking the weather forecast, I send Kayla a text regarding my schedule for the coming week.

  Me: I think I’ll be commuting from the island this week. Anything I can’t afford to miss?

  There is no immediate reply, which indicates that Kayla is ignoring my text for one reason or other. She doesn’t like it when she has to clean up the messes that I create in my social life, especially if it means interrupting her on a Sunday afternoon. Sunday has always been her time for family, friends, and reading during the fall and winter months. It looks like a beautiful fall day in the city, so she is probably out for a walk around Central Park. I lean back and close my eyes until I feel the vibration of my phone.

  Kayla: The Hamptons in late September? What happened now? : (

  Me: Just found out Sage has a boyfriend. Cory Derringer.

  Kayla: The pro football player?

  Me: That’s him, and he’s pissed. You might be getting a call from him. If so, Sage was on the island for a job interview. I owe you.

  Kayla: Okay, but you already owe me a few. You have court Tues morning @ 9:00, Simpson Industries @ 1:00 that afternoon. Court again on Thurs @ 1:00. Other than that, your schedule is pretty flexible.

  Me: Good. Let’s push anything that’s not critical to one of the other partners. I could use a little solitude.

  Kayla: You have two exit interviews tomorrow afternoon. Patti and Camila.

  Shit. Patti is a cute little blonde with a bubbly personality, the kind of girl who lights up the room when she comes through the door. Camila, on the other hand, is a drop-dead gorgeous Latina who can make me hard with just a look of those sultry eyes. I have already planned out the two upcoming weekends to make sure each of them has a spot on the docket.

  Me: You’ll have to reschedule them to next Monday. Let them know I’m out sick.

  Kayla: Okay, you must be sick.

  Me: Just need a break from it all. Thanks.

  I toss my phone into my briefcase and sit back, not knowing what is really bothering me. It has nothing to do with the current situation with Cory and Sage. Hell, what could he do to me? Beat up one of the most powerful attorneys in the city? No one is that stupid. He would never risk losing his multi-million-dollar salary over a girl, even one as hot as Sage. My time with her is over anyway. She’s all his. Fuck it. I’ve just been running too hard and need to catch my breath. That, and I always thought I would’ve found someone special by the time I was this age. I turn my thoughts to the beach house in the Hamptons. It’s a great place to kick back and relax this time of year.

  I think back to when I was a little boy. I used to spend a week out there each fall with my grandfather. He loved it out there, but my grandmother refused to go out after Labor Day because there was no staff. Therefore, grandpa would take me along to keep him company. Those days spent out there with him are some of my fondest memories of my youth. He and I would fish, then we would have a fish fry on the beach in the evening. It’s the only time I ever saw anyone in my family actually cook anything from scratch. I still love the taste of buttery fish and vegetables roasted in tin foil over an open fire. I can feel my blood pressure dropping already just from the thought of it. That’s exactly what I need. If I’m in the mood to party and fuck, it’s hard to beat the Bahamas. But when I need to kick back and recharge, there is nothing like escaping to the Hamptons in the off season.

  Kayla

  Blake always burns himself out. No one can work eighty-hour weeks and party like a college kid on spring break every weekend. I keep telling him that he needs to slow down and start acting his age in order to avoid careening off the tracks. Him admitting that he needs some time away from the office makes me nervous. He has obviously exceeded his limit. It hits him every few years in the fall, when the weather begins to turn cold and dreary in the city. That’s the whole reasoning behind his sex-filled weekend escapades to the Bahamas. He has always claimed that they give him enough sunshine and endorphins to keep on going, but when that fails, things tend to get bad very quickly. The last time he went off the tracks, he dropped the ball on two major clients and it nearly cost him his spot at the firm. Only the fact that he is JD’s son saved him. Since I love working for him, I made a promise that if I ever saw it happening again, I would intervene much quicker. Luckily, this is an unusually light week. Maybe he realizes that it’s the calm before the storm and that’s why he’s doing it. Whatever the case, I’ve got one week to get him back in shape for the biggest patent litigation suit he has ever handled. He needs to be at the top of his game if we’re going to win, so I’ve got my work cut out for me. Good thing I’ve always loved a challenge.

  Chapter 2

  Blake

  After making the dinner and limo arrangements for Sage and Cory, I pull up my Blade app and request a chopper flight to the Hamptons. I pay a premium for a private charter so we can depart within minutes of landing at JFK. The idea of a quick pivot out of the concrete jungle has become more and more appealing as we near the city.

  “I’m sorry for ruining the weekend,” Sage says, sitting down in the recliner adjacent to mine. “I really wanted to spend this time with you, and I knew you wouldn’t go through with it if you knew I was in a relationship. Cory and I were totally casual until recently.”

  “Well, I definitely enjoyed your company,” I reply with a solemn glance. “It seemed like you were having a good time too.”

  “It was the most amazing sex of my life, Mr. Taylor,” she gasps. “I just hope that Cory isn’t looking for anything tonight. I think you wore me out for a while. At least he doesn’t last very long, so I guess that might be an upside in this case.”

  “I don’t know if I would be more pissed if some rich guy fucked the daylights out of my girlfriend for a weekend or if I heard her telling him that I was a lousy lay,” I reply, shaking my head from side to side in wonderment.

  “Well, let’s just say you won’t ever have to worry about it. Cory, on the other hand, spends a little too much tim
e focusing on the Xs and Os, if you know what I mean.” She laughs and a bright red color flushes into her cheeks.

  “Yeah, I grew up with guys like that.” I think back to my high school days. “The cheerleaders would be all over them, but they couldn’t stop talking about how great they thought they had played. That’s why I normally ended up taking the girls home, even back then.”

  “So you’ve always been this good?” she asks with widening eyes.

  “Not always, but I was always better than average. Honestly, I’ve spent more than my fair share of time thinking about different ways to please a woman.” I chuckle at the feeling of my cock rustling once again in my pants. “One of my favorite things in life is giving a woman a great orgasm.”

  “Well, I can attest to that,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “I’ve never come so hard and so many times. Not even close.” She looks at the slight bulge in my crotch. “I would fuck you again right now, if you want to.”

  “One for the road?” I laugh, reaching over and squeezing her firm thigh. “It wouldn’t be the same now that I know you’ve got someone waiting for you. That’s just not my style, you know?”

  “I know. That’s what the other girls told me,” she adds slyly. “That’s why I didn’t mention Cory until we were done.” She cocks her head and flutters her eyelashes.

  “So . . . who was the girl who told you that?” I ask, a little annoyed that someone else has violated the confidentiality agreement she signed during the exit interview.

  “I don’t remember all of their names. It’s a private Facebook group,” she says with a shrug. “Just search for Blake’s girls. One of the other girls has to approve your membership though, before you can get in there.”

  “How do they determine if you legitimately belong in the group?” I ask, growing even more puzzled.

  “I had to give them my name, as well as the start date of my internship and the date of my exit interview,” she divulges with a guarded look on her face. “They also ask about your most impressive feature,” she adds, blushing even more than earlier.

  “And that would be?” I lower my head and lock eyes with her.

  “That ten-inch cock, of course. Not that I knew firsthand at the time, but I had heard enough office talk to know the answer.” She giggles before breaking eye contact to look out the side window. “Oh, look, there’s the Statue of Liberty.”

  A private Facebook group where girls have to know the length of my cock to join. I don’t know whether to be pissed or flattered. I find myself feeling a little of both.

  After landing, the ground crew moves my stuff from the plane to the helicopter and helps Sage collect her things and transfer them to the limousine. I grab my briefcase and a fresh bottle of Glengoyne eighteen-year-old scotch from the overhead compartment. It’s the same scotch my old man drinks, and for the longest time, I searched for something better. Unfortunately, he has impeccable taste when it comes to scotch whiskey. My father is Judge James Douglas Taylor III, the son of my famous grandfather, James Douglas Taylor Jr. My grandfather was the one who founded the firm Taylor, Hastings & Reed. He set up the firm to help immigrant business owners who needed legal advice and corporate legal work. Back then, they were working face to face with the actual business owners. Now, we just deal with an endless stream of corporate attorneys, depositions, and appeals—in general, a blizzard of paperwork known as due process.

  On March 3, 2010, President Barack Obama nominated my father to the federal court of appeals for the second circuit. He was confirmed by the U.S. Senate five months later and suddenly, I was the only Taylor working full-time at the firm. Seeking continuity, high-profile corporate clients were looking to me for answers despite the fact that I had only been practicing for about five years. Just because my last name is Taylor, it doesn’t mean I have the same skill set as my father and grandfather. Being the youngest senior partner also makes me the sounding board for many of the junior partners who are intimidated by the other senior partners. The pressure of being in the middle of everything is sometimes more than I can handle. Thus, my reliance on the intern program. It has been my personal oasis in an otherwise stressful, high-pressure environment.

  It works most of the time, but I’ve really been dreading the shit storm that is headed my way. This week is my last chance to get away for a few quiet days before we go into a battle that will leave us bloodied and utterly exhausted. God, I hate my job.

  Chapter 3

  Kayla

  Mondays are always busy, but having to explain to everyone why Blake isn’t in makes it a bit overwhelming. Blake is the hub of this firm, which I know is part of the reason he hits the wall every once in awhile. As his executive assistant, I try to take as much off his plate as possible, but unfortunately, most people want to talk to him directly. Even though I’m the one who sets and keeps his schedule, they still need to hear it directly from him.

  By noon, I’m running out of answers, so I give Blake a call to clarify which days he’s planning on being in the office. My call goes immediately to voice mail, which is already full. I picture him out on the fishing boat with his buddy, Paul, reeling in a striped bass, his phone most likely thoughtfully left behind at the beach house. I think back to our youth, when the three of us would spend entire days out on the water. Those were the days, when the biggest challenge was squeezing in a nap before we hit the bonfires and parties in the evening. If Blake had his way, he would’ve started his own fishing charter company where he could spend his days helping clients find the biggest fish they had ever caught. Fishing has always been his obsession. Unfortunately, his entire family sees it as nothing more than a hobby. Blake has often agreed that it’s hard to make a living doing something that you truly love. It’s one of those cruel ironies in life.

  “I’m going to check on Blake,” I tell the receptionist on the way out the door. “I’ll have my phone on if anyone needs anything.”

  I’m not really worried about Blake, but since his phone has been off since he texted me yesterday, I need to bring him up to speed on his schedule. I also have this nervous feeling that he’s planning to skip the court proceedings in the morning. That can’t happen. We have to have these loose ends wrapped up so we aren’t dealing with them when things get busy next week. I decide that it will be best to reassign his court times to the other senior partners, as well as the appointment with Simpson Industries. But first, I need to stop off at my apartment to change clothes and grab a bag. I sigh as I debate whether to spend one hundred dollars on a cab ride out to the Hamptons or five hundred for a seat on one of those chartered helicopters, the service that Blake uses. The cheap-ass in me wins out. The extra two hours will give me a chance to reassign Blake’s commitments for the week and enjoy a glass or two of wine. Blake will be out fishing until at least four, so it’s not like I’m in a rush to get there.

  Two hours, two glasses of wine, fourteen phone calls, and roughly one hundred text messages later, I’m standing on the patio of the Taylor beach house. Everything looks familiar, but it has been updated since the last time I was out here. I set my bag down next to the door before slipping off my shoes and walking out to the white sandy beach. I take a deep breath and take in the view of a clear blue sky merging with the calm blue water. Everything is so peaceful, I can see why Blake would come out here to get away from everything. A half-empty bottle of scotch and a used glass sit next to a beach chair, revealing where Blake spent Sunday evening. I snicker, knowing that he must’ve had a headache upon waking this morning. I can picture him walking into the kitchen in his swim shorts, searching for Advil and a glass of water. There’s no wind and the sun feels warm. I remove my cover up and drape it across the chair before settling back for a little sunshine. After a few seconds of enjoying the warmth, my mind goes back to thoughts of Blake and those swim shorts. Since law school, we always see each other in office attire, which is as formal as it gets. He looks dashing in a black business suit, but I honestly miss seeing those sexy legs
and abs of his. That’s all he wore in the summer when we were young, and I spent endless hours frolicking on the beach in my bikini. I glance down the beach toward the rocks that mark the inlet. It was behind those rocks that Blake and I first kissed, the weekend of my sixteenth birthday. At the time, he seemed a little too young for me. I’m only a year and four months older than him, but since his birthday was after the cut-off for school, he was two grades behind me. Besides, we had been best friends for several years so it just felt a little strange. We only made out that once, and I never really gave him a second chance, in spite of all of his follow-up advances. Now, all these years later, I can’t help but wonder what our lives would be like if we had actually gotten together.

  Blake

  After catching our limit, Paul and I return to the marina and he goes to work cleaning our catch. That’s always been our deal. I pay for everything and in return, he cleans the fish. Thirty minutes later, I hop in the Range Rover with six vacuum-packed fillets ready for the freezer. I know Paul was waiting for an invitation to come by tonight for a fish fry, but I just want to spend this time thinking, relaxing, and having a few cocktails. I turn onto the main road and head toward the beach house. It has been the perfect day, but now that strange feeling once again begins to grow in my gut. I take a couple of deep breaths trying to shrug it off, but it actually begins creeping its way into my chest. It occurs to me that I left that bottle of scotch sitting out on the beach last night. Hopefully, it’s still there or I’ll have to make a run to the liquor store.