I can see one woman watching gangbang porn. I cannot say with surety if she is touching herself; her right hand is out of my sight. An other woman is playing ‘Candy Crush’ on her phone. A yet another staggering, drop-dead gorgeous diva is blowing gum and reading Cosmo.
I don’t know what made me hire these dum-dums.
No . . . they are not stupid. Actually, they are smart, very smart. They are getting paid for doing nothing. If anyone is foolish around here—it’s me. I am the one who hired them because of their white skin, blonde hair, and big boobs.
“Who are they?” I ask Todd when my gaze lands on a group of eight women who are practically chewing each other’s head off.
I don’t want to sound reverse racist, but they all look same to me—same body measurements, perfect dirty blonde hair, white blouse, black pencil skirt, and light pink heels.
“The one on the extreme right is Ashley Sky, the one who is scratching her head is Ashley Webber, next to her is Ashley Lovett . . .”
Todd actually can differentiate them. Looks like I am really the racist type.
“I suppose they are all Ashleys.” I stop Todd when he is halfway through their names.
“How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
“They all look like a bunch of mean high school girls,” Jeremy says, completely smitten by the blonde mafia. “I propose calling them Ashley8. All in favor?”
“Aye!” Todd and I unanimously pass Jeremy’s proposition. We don’t even have to think much about it. It’s a nice name.
“Well, Jeremy is right about Ashley8. They are mean, bratty, sexy, hot—”
“Shut it, Todd!”
“All right . . . but before I shut it, I want you to know that you dated Ashley Lovett for a month and it didn’t end well. So, I suggest you tread lightly.”
I will if only I can recognize which one is Ashely Lovett.
To my dismay, the eight girls who were earlier fighting have started to giggle and patch up like nothing happened. I can’t say that I am truly surprised.
You put any species of a female in a cage to fight—for half an hour, they will try to kill each other; in the next half, they won’t look at each other; and after that, they will talk like they have found a new bestie in each other.
One cat to another: I am digging your claws, sister.
One lioness to another: Your husband is a lucky guy. Look at those sharp teeth.
You get the point.
But the moment they are out of the cage, the bad-mouthing behind the back begins again. Women are so complicated.
I don’t think Ashley8 fight is really over. It will be truly over when my office is filled with their hair extensions.
“Who is the blonde I hired before the accident?” I have seen enough of my jungle of an office. I come straight to the point for which I am here.
“Oh, that hot cake is . . .” Todd is taking his time, building up the anticipation, pointing everyone in the office from one corner to another with his index finger until he finally stops on a cubicle where a blonde is applying nail polish. “. . . right there.”
That’s no woman. She is a girl—probably 20 or 21. She has her feet up on the table, her heels are scratching the expensive monitor, and her legs . . . let’s just say she is leaving nothing to the imagination in her short skirt. I can even see her red panty because the elevation of her legs has caused her already short skirt to rise up.
“Is that her?” Todd asks.
“No . . . ,” I say, feeling disgusted that how could he even think that she is ‘the blonde who got away.’ “She is barely of drinking age. She is so young. Does she even have a college degree?”
“She has a diploma—”
“Good. At least she has a diploma. The rest of them looks like high school dropouts with an experience of a failed modeling career under their belt.”
“You didn’t let me finish. She has a diploma in cosmetology.”
“The girl with a diploma in cosmetology is working for an insurance brokerage company? That’s interesting!” Jeremy says, caressing his chin with his index finger and thumb. “How did she even get a job here?”
“After careful scrutiny of her pussy and appropriate verification of her boobs, the 70% owner of this company cheery-picked this gorgeous young lady. Do you want to know who holds 70% controlling interest in this company?”
“No need to explain further. We get the idea.” I stop Todd from embarrassing me further.
“Mr. B . . .” ‘The girl with the diploma’ sees me. “Oh, my God, you are here,” she says with a shrilled voice and starts jumping in excitement. She surely spins every blonde head towards me. Now, they all have their eyes on me.
‘The girl with the diploma’ runs and jumps at me. She is petite, but her boobs are too big for her body and are currently against my chest while she hangs down my neck.
“I missed you so much.” She kisses me on my face multiple times before I could take my next breath.
“Me too.” I bend a little so she can land on her feet—literally.
“When I heard you were in a car crash, I cried so much that my mascara ran everywhere. So, I went to the store to buy a waterproof one. But they were out of stock. I had to stop applying it for a week until it became available again.”
I am going to say this. She is a dumb one. I was dying, and she was concerned about her mascara.
The rest of them have now started to flock around me. They are all talking at the same time, and I can’t make anything out of it. I feel like a cult leader right now, surrounded by his followers.
All right, their obsession with me can be for one of the two things. Either I am really running a cult and have hooked them on drugs, or I pay them much more than they deserve and they are glad that I am not dead. I’ll go with the latter.
“Shut up!” Someone yells, and the chatter stops.
It’s one of the Ashley—maybe Ashley Lovett. She doesn’t need to ask for the way. The sound of her heels is enough for the golden sea to part as she approaches me.
She places her hands on her chest and makes a pouty face, her eyes filled with tears. “Brandon, how are you?”
“Good. Thanks for asking.” She is making me uncomfortable. She has a similar look on her face like a snake in the animal planet documentary.
“Thank God, you are ok. I was so worried about you.” As she smoothens her palm on my arm, a drop of tear falls from her right eye onto her perfectly powdered cheek.
Damn! She has some skills. She can cry on cue. Where were those tears when I was battling for my life? Was she saving them to shed on my grave?
“I am touched. Thank you.”
What do you think, I am touched? Certainly not! She is as fake as Dolce & Gabbana shoes that my doorman Javier wears.
“I see you ladies haven’t missed a beat in Todd and my absence and doing your work with great enthusiasm.”
“Of course, we have. I took the lead in your absence and didn’t let our productivity go down by a cent. Just my way of showing that I am worthy of a promotion and a raise.”
Ass kisser! I am barely in office, and she is asking for a raise and a promotion. You know, when I told them they were doing their job with great enthusiasm, it was supposed to be an insult. But I am not reading any shame in the room.
“In due time, Ashley, you will get what you deserve,” I say, smiling at her. “All right, ladies, don’t stop on my account. Get back to work. Sell some policies. Fish some whales.” I nod, gesturing Todd to lead me to my office.
But someone gropes my ass while I am passing through. I stop and turn around. Most of them have the expression of cluelessness on their faces, but I suspect its Ashley Lovett. She is looking at me with her eyebrow raised. She even puts her hand on the side of her face and winks at me. I ignore her atrocity and resume walking down the hall to my office.
“Ask the HR to bring the personnel files.” I stop at my office door and turn to look at Todd. “Right now!�
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Chapter 17
WHAT I HAVE SEEN OUTSIDE has infuriated me. My office is sex-charged, blonde-dominated, no work zone.
“Jeremy, can you believe this?” I say, stepping into my office with rage. “They don’t even respect me. They believe if they dress in a short skirt and grope my ass every now and then, it will propel their career. Who would do all the work? Me?”
“Can I say something if you don’t mind?”
“Go ahead.”
“It was a sight to behold back there,” he says, trying to hide his lust. But his sparkling eyes and redness creeping onto his face gives it all up. It’s like he has discovered what makes a woman, a woman, all over again. “All 26 of them are beautiful beyond imagination. Each one—better than the last. You should get out of the insurance business and start a modeling agency. You have an eye for picking beauty, and these girls already have the right assets.”
“Maybe you are right. I should. But I don’t think I would have any success with those 32 out there. They are useless. They are used to doing nothing and getting everything. Breaking that habit is hard. I am less of their boss and more of a Sugar Daddy.”
“26.”
“What?”
“You said all 32 are useless, but I counted. It’s actually 26. Six of them were actually working and didn’t even bother to flock to you when you arrived.”
Hallelujah! I have some women in this office who actually works. That sounds music to my ears.
“Show me.”
I couldn’t hold on to my excitement and open the blinds of my office.
Wow! This is a nice vantage point. I can see every corner of my office here. No wonder, I chose this room to be my office. The view here is boner-inducing for anyone.
“In the corner,” Jeremy says, pointing at them.
“Them?!”
It takes me by surprise, looking at them, banished to a corner near the private facilities. They don’t even have a proper cubicle—just a desk and wobbly chairs.
I look around the office once again. While the rest of them have nothing to do, they are swamped with work. They all look overly exhausted, as they would be, for making calls, working on the system, scribbling in the files—all at the same time. It’s terrible.
I close the blind and punch my office wall in frustration.
Holy Moses! Fuck me in the ass! Shot me in the head!
That’s the ‘Wall of Shame.’ It has some profoundly disturbing, anatomically incorrect, vulgar paintings hanging on it. My initials on the bottom right tell me that it’s the imagination of my devious mind.
“I didn’t know you could paint.” Jeremy leans in to get a good look at my creativeness. “Oh, my God! Look at these brush strokes. So elegant. So professional.”
“Oh, really? Then, can I interest you in buying something for your family in London? Perhaps, this masterpiece of a man with four dicks fucking four women at the same time? Or, this one, a beautiful blonde with four tits? Or, probably this—a man on the floor, a woman on the ceiling with a twenty feet dick between them?”
“No, I am good. These are not the type of paintings you hang in your house or your office for that matter. You do have a fascination with multiple genital organs. Maybe you had diphallia, but your parents got one surgically removed, and you still miss the one not with you.”
“Stop psychoanalyzing me, you psycho! Have you thought that it could be because I was a degenerate?”
“That’s a plausible assumption, but—”
“No but. Stop reading your garbage books!”
Todd comes in my office with a bunch of files in his hand.
“I see you are admiring your handy work.”
“How could I not? I am a 21st century Van Gogh with brush strokes identical to Picasso. If only I could find a revolver to shoot me in the chest like him, it would really soar the prices of my artwork.”
“You can say whatever you like, but I really like the painting of woman with four tits.”
“Me too!” Jeremy says.
I look at Jeremy. He adjusted his glasses, feeling embarrassed that he said that out loud.
“All right! It’s my favorite too,” I say, taking files from Todd’s hand. “It’s the only decent piece in here.”
“That’s what I am talking about.” Todd raises both his hand for the group high-five.
“Why do we always have to high-five each other?” I say. “We are not kids anymore. We are 32.”
“Come on . . . You know you want to.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Jeremy high-fives Todd excitedly. He is really enjoying our young company.
I follow up with a half-hearted high-five of my own and sit on the chair behind my desk.
“Where is the HR?” I ask.
“Right before you.” Todd steps forward and presents himself with a smile. “Ta-Da.”
“You are the HR?”
“I know, right? What an irony? The HR himself is swimming in office pussies.”
I open the payroll file to see how much I am spending on these eye candies. It’s in descending order with Ashely Lovett on the top. She is drawing a salary of $36,000 annually.
Looks like the boobs and the fillers are sponsored by yours truly.
Following her, are the rest of the Ashleys, each drawing a salary between the range of $30,000-$32,000. After them, in the range of $25,000-$30,000, all Non-Ashleys except the six. That must be the six working from near the facilities, drawing a shameless salary of $21,000. Bridget, the dumb one, with the diploma in cosmetology, is drawing a salary of $27,000 for doing makeup in the office, and these six hard working girls are earning less than a janitor. That’s an abomination!
“I believe the bottom six in this list are the one sitting in uncomfortable chairs near the bathroom door?”
“Correct.” Todd makes a gun gesture, telling me that my deducing skills are spot on.
“And they must have not returned my sexual advances, so I assigned them there and never promoted them?”
“Correct again. It was a disaster. Hook, line, but no sinker.”
“All right. I can understand what I must be thinking at that time. But what in the world made Ashley Lovett on the top of this list?”
“She is a special one, that Ashley Lovett!” Todd says. “There was a time when I thought you would end up with her. You were fucking her everywhere—in your office, in the parking lot, and even in your apartment. This almost lasted for a month until you dumped her and moved on. Consider her high salary as her emotional distress package.”
“And the same goes for everyone else out there?”
“No, the rest of them are casual booty. Sex in the bathroom, a blowjob in the lift, handjob while dropping some lucky ones to her apartment—that sort of thing. But don’t think we exploit them. If they are not in the mood or say no, we back off. No means no.”
At least, there is a silver lining.
Who am I kidding? This lining is greyer than silver. If it were so easy to say no, the ambiance of this office would be soul-sucking rather than a beach. It’s a miracle that I don’t see a bonfire here.
I take a deep sigh and lean back on the chair. It’s difficult to tell who exploited who? Maybe they exploited me and took advantage of my blonde fetish. It’s not like I put a gun to their head and forced them into having sex with me. They could have refused like the other six. It was consensual. But why do I feel so dirty as if I have done something wrong?
“All right. Now that I am back, things are going to change around here. I have shitted at all the wrong places and what better place to start the cleanup other than from my own office. Todd, right from this instance, I am raising the salary of those six by 20%.”
“A wise decision, sir,” Jeremy says as he scribbled something in his diary.
“Stop taking notes for God’s sake,” I shout. “You have not turned into a shrink overnight.”
“I am just making the grocery list.” He turns his diary around, and I can se
e two dozen eggs written in here.
Oops! Now, I am embarrassed. But in my defense, who makes a grocery list in a diary?
I clear up my throat. “I am sorry.” I apologize and moves on to the business. “Todd, shift them from outside of the bathroom to a nice cubicle. They are my employees—not toilet attendants.”
“We don’t have the required space to accommodate them.”
Todd is not wrong. It’s mayhem out there.
“Then, make space. Hire a contractor. Remodel. Knock down a wall or two. But for the love of God, put them in some place decent for the time being—like your office.”
“That is so white.” Todd frown. “Why do black always have to make the sacrifice? Wasn’t two hundred years enough? Why don’t you give up your office?”
“Sure, that could work too. But if I give up my office, we have to share your office, which wouldn’t be a problem for me. Except for a womb, we have shared everything in life; so, I believe we can co-exist. But the view from here is aesthetic, and I hate to see that go.”
“Yeah . . . it’s pretty aesthetic,” he says looking at the closed blinds.
I was talking about the view from the window that overlooks the skyscrapers and greenery in the distance, but he is more into the boner-inducing view outside my office. Whatever works!
“Fine, but you will have to give me some privacy during . . .” He makes an impression of blowjob, and even gag for authenticity, which makes me cringe.
“No blow job in the office,” I say, assertively, taping on my desk. “In fact, no sexual gratification of any kind from any of our employees. It’s a miracle that a class action suit for sexual harassment hasn’t been brought against us yet.”
“You can’t do this. What will happen of me?”
Jeremy takes a moment from quietly making a grocery list. “Todd, you are a smart guy, a successful businessman, and looks like a blend of Kevin Hart and Will Smith. I believe girls will be all over you. Just ask a girl out in the bar like a normal person.”
“He is right, Todd,” I say. “You will be fine. It’s time to leave the docks and tread in uncharted waters.”
Dreamy Distraction (Quest for Love Book 1) Page 12
