Dreamy Distraction (Quest for Love Book 1)

by Emily J. Wright

  “All right. All right. I’ll give it a try. Get off my back,” he says with a smug look on his face. He is soaking in the bliss of being compared to two successful Hollywood stars.

  “Good. Now on to the most important topic. How is this business still afloat? We are shelling out a staggering amount of $7,75,000 annually on women whose job description is, be blonde, look pretty, occasionally fuck the boss, and collect the paycheck,” I say, counting their duties on my fingers. I think I have covered it all. “They have turned into nothing more than an in-house hooker on the payroll.”

  “Think twice before saying, Brandon! Todd screams. “They are very beautiful classy ladies.”

  “Have you seen their skirts? For God’s sake, this is my office, an insurance brokerage office—not a sleazy porn producer hosting audition. How do we even get any clients in here?”

  “Word of mouth publicity, really. We are the number one choice between men in the age group of 40-60.”

  “I can imagine why, but that’s not enough. We couldn’t possibly be earning that much commission to cover our cost?”

  “Uhh . . . we get by—break even most of the quarters.”

  “Did you say breakeven?!” I exclaim. “Then what do I earn? What do you earn? How can I afford my lifestyle?”

  “We are not limited to the insurance business,” he says. “When Larry, our friend, was tired of working with Morgan Stanley, you suggested him to start his own hedge fund, and we became his first investor. His hedge fund shoots through the sky, and we annually receive a hefty sum against our 12% investment, a major part of which we invest back with Larry and other part in your favorite sector—the real estate.”

  “Real estate? That’s why my safe is filled with house deeds.”

  “Yes. They are all distressed properties that you bought at an unbelievable cut-rate price. You are a shark when it comes to these kinds of properties. You can smell it from miles away.”

  I am not going to lie. Brandon 1.0 was intelligent enough to diversify. He ensured that a continuous revenue stream is available for him from Larry’s hedge fund. He thought of long term and invested in stocks, and was gutsy enough to buy distressed property for a big payout day. But that is still no reason to shell out an extra half a million dollar on salaries when it could be used for something good.

  “Todd, as the 70% owner of this company I have made an executive decision,” I say, determinedly. “To free up Brandon Bryce Brokerage from undue financial constraints, I am firing the extra and useless staff, starting with Ashley Lovett and her group.”

  “No, no, no . . . You can’t do this.” Todd freaks out and sits on my desk in his terrified state. “You can’t let Ashely Lovett go. If she goes, chaos will follow.”

  “You are right. I can’t let her go.”

  “Phew, thank God!”

  “You will,” I say, giving him a pat on his arm.

  “What? You want me to fire her and her group. Are you out of your fucking mind? They will eat me alive for their snack.”

  “You are the HR. It falls under your responsibility.”

  “What HR? You said it would be fun. I get to flirt with them when I give them their paycheck. You never said anything about firing.”

  “Well, there is first of everything,” I say. “Think of it as practice for many more to come.”

  “Brandon, you listen to me.” He grasps my shoulder and gives me a good shake. “We have a smooth relationship with the women out there. If you fire any one of them—especially their uncrowned queen Ashley Lovett—they would rock our smooth sailing boat and flip it over in the sexual harassment suit.”

  “He is right, Brandon. This will come around to bite you in the ass.” Jeremy finally finishes up the grocery list and shut that suspicious looking diary for good.

  “I don’t care, Jeremy. I am not going to pay an extra $5,00,000 annually to see a bunch of bimbos come here, apply their makeup, watch porn, gossip about Maxim 100, and go back home. I need people who respect me, and who I could respect even more.”

  “You do realize that sexual harassment suit would cost you much more than that?”

  “It’s still better than bleeding money each week. Even if I lose, which I probably will, at least, I would have a moral victory in my eyes.”

  “Hmm . . .” Jeremy opens his diary back again to write something.

  This time, I am sure it’s not about the grocery. He is taking notes on my behavior, but at this moment, I don’t even care. I have bigger fishes to fry—eight to be exact.

  “All right, if you are so hell-bent on firing Ashley8, why don’t you do it?” Todd says.

  “I can’t . . . Ashley Lovett . . . You said it yourself that she is my ex. It’s not a good idea for me to get in her face. I already feel very uncomfortable around her. I suspect she groped my ass when we were out there.”

  “Oh, she definitely did,” Jeremy says. “I saw her myself, squeezing your tushy.”

  “And you still didn’t say anything?”

  “I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your staff. I mean, what kind of man wouldn’t like his ass squeezed by a hot, dirty, blonde-haired, voluptuous woman. If either you or I objected, they would have thought, you are playing for the same side now.”

  “Smart thinking. You did the right thing.”

  With a jump, Todd gets up from my table, clears his throat, and holding his head high, says, “I also have thought smartly, and righteously taken my decision to resign from the post of HR.”

  “What?!” I scream. “You can’t do that.”

  “I can. And I have,” he replies. “You are feeling uncomfortable around Ashley Lovett even though you don’t remember her. Have you thought about me for a second? I was on a cruise with Ashley Sky for 10 days of my sex-fest. I stayed in the cabin for straight 10 days—didn’t even bother to see if the color of the ocean is blue or green. How can I fire her now? What will I say to her? . . . Hey Ashley, we had a wonderful time on that cruise. You rocked my world initially, but I am afraid you came up short at the end. Your performance was satisfactory, and not up to the standard I am used to going with. So, I am afraid I am gonna have to let you go. I wish you great success in all your future endeavors. Please do let us know if you need our reference for a strip club or an escort agency.”

  “At least, you would be honest.”

  “Dude, I am not going to be an asshole after fucking her in the ass. This is where I draw the line.” He even takes a pencil out of the pen holder from my desk and literally draws a line on the mahogany hardwood floor in the act of defiance.

  “Then, find someone who can,” I shout. “Hire a firing squad if you have to, but these women need to go so that I could have some control and little decorum around here.”

  “I have somebody for this job in my mind, and he is perfect.” Todd ever so gently rolls his eyes over to Jeremy. “He is old, which is an added advantage for this job. They will not stoop so low to scratch the face of a poor old messenger. Plus, he is an expert in the human psyche, so if things get out of hand, he can calm them down.”

  “Excellent idea, Todd!” Jeremy says, unaware that we are talking about him. “Brandon, it could work.”

  “I thought so too.” I turn my chair and look at Jeremy, and so does Todd.

  “Why are you two looking at me? . . . What?! Stop staring me like that . . . I am that old, wise guy, aren’t I?”

  “Yep!” Todd and I said in unison.

  “No . . . No . . . I am not going to be a sacrificial lamb. You two played hanky-panky with them for years, and now you want me to foot the bill. I will not do it. I am sorry. I am putting my foot down.”

  And just like Todd literally drew the line on the hardwood floor earlier, he stamps on the floor and puts his feet down. But what he doesn’t realize is that it’s not going to work. Unlike Todd, he is a perfect English gentleman with a kind heart, which makes the manipulation easy.

  “Jeremy, imagine how much good $5,00,000 would do fo
r the society. World hunger—check, poverty—double check, kids in Africa—the next thousand wells is sponsored by your uncle, Jeremy. Imagine . . . Uncle Jeremy Foundation . . . Uncle Jeremy—the origin of a new philanthropist. ABC news will lap that up.”

  “That does sound enticing.” Jeremy is lost in the imaginary hype, but soon made touch with reality. “But what if Ashley8 won’t listen to me—or worse, gang up on me and throw me out of the window? There is a long way down from the 7th floor. You would have to scrape me off the ground with a shovel.”

  “Don’t worry. We will have a nice funeral for you. I promise.” Todd holds a raised hand and swears, which strengthens Jeremy’s suspicion that something bad could happen.

  “Shut up, Todd!” I put a stop to Todd’s shenanigans before he could scare Jeremy off. “It wouldn’t come that. You are old. It’s your superpower. Who would think of hitting you?”

  “The last time you said that, things didn’t go too well for me.” Jeremy is talking about the day of my discharge from the hospital when I sent him to the ladies’ room in search of ‘the blonde who got away,’ and he got beaten up.

  “It wouldn’t happen again,” I assure him. “Lightning never strikes the same place twice.”

  “They light me up pretty bad that day. I don’t remember how many times, but it was certainly more than two.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Todd is confused about our talk and feels left out.

  “What happened was—”

  “No!” Jeremy shouts, and then chuckles and shakes his head in a no at me. He doesn’t want that incident to be known to Todd. It’s embarrassing, really—beaten up by women in the lady’s room.

  “You don’t want to know about this, trust me. It’s very depressing. In fact, it’s so depressing that it caused my libido to plummet. Why do you think I didn’t like Ashley Lovett grabbing my ass?” I made an excuse for Jeremy’s sake and turned the bullet that was aiming for Jeremy’s chest to my crotch.

  “Thank you.” Jeremy mouths.

  “Then, it’s better you don’t tell me that.” Todd is scared to death and covers up his crotch. “I’ll make the arrangement to shift the six girls in my office.” And he runs out of my office without even looking back.

  “I never thought a day would come in my life where I have to fire someone,” Jeremy says. “I was always on the receiving end of the firing process.”

  “You will be fine. Go, drop them dead.”

  “I need to drop a deuce first,” he says, walking out of my office. “My stomach is churning due to anxiety. I feel like there is a boulder in here.”

  My brave soldiers are off to do their task, and I am all alone in my office. I walk up to the wall of shame and stand before the painting of the woman with four tits. It’s fascinating, and I am sort of attracted to it.

  I meant to look at it closely, but with Jeremy and Todd around, I didn’t get a chance. I move closer and look at the woman’s face in the painting. Now I know why I am attracted to it. I must be inspired by ‘the blonde who got away’ when I was making this painting. It has her nose and eyes, and even the face has little resemblance to her when you look at it in a certain way. This gives me a great idea on how to find her.

  Chapter 18

  LOOK AT THE HUNK OF a man in the apron.

  Yep—that’s me behind the canvas.

  I had an epiphany looking at the painting of the four-tits woman. If I could paint some of the features of ‘the blonde who got away’ on the canvas when I was horny, intoxicated, under the influence of drugs, and possibly getting a blow job, imagine, what I can do now, when I am sober, free of lust, and in love with her.

  It’s easy. Her image is burned in my head. All I got to do is put her face on the canvas. That’s what I thought when I started off with the first canvas. Now, I am down to the third.

  “How’s it coming along?” Todd asks.

  I made a big mistake when I told him to move into my office. He is eating roasted peanuts and disturbing me every few minutes by asking how the painting is coming along as if his loud chewing and licking fingers every time after having peanut isn’t distracting enough.

  It’s peanuts, not KFC. Finger lickin' is not good.

  “I swear to God, if you ask me this one more time, I will paint your face instead of this canvas,” I say, angrily, throwing an extra brush at him in frustration.

  “I hope not in black.” He smoothens his face with his palm. “As you can see, I have plenty of it.”

  “That’s racist!”

  “Not when I say it.” He gives me a toothy grin. “I can release a music album, drop the N-word hundred times, and people will still call it an art and drop a Grammy in my lap. But if you do the same, let’s just say, it’s not going to end well for you, white-ass boy.”

  “I am sorry, but I don’t understand the rules of racism anymore. And don’t even get me started on reverse racism—it doesn’t even have rules.”

  “Don’t think about it too much. Just stay in your white lane, and you will be fine. How is the painting coming along?”

  I don’t know if Ashley8 are going to throw Jeremy out the window, but if Todd asks me this one more time, I am surely going to throw him out. God, he is annoying.

  “See, why Jeremy hasn’t returned yet? It’s been a while.”

  “He would be fine. What a bunch of women could do to him anyway? It’s not like he dated and dumped them. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  The door opens with a bang and our heads jolt towards it. And there stands Jeremy with a look that I am well aware of. And I believe, you do too.

  His hair is messed up, clothes are out of place, cheeks red as a plum, and eyes puffed up. Oh, boy! He got beaten up by the bunch of Ashleys!

  “What happened to you?” Todd asks, but Jeremy doesn’t answer, and with a slow, dragged walk enters my office, closing the door behind him.

  “They were trying on shades of lipstick,” Jeremy says with a long sniffle and falls back on the brown leather couch.

  “Oh, Jeremy.” I hold him before he would start crying.

  “What’s . . . happening?” Todd says.

  “Not now, Todd,” I say, caressing Jeremy’s arm to comfort him. “Did you make the excuse of Alzheimer?”

  “Didn’t work.”

  “Blind?”

  Jeremy shakes his head in a no. “That’s when they started swinging their handbags at me. They were so heavy.” Jeremy couldn’t control himself anymore and starts sobbing. “It was just an innocent boner!”

  “Poor guy,” I say with a deep sigh. “He has a lipstick fetish,” I whisper to Todd.

  “I know that by now,” he whispers back.

  “At least you had the last laugh,” I say, cheering him up. “The look on their faces must have exhilarated you when you fired them.”

  “It didn’t even come up to that.”

  He gets beaten up and didn’t even get to fire them. That’s shameful on so many levels.

  “What?! Why?” I ask.

  “Do you really want to know? Then, listen,” he says with a shiver, going down the memory lane. “I was taking a dump, unaware that you have a unisex bathroom. Then, I hear the multiple sounds of high heels. They were of Ashley8 and Bridgette. While they were using the facilities, I squirmed inside the stall, wondering if I was in the ladies’ room. When everything went quiet, I opened the door and saw Ashleys sampling the lipstick provided by Bridgette. She was selling lipsticks in the bathroom of the insurance brokerage company. And then . . . And then . . .”

  “It’s all right, Jeremy. You don’t have to say more. Shh . . . you are safe here.” I give Jeremy a hug in this hour of need. “Nobody can hurt you here.”

  “It’s pretty daunting what they did to Jeremy. Since when does popping a boner become a crime?” Todd voices his support for Jeremy, probably fearing that he could be their next victim. “At his age, he probably doesn’t get many. They should be proud of themselves that they can bring a
n old dick to life, but instead, they roughed him up. It’s despicable.”

  “Ashley8 will pay for this, I promise. I’ll go and fire them myself.” I am not any less infuriated than Todd. I said what I mean. Ashley8 will lose their jobs over this.

  But before I could even turn around, heading for the door, Jeremy stops me. “Maybe hold on to the whole firing thing.”

  Aww! The kindness of this man. After beaten by women less than half his age, he is still advocating for clemency.

  “Ashley8 are not as dumb as you think,” he says, “but Bridgette definitely has nothing in her head. She has to go. She called White House Trump Plaza when Ashley8 were discussing Trump’s foreign policies.”

  “They were discussing foreign policies?” I say, surprisingly.

  I can still wrap my mind around Bridgette calling White house Trump Plaza, but Ashley8 discussing foreign policies—that is a tough pill to swallow.

  “Oh, yes! The foreign policies, international trade, the fiscal budget. It was like they were having a session of Congress of their own in the washroom.”

  “Huh . . . I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “Neither do I. I was shocked myself when I listened to them from the bathroom stall. They are just portraying themselves as dumb blondes. I don’t think any of them is a natural blonde.”

  “At least, I was right about them manipulating me,” I say.

  “Oh, yes. They manipulated you all right, and took your fetishes to the new heights. But with hot bodies like theirs, you were lucky they didn’t manipulate you into shooting yourself.”

  “Then, that is all the more reason to fire them. They are already dominating this office. If they come to know that I have lost my memories in the accident and have become soft, they would probably overthrow me out of my own company.” I look at Jeremy and Todd back and forth. “You didn’t tell anybody about me losing my memories, right?”

  “Not yet,” Todd says.

  “Apart from us in the room, Dr. Maverick, and Professor Able, nobody knows about it,” Jeremy says.