“Come on in,” I say, waving her in.
I put my feet up on the desk and lean back in my chair. I notice that when she comes in, she takes a careful and wide-eyed look around the office.
“Thanks for meeting with me, Mr. Clark,” she says.
“Have a seat,” I say, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk. “And remind me of your name again.”
She arranges her skirt carefully as she sits down, crossing her shapely legs in front of her. I catch a glimpse of her busty breasts, and I feel a twang of something deep inside me. She’s dressed conservatively in formal business attire that’s appropriate for an office, but she can’t conceal what’s obviously an incredibly sexy body, with curves in all the right places.
“My name’s Sarah Duphry,” she says. Her voice is soft and sweet, and honestly it gives me a hard on when she talks. I know that from where she’s sitting, though, she can’t see my crotch, which is good, since I’m not exactly small, if you know what I mean, and the fabric on these suit pants is very thin and does little to hide a growing bulge.
“Nice to meet you, Sarah,” I say. “What can I do for you today? There are honestly so many people coming in for jobs that I can’t keep track of who is who. One of my guys sets up the interviews for me.”
“Oh,” says Sarah, looking a little flustered. “Well, first, Mr. Clark, I want to say that I think it’s a really interesting way you run your company.”
“What do you mean?” I say, putting my hands behind my head, interlocking my fingers, and taking an even harder look at this beautiful creature sitting in front of me.
“Well, it’s admirable how you interview all your potential employees, regardless of the position.”
I nod. “I see,” I say. “And what position are you applying for, Sarah?”
“Oh,” she says, somewhat shyly, looking down at the ground. “Just a cleaning position.”
I’m shocked. She’s dressed so professionally. She looks better than my current secretary. I figure she’d have been to all the finest schools, judging by her way of speaking, her manners…just everything.
“Oh,” I say. “I see.”
I want to say a lot more, but I really can’t, since there are lawsuits around every corner, after all. Even when you’ve got your own business and you’re literally a billionaire, you still have to watch out for what you say, since it could cost you a lot of money.
“It’s a long story,” says Sarah, probably sensing part of my reaction. Maybe she realizes she doesn’t belong in a cleaning role really.
I think for a moment before speaking. “There’s nothing wrong with being a cleaner,” I say. “Everyone’s got to start somewhere, after all. I mean, hell, I started out literally delivering newspapers door to door, and look where I am now.”
Sara nods. Wow, does she look gorgeous. “I’ve read some interviews with you,” she says. “You have a very unusual way of running a business.”
I nod. “Some people call me eccentric. But, hell, I’m just what I am. Anyway, you’re hired. You can arrange everything with my secretary. I like the cut of your jib, so to speak. You’ve got the job.”
“Oh, Mr. Clark,” she says, rising from her seat and beaming. “Thank you so much! This really made my day. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
She’s leaning in with her big breasts to hug me across the table. My cock’s aching and hard, so I don’t think that’d be a good idea. Plus, you’ve got to watch out for lawsuits.
“Sorry,” I say. “No hugs at work. You know how those lawyers are.”
She frowns slightly, but then smiles quickly again. “I understand,” she says.
I watch her plump and sexy ass as she leaves through the door.
Wow, I think to myself. That’s a shame she’s going to be cleaning. I doubt I’ll even get to see much of her. And now that she works for me, the chances of hooking up with her…well, let’s just say it’s a hell of a lot more dangerous.
Well, she may be the hottest woman I’ve ever seen, but it’s not like I’m working with any shortage of women. In fact, I had two dates last night. Yup, two. That’s how I roll. I don’t mess around, and I always go big.
I look around at my luxurious office for a couple moments. My erection, meanwhile is fading.
I suddenly realize that the office is wearing me down. I really don’t want to be here right now. And, hey, I’m the boss so I can do whatever I want.
“I’m taking off for the day,” I say, to Carla, as I walk briskly past her.
“But, Mr. Clark, there’s still… I need to tell you…”
“I’ll worry about it tomorrow,” I say, cutting her off.
I’m already inside the elevator. Carla’s rushing up to get into the elevator with me, since evidently she has something very important she wants to tell me, but the elevator door closes before she can step inside. I chuckle to myself as the elevator heads down to the parking garage below the lobby.
You don’t get to be a billionaire while thinking and acting conventionally, I think to myself. No, you can’t act like everyone else unless you want the results that everyone else has. And I certainly didn’t want what everyone else had. I wanted more, and I got more.
I pull out my phone, which is a special advanced prototype. My friend is a CEO at Gellson phones, and he got me one of the new not-yet-released models for me to try out. The dating APP opens itself automatically, since the phone knows what I am normally looking at this time of the day. It’s just pictures of beautiful women, most of them models. All I have to do is swipe left or swipe right. The women obviously already swiped right for me. They all like me and want me.
I take only a second to look at me. Sure, they’re all incredibly hot and gorgeous. But they’re just not doing it for me right now. Somehow I’m getting bored of my lifestyle—it’s just too much and too often. It’s the same thing over and over again. There’s never anything new. The women just want my money. They want me to take them to fancy dinners and buy them fancy cars and nothing more. They don’t want to know me for who I am.
The elevator beeps at me. I’ve reached the garage floor, and the doors slide open. My gleaming sports car awaits me as I step off, but I’m in the mood for something more dangerous today. Today, I’m taking the motorcycle. Or, should say, one of the motorcycles.
It’s waiting here for me, in a line with the others. It’s a 1200 CC sports bike that could practically break the land speed record, provided it was a little more souped up. This thing has been fully customized, and it was wickedly expensive to begin with.
Without bothering with a helmet, or with motorcycle gear, I slide my leg over the motorcycle, as if I’m a cowboy mounting a horse in the old days. The key’s in he ignition, and soon the motorcycles is roaring to life. Smoke is billowing around me, and the roar of the engine echoes across the halls of the parking garage.
In a moment, I’m speeding through the entrance, where I give the parking attendant a mock salute. Now, I’m out on the open New York City streets, dodging through traffic. The wind is in my hair, and it feels wonderful.
Where should I go? That’s always the question. Usually I’m off to meet a date from online. I always know that she just wants money, but that’s ok, since I also know I can get laid. Hey, I’ve got needs, right?
Or if there’s nothing lined up online, maybe I’ll normally head to a bar or a club. Or a fancy place for lunch. But, recently, ever since I started yet another company, these places are horribly boring and completely filled with sycophants, people who just want to get close to me for my money and nothing else. Men and women of all types sidling up to me. That’s what happens when you’re famous and in all the papers and magazines just for being rich. There’s no way to avoid it.
So, to hell with all that. Today, I’m going somewhere new.
I swerve in and out of cars, reaching 100 MPH at one point. I keep going and going, driving all the way through the city. As the time passes, the sun has shifted in
the sky. I know there’s no way to get what I want in this city.
I need to get out.
Half out of boredom, and half out of a need to explore something new, I find myself having driven all the way out of the city, cruising along country roads, with the tall New York state trees shielding me from the harsh sun.
I’m somewhere in the Hamptons now. My mind was wandering and racing so much on the drive out here I barely even noticed that I’d arrived.
I pull the bike up to a small corner store that sells the basics, just the regular supplies. It doesn’t look like there’s much to this town. From the main street, it looks like just any other sleepy small American town, with not much going on, but I know that the private residences here are simply loaded with wealth. This is where the richest of the rich of New York City and all over the world come to party and relax on the weekends. The only reason I don’t own a house here is simply out of my growing distaste for hanging around other rich people—they all just talk about money and money and more money, and I want something more, something different out of life, I guess.
People probably think that the reason I don’t have a house out here in the Hamptons is because I’m not an outdoors guy. They’ve only seen me in the magazines in the city, so they figure I’m just another city guy. But, in reality, I spent half my childhood and early adult years out in the wilderness on furious trips and camping excursions. I know not only how to hunt, but how to clean a fish, how to field dress a deer, and how to start a fire with practically nothing except what I can find in the woods.
“Howdy,” says the man behind the counter, as I walk into the simple general store.
“Anything going on here tonight?” I say.
The man gives me a curious smile and shrugs his shoulders. “Depends what you’re looking for, I suppose,” he says.
“I’m John Clark,” I say, knowing that my name is usually enough of a password whenever it’s needed.
“Ha,” says the man. “You think I didn’t recognize you?”
I shrug my shoulders. “It’s hard to keep track of my name in the papers these days. I don’t know how often it’s appearing.”
“Must be a nice problem,” says the old man. “Hey, maybe I should introduce you to someone here.”
He calls over a tall man who’s well dressed. He’s over at the canned foods aisle, and he comes over and shakes my hand. It turns out he’s another CEO type, but he’s slightly more interesting. He’s not from NYC, and instead is from California. He only comes out to the Hamptons once in a while to organize massive parties.
“Why don’t you come out tonight?” he says. “If you don’t have anything else to do.”
“I would,” I say. “I am looking for something to do. But, to tell you the truth, I’m trying to get away from the CEO NYC scene.”
“You’re in luck then,” says the tall man. “This is going to have just as many regular folk as CEOs. To me, the Hamptons is my escape from the suffocating tech scene out west where I am in California”
So I agree and I take his card and the address. I spend another couple hours wandering around the small town. I park my motorcycle, and I go hiking up into the hills for a while. Occasionally, I pull out my pocketknife and cut down a stick to whittle.
When the time comes, I make my way to the party.
To my surprise, the location of the party is an enormous mansion on the lake. The host claimed that the party was for normal people, but when I get there, there are valets, caterers, and all sorts of staff. It clearly just isn’t any relaxing lake party. This is looking just like another one of the CEO parties that I’m trying to avoid, except that it’s in the Hamptons instead of Manhattan. I’ve had enough of this shit. And the valet gives me a completely bewildered look when he sees my motorcycle.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “You don’t need to park it. I’m not going to stay anyway.”
He gives me an even more confused look, but shrugs his shoulders and nods. I guess he figures if he doesn’t have to deal with me, then his job is easier. What does he care if I leave the party before even setting foot in the mansion?
I roar the engine and start circling back around the driveway. I’ve only gone about 100 feet down the driveway, when an old rambling beat up car passes me. There are two people in the old car and the one in the passenger seat is only about two feet away from me on my motorcycle. She turns and looks at me. They’re on their way into the party. I pass them going slowly.
The woman is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Despite the horribly old car she’s driving, she looks incredibly beautiful in an elegant gown. Her hair is up in a fancy style, and she’s wearing just enough makeup to make her look insanely hot.
My head won’t turn back around to look forward as I drive past them. I just keep staring at her, and she keep staring at me. We don’t exchange a word.
Weird. She looks somewhat familiar. I’m normally good with faces, but maybe I met her in a wildly different context, where she wasn’t dressed up as nicely as she is tonight.
I make a snap decision. CEO fancy parties be damned. I’m going to return to this one. I need to talk to this woman if it’s the last thing I do. I haven’t yet reached the end of the circular portion of the driveway, so I just circle back around once more.
The valet gives me the most perplexed look I’ve ever seen on anyone. He actually opens his mouth and says, “What the hell, man?” which is so unprofessional I actually laugh at him, rather than getting annoyed.
Another valet has already taken away the horribly old car of the two women, and I catch a glimpse of the beautiful one’s ass as she slinks into the house. The door closes behind her before I can even get off my motorcycle, but the image of her delicious ass is still stuck in my head.
“You can’t park this, can you?” I say to the valet.
“Shouldn’t you be wearing a helmet?” he says.
“I don’t wear helmets when I don’t feel like it,” I say. “Now answer the question.” If this guy were one of my employees, I’d fire him in an instant. But that’s a discussion for another time.
“I can’t,” he says. “You can go put it in the garage by yourself,” I guess.
“Very professional of you,” I say sarcastically, and once again I turn on the motorcycle and slowly ride towards the garage where I park it.
Between the cobwebs, I park the motorcycle. All the while, the only thing I can think about is this gorgeous woman in the slinky evening gown. As I walk across the lawn, towards the mansion, I’m positive that I’ve met her somewhere before. But, where? I know that I know her, but I also know it’s from some context that I wouldn’t necessarily expect. I feel like I’ve met her recently, and that I’ve met her a long time ago—all at the same time. It’s that feeling that you get when you have met someone but you feel like you’ve already known them for a long time.
“Can I take your coat, sir?” says the attendant inside the house.
The mansion is even more luxurious inside than outside.
I scan the party. I’m not sure exactly how I’ve ended up here for a moment. Wasn’t I trying to get away from all this bullshit? And here I am again.
Then I remember: I’m here for that woman that I saw. The most gorgeous and mysterious woman I’ve ever seen in my life…the one who seemed so familiar, as if I had just met her in some other context.
I scan the room…and…there she is.
I catch just a glimpse of her chest as she walks into the other room. She’s already out of reach again. Is she headed into the kitchen?
I push my way through the crowd, not even bothering to apologize when I knock into people. I knock over their champagne glasses and I step on men’s dress shoes by mistake. But by the time I get to the other side of the room, to the door that I saw this gorgeous creature disappear through, she’s already gone.
The next room is just like this one, but with fewer people in it. An oriental carpet and an ornate chandelier decorate th
e room, which is otherwise fairly bare, except for a couple horrendous portraits of disgusting monarch types.
She’s gone, no where to be scene.
Sarah
“Come on,” says Janet, pulling me by the hand outdoors. We’re at the craziest house I’ve ever been to. It’s not only luxurious and obviously owned by someone with a ton of money, but it’s inhabited by the richest of the richest and the most famous of the famous. It seems like every step I take, Janet has to drag me away from staring at some famous celebrity or someone I’ve seen in the gossip columns of the newspapers. “Come on,” says Janet again, really pulling on my hand this time.
“But, I just saw…” I say, realizing I don’t actually know his name, but I do know that I’ve seen all his movies. I guess I’m just used to these Hamptons parties.
“You’re going to embarrass me,” says Janet. “Plus, we didn’t come here to ogle celebrities. We came to celebrate your new job.”
“You mean my job, not my new job,” I say. “After being unemployed for over a year, I don’t really have an “old” job that this can be a “new” job in relation to.”
“You’re so weird,” says Janet, taking some champagne from a passing waiter who’s wearing a suit. She hands two glasses to me, and keeps two for herself. “We’re supposed to get drunk,” she says, somewhat seriously, with a very serious expression on her face. “You haven’t had fun in so long that you don’t remember how you have to do it. But that’s why you have me here, and I’m here to tell you that the thing to do is to get drunk, and then the fun happens.”
“How can you have fun when you’re so serious all the time?” I say, laughing at Janet.
“Just wait and see,” says Janet, giving me another serious glare. She downs one champagne glass, and then the other. Then she takes two more from another passing waiter.
I take a meager sip of my own glass. I’ve never really been one to get drunk or wasted. I’ll have a glass of wine once in a while, but heavy drinking isn’t really my thing.
Running Back's Baby: A Secret Baby Romance Page 17
