My mom: Oh, honey. Thanks for the update. Break a leg! And yes, I will check on John. You know how we worry.
Now, for the first time ever, maybe they had a reason to. My head was about to unravel and so was my life.
~~~
The next morning, I began drinking through the C.C. firehose—laptop, account setup, work cell, company card, employee badge, HR and benefits, expense reporting, company policies, and all of the other busywork a new employee went through.
Oh, and my new office.
Seriously, it was…amazing. New, modern, bright-white office furniture and the red lips C.C. logo on the wall instantly made me feel like I’d been transported to a shiny new glamorous planet. Then there was the view. Only a floor below Mr. Cole, though much, much smaller, my office overlooked downtown Chicago. Later, I would find out he’d actually moved someone to another floor so I could have it, which made me wonder if he put me there as a reminder of his position above me. My mouth didn’t seem to acknowledge the concept of hierarchy when it came to him. Or politeness. Regardless, I had to pinch myself every ten minutes. I kept feeling like I’d somehow faked my way in and, at any moment, the security guards would show up looking to throw me out. But I hadn’t faked my way in; I’d just come in through a very, very strange hidden door.
That was just Thursday morning.
The rest of the afternoon was spent digging out from underneath an avalanche of client files Keri had brought over upon Mr. Cole’s request. I was going to be one busy bee.
Thursday night, after spending an hour with Mrs. Jackson downstairs, helping her clean her fridge, panic set in. I would have to see Mr. Cole tomorrow, unless I decided not to show, which I knew was not the way to go. I had to be fearless with the man, so that meant confronting my error head-on.
I’m going to tell him I never meant it—heat of the moment sort of thing—and I want stock options instead. All true.
Then I received two entertaining texts from John damning me to hell because my mother had shown up the night before and wouldn’t leave. She’d cleaned his apartment, tidied his underwear drawer, and started organizing his porn. “My fucking porn, Lily! Mom put her hands on my porn. Spoiled forever! P.S. Hope first day of new job went well.”
I really had to wonder why he even owned porn. Who did that these days?
Me: Sorry. But that’s what you get for making crap up about me. Do it again, and I’ll tell Mom you’ve started hiring hookers to fill your lonely nights.
She’d never leave him alone again if I said that.
My brother: evil cow
The ritualistic taunting gave me a few moments of blessed distraction from my nerves until I got a text from Mr. Cole on my new phone, which sent me into a frenzied tailspin.
His first message said he’d introduce me to the troops on Monday at his monthly staff meeting, but in the meantime, I should get to work familiarizing myself with the accounts I’d been given—some of them blew my mind. Saks, for example, would be my baby. Pinch me. Slap my bare ass. Call me giddy.
Me: Yes, sir. Hope trip is productive?
Mr. Cole: Boring as fuck. Looking forward to some quality time with your dirty mouth tomorrow.
Now that text pushed me over the edge—it sounded like he actually looked forward to screwing me. Impossible.
But the next message he sent traumatized the ever-living hell out of me…
Mr. Cole: And change of plans. Pack for weekend. Bring something nice for Saturday evening.
Oh, Christ. I covered my mouth, reading the message five times. He wants to make a weekend out of it. But why?
Then it hit me. Perhaps he saw sex with me as some sort of intense therapeutic device. Oh crap. That’s it. That was why he’d said yes so easily. He had mentioned his therapist advised him to “accept it” into his life and to “confront it.”
This was one hell of a way to confront his fears, but “it” wasn’t going to happen. And I knew he’d understand why—he was my boss and I hadn’t really meant this to be part of our deal. I had way more respect for myself than that. Then there was the fact that I didn’t want to be some vaccination for his ugly illness. I wanted my first time to be a good memory. Preferably with someone I didn’t hate.
Needing something to ward off the butterflies in my stomach and clear my head, I put on my running shoes. I was about to head out when another text came in.
Mr. Cole: And don’t forget your exercise clothes.
Okay. So this was good. He might be enticed with going for a run or hike instead of his “therapy” session.
Me: Got my running shoes all warmed up for you
Mr. Cole: It’s not your shoes I’m interested in.
I stared at the message for a moment and threw my phone down on the bed, treating it like a poisonous snake.
Oh God. He’s probably testing me. The man knows I’m going to back out.
Leaving my phone behind, I headed out for that run to avoid texting him back. No, it was best to let his last message go and confront him tomorrow.
Of course, that’s not what happened. About a half hour into my run, I turned around and headed home, intent on calling him and setting things straight tonight. But by the time I got there, I’d lost my nerve and hopped into the shower, where I decided a better course of action was to blow off some steam and rub one out.
Nope. Wasn’t happening.
I found my mind unsatisfied with anything in my mental library—Brad, Jason M., Thor, Mr. Thornton—none seemed to hit the spot.
After my shower, and against my better judgement, I finally broke down and texted him back.
Me: What are you interested in?
Wrapped in a white towel, my blonde hair obscenely over-conditioned so it would be silky and wavy tomorrow despite the humidity, I nibbled my thumbnail, waiting for a reply. When I heard the chime on my phone, I could hardly look.
Mr. Cole: Watching you run.
I spouted out a laugh. Sonofabitch. He was testing me. Or taunting me, knowing I’d get cold feet. He’d flat out said that he thought I was spineless. Think you can play with me? Because I could give as good as I could get.
Me: Yes. I forgot. Men like you aren’t equipped to keep up. However, watching is very admirable. Will bring binoculars so you can see everything from a distance
I let out a few self-congratulatory snickers.
Mr. Cole: Thank you. Binoculars would be helpful so I can observe you from the finish line while I wait.
I laughed. Okay, I’d successfully turned the sex talk into a pissing match. Time to turn it back.
Me: Wow. Being so fast must be a huge disappointment for all those women who run with you. (Sad face)
I chuckled. “Take that, Mr. Pompous Egomaniac.”
Mr. Cole: Let’s not fool ourselves. We both know I’ll be running alone tomorrow.
So he basically had just called me a coward and implied he’d be jerking off tomorrow because I’d be a no-show? Of course, my thoughts had to come accompanied with a mental image of him lying on his back naked, stroking his long, thick cock, his cum erupting all over his hands.
I shook my head, trying to ignore how turned on I suddenly felt. Something about a beautiful man taking care of himself really did it for me. Not that I’d ever seen it happen in real life, but I occasionally satisfied my curiosity and needs with a little Internet exploration.
I was about to type a response, indicating that I would not disappoint him, but I knew that wasn’t true. He was right. I didn’t have the backbone to go through with it, and it certainly wasn’t the right thing to do.
But then why was the idea beginning to grow on me? A girl like me would never have the chance to be with a man like that ever again.
After another long day of reading through client files, sales projections, and product offerings, my brain felt like a tater tot, but I’d welcomed the distraction from the crazy thoughts spinning in my head. I’d also welcomed the fact that Mr. Cole’s staff wasn’t in the office thi
s week because they were all traveling, either visiting clients or at a big trade show in New York. Sounded pretty dang exciting to me, but I knew there’d be plenty of time for that stuff later. Right now, I needed to get up to speed quickly because come Monday morning, I’d be meeting the team, likely assigned a few projects, and have to start getting out on the road to meet customers. Oh, and I’d be recovering from sex. Okay, maybe not.
Yes, this morning I’d packed and went to work with the full intention of going through with the weekend. Crazy. I know. But after a night of the most erotic sexy dreams of Mr. Cole fucking me, licking me, and touching every part of my body until all signs of my virginity were obliterated, I’d woken up in a state that failed words. Horny, aroused, turned on—none of those cut it.
By lunch, my sanity had overcome my body’s needs, and I’d made up my mind not to be a coward, per my own definition. I would tell Mr. Cole the truth: I hadn’t been serious when I’d put fucking on the table.
I’d just have to use that backbone of mine to come clean. He would have to respect that, right?
There was a knock on my office door as I started packing up my things.
“Come in,” I said, still unable to believe I got to say that. I had an office. At Cole Cosmetics. It was a dream come true. Mostly.
Keri’s head popped through the door. “Oh, good. Glad I caught you before you left. Thought I’d have to drive out after you. Mr. Cole just called and asked you to bring these to his house tonight.” She held out a large white envelope.
Oh, shit. I felt my face turn tomato red. She knew I was going to his house? What else did she know?
“Um. Yeah,” I said. “He wanted to go over some things before Monday.”
“Go over a few things?” She smirked and gave me a look. “Oh, that man just loves fooling around.”
Dear Lord. She knew? I thought I’d die of embarrassment.
She went on, “Mr. Cole has to attend the big fashion show in Milan tomorrow night. The designer is revealing our new fall colors line.”
Oh God. I hung my head and let out a sigh of relief, wanting to laugh. He’d been fucking with me about this weekend.
Head-game point goes to you, Cole.
Even I knew that C.C. did these product-release fashion shows four times a year. It was always a big hush-hush until the event when they revealed the models were wearing the new look. They used a different clothing designer every time. I’d read that Mr. Cole did it that way to keep C.C.’s image fresh and it gave C.C. some “runway” before the competition knocked off their products. That was the name of the game: be first to market and set the trend. Just when everyone else caught up, they changed the trend again. It’s how number one stays number one.
Keri shook her head and grinned. “Mr. Cole can be such a little boy sometimes. He loves to mess with people. Says it’s good to always keep ’em guessing.”
I gave Keri a smile, trying to hide my discomfort. “He got me. I had no idea.”
She shook her finger at me. “Gotta stay on your toes with that man—be ready for anything. But usually when he has you meet him at home it’s because he’s taking the company jet out of Wheeling.”
Wheeling was north of Chicago and not too far from where I lived. There was an executive airport there.
I laughed. She had no idea how relieved I felt. We’d be on a plane all night, and with the time difference, we’d probably be landing in Milan sometime in the afternoon. This was a business trip.
Then part of me realized I was going to Milan on C.C.’s company plane to attend the big fall reveal. The little girl inside squealed with delight. There may have been some pom-pom shaking, too. Go awesome me!
“I’ll be ready for his little surprises next time,” I replied.
“I doubt it. He always finds new ways to shock the hell out of me, and I’ve been working for him for two years.” Her eyes flashed on the envelope she’d laid on my desk. “That’s your passport and VIP tickets to the event—Mr. Cole forgot them on his desk.”
Keri had asked me to bring in my passport this morning for HR reasons—citizenship verification and for their travel department records.
“Have fun,” she said.
She left, and I finished packing up my things, thinking that this weekend would be the perfect opportunity to set the record straight with Cole.
I picked up my phone and decided to send Danny a little “rub it in” text.
Me: Guess who’s going to Milan tonight? Me. That’s right. And guess who I’m going with?
She didn’t know that being with Mr. Cole wasn’t the fantasy it was cracked up to be, but why not make her a little green anyway?
Danny: What? No! You whore! Stay away from my man or I’ll cut you! (Smiley face)
Me: I’ll send him your regards, you crazy bitch. C U Sunday. Pls. check on Mrs. Jcksn. XOXO
Danny: Bite me. Yes on Jcksn.
I laughed. She was so awesome. I’d definitely have to bring her back something nice like some Italian condoms.
~~~
Later that evening, I pulled up to Mr. Cole’s gated house on the lake, about forty minutes north of Chicago and about a half hour east of my apartment.
The home was every bit as impressive and intimidating as the man himself. To describe it would take about an hour and I still wouldn’t do it justice, so I’ll just say the thing was a two-story mini castle with a gray brick and stucco exterior. A high-pitched roof made the home appear more daunting and larger than it probably was, which was still pretty dang large.
As I reached to buzz the little pad near the gate, the wrought-iron fence slid open, and I pulled my red Mini up the long driveway lined with green lawn on both sides. The view of the lake to my right, where he had two boat docks and a beautiful yacht, was breathtaking. The entire place was exactly the sort of palace a girl like me dreamed of owning.
I pulled up between the front door and the circular fountain, wondering why I suddenly felt all nervous again. I knew he’d just been toying with me—testing out my backbone—and we’d be getting on a plane to Milan.
I guessed that was a good reason to be nervous, too. For me, this was an exciting trip to a place I’d always wanted to go. For him, it was therapy. He’d be shut up in a plane with me for twelve hours. Then he’d get a break and get to drool over the gorgeous runway models during the show. He’d probably snatch one up for the night, and then we’d see each other on the plane again to come home.
Look on the bright side, he’ll be a captive audience. Somewhere between now and the end of the trip, I’d tell him I had been joking about the sex but that I wanted to trade up—that’s what I’d call it—for shares in the company. If I did a good job, of course. In exchange, I’d put up with his shitty disorder and work my ass off for him. I’d also make it clear that I didn’t expect any special treatment just because I knew his ugly little secret. It was a fair deal.
Nervous as hell, I stepped from my car. I’d decided to change at the office and had worn my running clothes—as my own little joke—white tank top, pink and black running shorts, and my favorite black running shoes. My hair was loose around my face, though. Not how I usually wore it when I ran.
After ringing the doorbell twice and knocking a few more times without a response, I tried the door. It was unlocked, so I pushed. Hell, someone had let me through the front gate, and I’d been invited, so perhaps Mr. Cole expected me to show myself in?
Or the butler has gone home for the day? Did he even have a butler? I didn’t know.
The door creaked open. “Hello?” I called out.
No one answered as I stepped inside and looked around the opulent foyer that included a winding staircase, raised ceiling with chandelier, and grand arched doorways leading to several dark rooms.
“Mr. Cole?” I called out again.
“In here.” I heard his deep, hypnotic voice coming from the room to my right.
I followed the sound and stopped in the doorway.
“Yo
u’re late,” he growled.
No. I wasn’t. I’d arrived to his gate at exactly 7:55 p.m., but when my eyes spotted his silhouette seated in an armchair in the corner of what looked like his formal living room, the last thing on my mind was arguing.
The lights were off and with the sun setting outside, a faint shadow crossed over his beautiful face, giving him an especially intimidating and angry look.
He added, “But I’m glad you decided to show up. I’m not in the mood for a solo run tonight.”
Uh…was he speaking literally or figuratively? My heart started pounding inside my chest.
“Mr. Cole, what’s going on?”
He stood, making me realize he wore only black shorts and running shoes. No shirt. His ripped-as-hell chest and abs were on full display, and I couldn’t pretend I wouldn’t be fantasizing over the image later on. He’d also added to his tattoo collection since he’d modeled almost nude last year. The intricate tribal pattern now covered both of his upper arms instead of just one.
Yum.
“What’s going on,” he replied, “is your second lesson.”
Lesson one had been getting my hands dirty—aka, doing things I didn’t feel one hundred percent comfortable with simply because the boss asked me to.
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to have me hire Craig back,” I said sarcastically.
“No. He’d been harassing Keri. Repeatedly. He won’t be coming back.”
Oh. And Keri, a huge credit to her, never once dropped her professional demeanor around the shmuck. Point for Keri. It was also nice to know Craig really deserved to be canned.
Had that been part of the lesson, too? That I needed to trust that Maxwell Cole had his reasons for the things he did or might ask me to do?
He continued, “Lesson two: from now on, if you want something, you’ll have to fight for it.”
Okay. “What exactly are you asking me to fight for?” And why the hell was he shirtless and sitting in the dark…
Oh. It dawned on me. He didn’t want to see my face. Fuck. This hurts.
“I’m sure by now,” he said, “Keri’s told you about Milan.”
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