"And why would it be in here?" Cheryl asks. "Or maybe the better question is, why would you have ever needed to be in here? To say the earring might be here is to imply you've spent time here. Only our developers come in here."
"Oh I-uh-I was taking a tour of the place the other day," I say.
"In here?"
"Well, Ethan and I … " I trail off.
Cheryl looks at me. "Ethan and you, what?"
I roll my eyes as if asking her if she really needs me to spell out the fact that we were fucking.
"Right," Cheryl says after a minute. "You fucked him."
"Or he fucked me, you know?" I say, giving her some sass. "It was kind of mutual."
"Do you always sleep with your clients?" Cheryl asks me.
"It's been my philosophy to get to know someone since high school," I tell her sweetly as she raises her eyebrows at me. Fuck her. Interrogating me and shit.
"Did you just so happen to develop that philosophy at … say … Man Chasers LLC?" she asks.
When she says this I'm floored. How did she know that? And I'm sure that shock is written all over my face.
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh come on Brittney," she says. "Do you think I don't know? I know all about your business."
"This has nothing to do with my business," I say. There's no use lying and trying to tell her that Man Chaser's LLC doesn't exist. She obviously knows all about it. I have to just go with it.
"I hope not," she says.
"Being an actress for Illicit Entertainment has nothing to do with my previous work," I say, confirming my stance.
"For your sake, I hope you're right," Cheryl says. Her gaze has intensified. "Because if you try to pull something here, you'll regret it. That much I can promise."
I've honestly never heard this tone from Cheryl before and it catches me off guard. Our encounters, up till this point, have been cordial.
I mean, I'm now in a hard place. I'm standing here-just moments from being caught, and I have stolen data on a USB drive hidden inside of my thong. I hid it there right when Cheryl came in. This is an act that can land me in jail.
"This has gotten blown way out of proportion," I say. "I was just searching for an earring. I promise."
Cheryl doesn't say anything further, and instead gives me one last icy stare before turning on her heels and walking back out the door. I also leave. My heart is pounding, and I need to get as far away from this place as possible.
"Well that was close," I hear Walter say in my earpiece. He heard that entire conversation, but I nearly forgot he was there.
I whisper back, in a tone that's barely audible so that no one else can hear me, "Yeah, too fucking close for comfort."
I find my things-my change of clothes, and my purse. I pull my cell phone from my purse to check and see if I have any messages, and as I'm scrolling through, a new text message chimes in.
It's from Simon and reads, "DO U HAVE IT YET?"
First off, I hate it when people type in all caps. Do you know what I mean? It's literally one of my biggest pet peeves-in texts, emails, you name it. It's like they're yelling. I'm not a fucking kid; calm down.
So reading Simon's text instantly irritates me on one hand, and on the other hand, it reminds of the stakes. If I don't get this data to Simon quickly, I'm jeopardizing my life.
Just as I'm about to reply, a second text message chimes in. This time, it's from Ethan. It reads: "I'd like to finish what we started in my office. Want to meet up again?"
I'm instantly torn. If I'm honest, I'd love for nothing more than to be back in Ethan's arms, slowly peeling our clothes off and fucking each other until we can't fuck any more. The minute his text chimed in, my pulse quickened in excitement. It was like getting an extra dose of endorphins.
Shit. What am I even saying? And what am I going to do? Am I falling for Ethan?
I've never had these feelings with other men-it was only when Ethan came into my life …
I look at both texts. Do I tell Simon I have the data he's been looking for? If I tell him, he'll demand the USB right now. And if I hand that data to him, it's over.
But if I don't hand this data over now, then the assignment continues.
This data becomes obsolete in the next few days as they update the software. Whats in my hand becomes junk.
I'll never be able to look Ethan in the face again … I think for a moment and click on Simon's text, and I begin typing:
"I'm still working on it."
I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell Simon the truth. Not yet.
I need more time to figure out what's happening. My heart's telling me one thing, and my head's telling me another.
145
Ethan
You ever had those moments when you just look back on shit and know that you're fucking happy?
Like you can feel that yes, you are in fact really happy.
Well, as I leave work, that's the kind of feeling I'm having. As in even navigating from the heart of Times Square isn't enough to sour my fucking mood. I mean, you're talking to the guy who usually has his car come and pick him up so he doesn't have to walk past the teeming throngs of idiots who think this is some sort of holy fucking shrine to come visit and stand in the middle of the sidewalk as they take pictures of overpriced fucking food carts.
Yeah, that wasn't me tonight.
Tonight I waved to the security guy outside of Illicit Entertainment and walked with a brisk step uptown up 7th Avenue.
Want to know the really best part about One57? The corner gourmet grocery store that sits right as you walk into the lobby. Seriously, I mean I'm talking fucking grocery store right underneath my apartment.
I pause and pick up some vegetables and a few steaks.
What?
Don't give me that look. I can cook. Did you really think there was nothing I couldn't do? I went to fucking UCLA and made myself a billionaire fucking smut lord. I can do any fucking thing I set my mind to.
It's true, I usually eat out. Or I have my chef prepare my meals. But given the opportunity to, you'd be surprised what I can whip together.
Like today. I'm going to grill some steak and then slice them real thin, and maybe sauté some vegetables and some couscous on the side. I ordered a cake for dessert, but it should be a perfect dinner for two.
That's right. I said two.
As in Brittney is coming over for dinner.
I know, I know. You're either squealing in delight because you think she's going to come over and we're going to have dinner together, and then fucking cuddle, and then make sweet tender love. Or you're rolling your eyes and wondering how I went from being the baddest motherfucking CEO in the country to some sort of fucking pussy.
Well, it's neither.
Sure, I totally acknowledge that Brittney is coming over, and I'm excited to see her. It's been a long fucking day. And she's fucking gorgeous. Those tits. So fucking perky. That cute as a button face. That slender body. Oh my God, that ass. I want to rub my cock between those ass cheeks and then cum all over that tight fucking ass.
Try it. Have some guy you know cum on the small of your back. I fucking guarantee you that you will love it, babe.
And don't look away or wonder who I'm talking to. I'm talking to you. If you have the opportunity to get someone to cum on the small of your back, then do it. Because literally every single girl I've ever done that to has cooed and told me the feeling of warm, thick, jizz right there in a sensitive spot has been one of the most pleasurable fucking experiences that they've ever felt.
I get out of the elevator and walk to my door. My apartment is the only one on this floor and as usual, it's fucking immaculate. The building has a maid service that usually comes in and cleans once a day-or more-if I need them.
Anyways, what was I even talking about? I was so focused on cumming on ass cheeks. Oh, right. Brittney.
Yeah, she's coming over for some dinner. Yeah, I'm probably going to fuck the shit out of her. But something about her, I really want to make dinner.
There's a ring on the doorbell and I open the door. The attendant from the downstairs gourmet food store has all my groceries and I let him in. He proceeds to the kitchen to unpack my purchases.
I mean, sure, I rarely invite girls over to cook dinner for them.
Okay, I don't think I've ever cooked dinner for one girl before. There was one time I invited three girls over and I made some food and fed them while they took turns sucking my cock, individually and then all together. But that was work. We were fucking rehearsing, okay?
I've invited girls for a drink before. One, maybe two glasses of wine before the dress is on the fucking floor and I'm ripping the panties.
But dinner?
Fuck.
This is going to be a first for me.
The attendant comes out after loading my kitchen up and nods to me. I tip him as he leaves and pour myself a scotch.
All of a sudden, I'm thinking whether I should just take Brittney to dinner instead. Maybe I'm not ready to cook this girl dinner.
But then, I think of her wide, innocent but sexy looking eyes. How they look, looking up at me. Shit, everything about her face is fucking beautiful. Even her neck is sexy. I just want to fucking kiss it and nibble on it until she's squirmy.