Tomorrow morning, when I see their financials, I’ll know more. Approaching a prospective buyout like we’re interested in investing money in the company usually works like a charm. They show us everything and then we make a bid. Of course, we do our due diligence ahead of time, researching everything we could possibly find publicly before even bothering to approach them.
The intel on the company’s holdings looks strong. I never would have expected this idiot to be the one who kept them financially sound. If their sales team hadn’t lost their top five biggest accounts in the last two months, they might not have come up on our radar. According to rumor, two salesmen recently resigned when sexual harassment suits were filed by some of the staff. Our recruiting group finalized hiring their remaining best sales members on Friday, effectively cutting off the company’s only chance to recoup what they lost.
I bet Harvey hasn’t even calculated the fallout from that debacle yet. They could have trouble making paychecks within six weeks if he can’t liquidate some of those shrewd investments quickly.
The meal wraps up and we part ways. I’m eager to get out the door and away from that travesty of a businessman as fast as I can. A sour taste bubbles up from my stomach, ensuring I won’t be able to go back to that establishment for a while without thinking of Harvey’s six-martini lunch and crude jokes. It will be a pleasure to buy their soon-to-be-crumbling company and kick out his loser ass.
On the street, I pass a woman with straight, black hair. It’s not as long as Heather’s but it still brings a vision of the vixen to my mind. Thoughts of Heather should help expunge the recent distasteful company from my mind. She’s infiltrated every part of my head, and I’m kind of freaked out over it. Normally, a piece of ass is a piece of ass. But this woman lingers in the back of my brain, almost coating my very essence with her scent. Maybe after I finally sleep with her, some of this obsession will fade.
Or it could get worse, you sorry sap.
I’m thinking about her every five minutes, how could it possibly be worse? I dig my phone out of my pocket, scanning for text messages and nothing else. Yes! I have one. With an attachment, too.
Should I open it here on the street? What if it’s naughty? Nah, she wouldn’t send me anything like that yet, right? I click on the link for it to download and then jog across the street toward the office. Once my foot hits the sidewalk the image opens on my screen. Smooth skin and a curve of muscle lead down to a tapered ankle. One delicate foot fits snugly into a sexy red shoe with a shiny silver heel. My hand grips the phone harder as I stare at the picture. Damn, that’s fucking hot.
Very sexy, I type back. Makes me want to take them off you. Very slowly.
I hurry to my office, hoping to be alone when she writes back.
I glance down at the screen while I ride the elevator.
Bing!
And then what would you do?
My cock twitches to life, clearly eager with the turn of the conversation.
I’d trail kisses up your legs. I hit send and have to force myself to breathe as I wait for her to reply.
Very nice.
That’s it? Nothing more comes through. I wait five minutes, wondering if I should continue. I set my phone down, resisting the overwhelming urge to call and beg to see her tonight. Maybe I can cut out of here early. I check my calendar to see what I have going on after five. Just internal meetings with Marcus and Brian. I can blow them off. We’d be rehashing our strategy for tomorrow’s meeting and I already know what we’re doing.
Bing!
And then?
A grin splits across my face as I hold back from typing my next response. First, I email Brian and Marcus to cancel our meeting, then I settle into my chair, eager to stir up Heather as much as possible. If I can get her hot and bothered, I may have a real chance of seducing her out of her panties and into an actual bed.
My raging boner pokes above the waistband of my underwear as I text back, And then I’d slowly unzip your skirt…
Oooo…you’re a bad boy…
I fumble with the small phone, cursing at the tiny size of the buttons compared to my thumbs. Why have I never noticed how hard it is to type when aroused? Maybe it’s the blood loss in my brain…
Backspacing several times to correct fat finger slips, I respond, You like it when I’m bad, don’t you?
That depends. Are we talking I’d need a paddle, or do you just mean sexy dirty fun?
A paddle! Has she spanked a lover before? The pressure in my cock and the spike in my heartbeat imply I might not be adverse to a paddle. Interesting…
Before I can form a coherent reply, she texts again. Got to run. My boss is back.
Damn! Just when things were really heating up. I shuffle through the rest of the afternoon, functioning in a haze of desire. For hours, I itch to text her but don’t want to get her in trouble at the office. Then again, if things go as planned, we should own Parkerson by next quarter.