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Wenn dein Zwerchfell seine Aufgabe nicht erfüllt, kann das deinen Körper beeinflussen - vor allem Rücken und Stabilität. Du hast einen unangenehmen Druck ins Becken hinein? Oder ein Instabilitätsgefühl beim Anheben? Vielleicht sogar Schmerzen? Vielleicht fehlt es dir an innerer Stabilität. Zwerchfell, Bauch und Beckenboden arbeiten nicht effektiv zusammen, um dich von innen heraus zu halten. Auch wenn du muskulär ein Gewicht gut bewältigen könntest. Genau darauf setze ich in meinem 4 Schritte Audiokurs: Lerne in 4 Schritten wie du deinen Beckenboden und dein Zwerchfell für dich arbeiten lässt, um Schmerzen zu lindern und stabil von innen heraus zu werden. Physiotherapie bequem von Zuhause aus.
After three years of marriage to Marcus Harrington, I took it upon myself to help him reunite with his first love. On the night before their ceremony, doctors confirmed my terminal liver cancer. I kept the news hidden from everyone and silently arranged their entire wedding, selecting the flowers, booking the venue, and choosing the gown. As his first love approached him in the dress I had selected, I stood in the hospital signing a do-not-resuscitate form. On the day of my burial, Marcus discovered a faded photograph tucked beneath my pillow. On the reverse side it read: During our freshman year of high school, I too was your first love. The instant I learned of my terminal liver cancer, Marcus was choosing a tie for the celebration banquet. That tie was a deep crimson, shockingly vivid, exactly matching the blood I had just coughed into a tissue. The doctor urged immediate hospitalization, yet I declined. Stepping out of the hospital, the sun scorched the pavement and warped my sight with heat waves. I crumpled the diagnosis paper into a ball, tossed it into the recycling bin, and texted Marcus: “Go with the navy tie instead—it looks more refined.” He replied right away with a voice note, laughter and clinking glasses echoing in the background: “Nora Caldwell, it’s settled! Isabella Langford agreed to reconcile with me! We must celebrate tonight—you’re the main reason this happened, so you can’t miss it.” I stared at the audio waveform on my screen, my finger hovering over the words “I’m ill” for thirty seconds before deleting them entirely. My reply was simply: “Alright.” Marcus and I had been married for three years. Everyone in our social circle claimed I was Marcus’s loyal shadow, ready to strike at anyone he indicated. He wanted to advance his career, so I sacrificed sleepless nights, drank with business partners, and rescued Harrington Group from collapse. He confessed he could never forget Isabella, so I buried my own emotions, engineered their chance meetings, selected his gifts, and even scripted his confession. Now that he had reclaimed what he desired, it was my turn to step aside. I owed him nothing. When I reached home, Marcus had not yet returned. The entire house was covered in images of Isabella—on the walls, across the tables, and even beside the shoes I had just removed stood an enormous framed portrait. Marcus had deliberately set everything up to welcome her, declaring he wanted Isabella to sense immediately upon entering that his heart had remained unchanged these three years. A dull ache spread through my abdomen, rising like a dull blade sawing steadily. I doubled over, gripping my stomach, cold perspiration beading on my forehead while my gaze landed on a glass of chilled water on the coffee table. Just as I stretched for it, the door lock turned. Marcus stormed in, smelling of liquor and perfume, his face flushed with delight. He yanked off his tie and twirled through the living room in pure elation. “Nora! Did you hear? She cried! When she saw the star jars I prepared, tears streamed down her face!” He rushed over and seized my shoulders, the grip so firm it made me wince. “All thanks to your suggestion! She said we split back then because she believed I lacked attentiveness, but now she sees how much I’ve grown.” His shaking triggered waves of nausea. I fought the churning in my gut and managed a smile. “Congratulations.” Marcus failed to notice anything amiss. He released me, strode to the wine cabinet, and uncorked an aged bottle of red. “Come on, share a drink with me.” I eyed the scarlet liquid and felt my stomach twist harder. The doctor had strictly forbidden alcohol. “I’ll skip it—I’m exhausted.” Marcus halted mid-pour, turned toward me, and frowned with clear irritation. “Nora, why spoil the mood on a day like this? You used to toast clients until your stomach bled and never once complained. Why act so fragile now?” The past was behind me. I had once believed that pouring every ounce of devotion into him would eventually melt his icy heart. Now the stone had warmed—but for another woman. “I truly cannot drink.” I turned, intending to head to my room. Marcus crossed the space in a few strides, blocked my path, and thrust the wine glass into my hand. “Just one. Isabella moves in soon, and this house must be cleared to become her bridal home. This glass celebrates me rediscovering true love and also marks your… return to freedom.” Freedom. Such a lovely word. I gazed at the swirling red liquid reflecting my sallow complexion that makeup could barely hide. Marcus never noticed how much weight I had lost or how heavily I had applied cosmetics to mask my pallor. His thoughts were consumed entirely by Isabella. “Fine. After this, I’ll leave you in peace.” I tilted my head back and swallowed it in one gulp. The fiery liquid scorched my throat and detonated in my stomach. Pain flared instantly, forcing an uncontrollable dry retch. Marcus stepped back, his eyes filled with disgust. “Since you’ve finished, go rest. You still need to accompany Isabella to try on wedding gowns tomorrow. Your taste is excellent, so guide her choices.” My fingers whitened around the empty glass. Asking his current wife to help his first love select her wedding attire—Marcus, you truly outdid yourself. “Marcus,” I called as he headed toward the balcony to make a call, “if I passed away someday, would it sadden you?” He kept walking without pausing or glancing back, his tone utterly casual. “Why utter such ominous words on a happy occasion? If you die, I’ll secure the finest burial plot for you, alright?” With that, he slid open the doors and softly spoke “Isabella” into the phone. I remained rooted in place, the intense pain preventing me from standing straight. A metallic sweetness rose in my throat; I clenched my mouth shut and forced it down. The finest burial plot. Very well—that counted as a promise. Chapter 02 The next morning, pain jolted me awake. It felt as though a blazing coal had lodged in my abdomen, searing me until my entire body shook. Looking this ghostly, Isabella would likely have nightmares upon seeing me. I spent thirty minutes layering on thick foundation and applying the most flattering lipstick. Descending the stairs, I saw Marcus gallantly opening the car door for Isabella, one hand shielding the frame as if fearing she might bump her head. For three years, I had witnessed this scene only in dreams. To me, his words had always been “Get in,” “Hurry,” or “Stop lingering.” When Isabella spotted me, a triumphant fake smile curved her lips. “Nora, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you. Marcus insisted you have the finest taste and dragged you along.” She wore a pristine white dress, her skin glowing with vitality, a sharp contrast to my withered, parched appearance. “It’s no trouble—I have nothing else planned.” I reached for the passenger door. Isabella gave a soft gasp: “Oh, I feel carsick easily and prefer the front seat for the view.” Marcus yanked me aside with enough force to nearly fling me away. “You take the back. Don’t you have any sense?” I steadied myself, quietly opened the rear door, and climbed in. The car pulled away. Marcus gripped the wheel with one hand while the other clasped Isabella’s tightly, occasionally lifting it for a kiss. In the rearview mirror, they exchanged loving glances. I shrank into the shadows of the backseat like an invisible phantom. At the bridal boutique, the attendant greeted us warmly. “Mr. Harrington, Mrs. Harrington…” the woman began. Marcus cut her off coldly: “She’s the former wife. This is Mrs. Harrington.” The attendant froze in discomfort, her eyes darting among us. Isabella clung to Marcus’s arm and smiled sweetly: “Don’t fault her—we haven’t completed the formalities yet.” “Soon—next week,” Marcus said, gazing at her with pure adoration. I found a corner sofa and sat, waves of abdominal pain rolling through me. Isabella tried on gown after gown. “This one pinches at the waist.” “The train on this is too long and awkward to walk in.” “This exposes too much back—Marcus dislikes it.” Each time she emerged, she twirled before me. “Nora, what’s your opinion?” Suppressing cold sweat, I nodded: “Lovely—all of them suit you.” Marcus grew impatient: “Nora, can you actually focus? Who are you trying to dismiss with these half-hearted replies?” I drew a steady breath and indicated the mermaid-style gown adorned with crushed diamonds: “That one. It accentuates your silhouette and matches your presence perfectly.” Isabella’s eyes sparkled: “I adore it too! Marcus, I’ll try it on.” Once Isabella entered the fitting room, Marcus approached and stared down at me. “Nora, I realize this situation unsettles you. But you were the one who demanded marriage. I never mistreated you these three years, nor did I withhold a single penny. Don’t wear that lifeless expression in front of Isabella.” Lifeless. He had hit the mark—I was nearly a corpse already. “Rest assured, Mr. Harrington, I maintain professional standards,” I replied, lifting my chin with a smile. “Provided the payment is fair, I could even plan your honeymoon route.” Marcus’s brows knit tightly; he seemed poised to speak but finally muttered: “Unreasonable.” Isabella emerged. The gown was breathtaking, layers of white tulle cascading like clouds at her feet. Yet its design required someone to kneel and arrange the train for full effect. The attendant moved forward, but Isabella suddenly said: “Nora, could you assist? I dislike strangers touching me.” Marcus glanced at me: “Help her.” I paused. I was still his wife, yet now I had to kneel and adjust the wedding gown for his first love. The severe abdominal pain made standing upright difficult. I rose slowly and positioned myself behind Isabella. As I crouched, dizziness swept over me. I swayed and braced against the floor to avoid collapsing. “Nora, did you do that deliberately?” Marcus’s voice sliced like ice. I clenched my teeth and stayed silent. My trembling fingers grasped the delicate hem, carefully smoothing and spreading it. Isabella looked down at me, her eyes gleaming with victory. I knelt on the floor, my view aligned with the mirror. In its reflection, Marcus gazed at Isabella with utter awe while I resembled a beaten dog groveling at its owner’s feet. In that instant, I recalled my freshman year of high school. Sunlight had streamed that afternoon as I collected bottles near the basketball court to fund my grandmother’s medical care. Marcus had handed me a half-empty water bottle with a bright smile: “Hey, toss this for me—the bottle is yours to keep.” Back then, he had been sunlight and I mere dirt. Now the light shone on someone else, and I remained worthless soil. Having finished arranging the train, I attempted to stand, but my legs refused to cooperate. A stabbing pain darkened my vision. “Are you finished yet? Stop wasting time,” Marcus urged. I pushed against the floor for leverage. Suddenly an uncontrollable rush of heat surged up my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth, yet crimson liquid still seeped through my fingers and dripped onto the pure white hem of the gown. ------------------------------ 📚👇👇👇There are limited chapters to put here, click “learn more” to open the app and continue reading the rest of the story .👇👇👇 (lt will automatically jump to the book when you open the app)
After three years of marriage to Marcus Harrington, I took it upon myself to help him reunite with his first love. On the night before their ceremony, doctors confirmed my terminal liver cancer. I kept the news hidden from everyone and silently arranged their entire wedding, selecting the flowers, booking the venue, and choosing the gown. As his first love approached him in the dress I had selected, I stood in the hospital signing a do-not-resuscitate form. On the day of my burial, Marcus discovered a faded photograph tucked beneath my pillow. On the reverse side it read: During our freshman year of high school, I too was your first love. The instant I learned of my terminal liver cancer, Marcus was choosing a tie for the celebration banquet. That tie was a deep crimson, shockingly vivid, exactly matching the blood I had just coughed into a tissue. The doctor urged immediate hospitalization, yet I declined. Stepping out of the hospital, the sun scorched the pavement and warped my sight with heat waves. I crumpled the diagnosis paper into a ball, tossed it into the recycling bin, and texted Marcus: “Go with the navy tie instead—it looks more refined.” He replied right away with a voice note, laughter and clinking glasses echoing in the background: “Nora Caldwell, it’s settled! Isabella Langford agreed to reconcile with me! We must celebrate tonight—you’re the main reason this happened, so you can’t miss it.” I stared at the audio waveform on my screen, my finger hovering over the words “I’m ill” for thirty seconds before deleting them entirely. My reply was simply: “Alright.” Marcus and I had been married for three years. Everyone in our social circle claimed I was Marcus’s loyal shadow, ready to strike at anyone he indicated. He wanted to advance his career, so I sacrificed sleepless nights, drank with business partners, and rescued Harrington Group from collapse. He confessed he could never forget Isabella, so I buried my own emotions, engineered their chance meetings, selected his gifts, and even scripted his confession. Now that he had reclaimed what he desired, it was my turn to step aside. I owed him nothing. When I reached home, Marcus had not yet returned. The entire house was covered in images of Isabella—on the walls, across the tables, and even beside the shoes I had just removed stood an enormous framed portrait. Marcus had deliberately set everything up to welcome her, declaring he wanted Isabella to sense immediately upon entering that his heart had remained unchanged these three years. A dull ache spread through my abdomen, rising like a dull blade sawing steadily. I doubled over, gripping my stomach, cold perspiration beading on my forehead while my gaze landed on a glass of chilled water on the coffee table. Just as I stretched for it, the door lock turned. Marcus stormed in, smelling of liquor and perfume, his face flushed with delight. He yanked off his tie and twirled through the living room in pure elation. “Nora! Did you hear? She cried! When she saw the star jars I prepared, tears streamed down her face!” He rushed over and seized my shoulders, the grip so firm it made me wince. “All thanks to your suggestion! She said we split back then because she believed I lacked attentiveness, but now she sees how much I’ve grown.” His shaking triggered waves of nausea. I fought the churning in my gut and managed a smile. “Congratulations.” Marcus failed to notice anything amiss. He released me, strode to the wine cabinet, and uncorked an aged bottle of red. “Come on, share a drink with me.” I eyed the scarlet liquid and felt my stomach twist harder. The doctor had strictly forbidden alcohol. “I’ll skip it—I’m exhausted.” Marcus halted mid-pour, turned toward me, and frowned with clear irritation. “Nora, why spoil the mood on a day like this? You used to toast clients until your stomach bled and never once complained. Why act so fragile now?” The past was behind me. I had once believed that pouring every ounce of devotion into him would eventually melt his icy heart. Now the stone had warmed—but for another woman. “I truly cannot drink.” I turned, intending to head to my room. Marcus crossed the space in a few strides, blocked my path, and thrust the wine glass into my hand. “Just one. Isabella moves in soon, and this house must be cleared to become her bridal home. This glass celebrates me rediscovering true love and also marks your… return to freedom.” Freedom. Such a lovely word. I gazed at the swirling red liquid reflecting my sallow complexion that makeup could barely hide. Marcus never noticed how much weight I had lost or how heavily I had applied cosmetics to mask my pallor. His thoughts were consumed entirely by Isabella. “Fine. After this, I’ll leave you in peace.” I tilted my head back and swallowed it in one gulp. The fiery liquid scorched my throat and detonated in my stomach. Pain flared instantly, forcing an uncontrollable dry retch. Marcus stepped back, his eyes filled with disgust. “Since you’ve finished, go rest. You still need to accompany Isabella to try on wedding gowns tomorrow. Your taste is excellent, so guide her choices.” My fingers whitened around the empty glass. Asking his current wife to help his first love select her wedding attire—Marcus, you truly outdid yourself. “Marcus,” I called as he headed toward the balcony to make a call, “if I passed away someday, would it sadden you?” He kept walking without pausing or glancing back, his tone utterly casual. “Why utter such ominous words on a happy occasion? If you die, I’ll secure the finest burial plot for you, alright?” With that, he slid open the doors and softly spoke “Isabella” into the phone. I remained rooted in place, the intense pain preventing me from standing straight. A metallic sweetness rose in my throat; I clenched my mouth shut and forced it down. The finest burial plot. Very well—that counted as a promise. Chapter 02 The next morning, pain jolted me awake. It felt as though a blazing coal had lodged in my abdomen, searing me until my entire body shook. Looking this ghostly, Isabella would likely have nightmares upon seeing me. I spent thirty minutes layering on thick foundation and applying the most flattering lipstick. Descending the stairs, I saw Marcus gallantly opening the car door for Isabella, one hand shielding the frame as if fearing she might bump her head. For three years, I had witnessed this scene only in dreams. To me, his words had always been “Get in,” “Hurry,” or “Stop lingering.” When Isabella spotted me, a triumphant fake smile curved her lips. “Nora, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you. Marcus insisted you have the finest taste and dragged you along.” She wore a pristine white dress, her skin glowing with vitality, a sharp contrast to my withered, parched appearance. “It’s no trouble—I have nothing else planned.” I reached for the passenger door. Isabella gave a soft gasp: “Oh, I feel carsick easily and prefer the front seat for the view.” Marcus yanked me aside with enough force to nearly fling me away. “You take the back. Don’t you have any sense?” I steadied myself, quietly opened the rear door, and climbed in. The car pulled away. Marcus gripped the wheel with one hand while the other clasped Isabella’s tightly, occasionally lifting it for a kiss. In the rearview mirror, they exchanged loving glances. I shrank into the shadows of the backseat like an invisible phantom. At the bridal boutique, the attendant greeted us warmly. “Mr. Harrington, Mrs. Harrington…” the woman began. Marcus cut her off coldly: “She’s the former wife. This is Mrs. Harrington.” The attendant froze in discomfort, her eyes darting among us. Isabella clung to Marcus’s arm and smiled sweetly: “Don’t fault her—we haven’t completed the formalities yet.” “Soon—next week,” Marcus said, gazing at her with pure adoration. I found a corner sofa and sat, waves of abdominal pain rolling through me. Isabella tried on gown after gown. “This one pinches at the waist.” “The train on this is too long and awkward to walk in.” “This exposes too much back—Marcus dislikes it.” Each time she emerged, she twirled before me. “Nora, what’s your opinion?” Suppressing cold sweat, I nodded: “Lovely—all of them suit you.” Marcus grew impatient: “Nora, can you actually focus? Who are you trying to dismiss with these half-hearted replies?” I drew a steady breath and indicated the mermaid-style gown adorned with crushed diamonds: “That one. It accentuates your silhouette and matches your presence perfectly.” Isabella’s eyes sparkled: “I adore it too! Marcus, I’ll try it on.” Once Isabella entered the fitting room, Marcus approached and stared down at me. “Nora, I realize this situation unsettles you. But you were the one who demanded marriage. I never mistreated you these three years, nor did I withhold a single penny. Don’t wear that lifeless expression in front of Isabella.” Lifeless. He had hit the mark—I was nearly a corpse already. “Rest assured, Mr. Harrington, I maintain professional standards,” I replied, lifting my chin with a smile. “Provided the payment is fair, I could even plan your honeymoon route.” Marcus’s brows knit tightly; he seemed poised to speak but finally muttered: “Unreasonable.” Isabella emerged. The gown was breathtaking, layers of white tulle cascading like clouds at her feet. Yet its design required someone to kneel and arrange the train for full effect. The attendant moved forward, but Isabella suddenly said: “Nora, could you assist? I dislike strangers touching me.” Marcus glanced at me: “Help her.” I paused. I was still his wife, yet now I had to kneel and adjust the wedding gown for his first love. The severe abdominal pain made standing upright difficult. I rose slowly and positioned myself behind Isabella. As I crouched, dizziness swept over me. I swayed and braced against the floor to avoid collapsing. “Nora, did you do that deliberately?” Marcus’s voice sliced like ice. I clenched my teeth and stayed silent. My trembling fingers grasped the delicate hem, carefully smoothing and spreading it. Isabella looked down at me, her eyes gleaming with victory. I knelt on the floor, my view aligned with the mirror. In its reflection, Marcus gazed at Isabella with utter awe while I resembled a beaten dog groveling at its owner’s feet. In that instant, I recalled my freshman year of high school. Sunlight had streamed that afternoon as I collected bottles near the basketball court to fund my grandmother’s medical care. Marcus had handed me a half-empty water bottle with a bright smile: “Hey, toss this for me—the bottle is yours to keep.” Back then, he had been sunlight and I mere dirt. Now the light shone on someone else, and I remained worthless soil. Having finished arranging the train, I attempted to stand, but my legs refused to cooperate. A stabbing pain darkened my vision. “Are you finished yet? Stop wasting time,” Marcus urged. I pushed against the floor for leverage. Suddenly an uncontrollable rush of heat surged up my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth, yet crimson liquid still seeped through my fingers and dripped onto the pure white hem of the gown. ------------------------------ 📚👇👇👇There are limited chapters to put here, click “learn more” to open the app and continue reading the rest of the story .👇👇👇 (lt will automatically jump to the book when you open the app)
After three years of marriage to Marcus Harrington, I took it upon myself to help him reunite with his first love. On the night before their ceremony, doctors confirmed my terminal liver cancer. I kept the news hidden from everyone and silently arranged their entire wedding, selecting the flowers, booking the venue, and choosing the gown. As his first love approached him in the dress I had selected, I stood in the hospital signing a do-not-resuscitate form. On the day of my burial, Marcus discovered a faded photograph tucked beneath my pillow. On the reverse side it read: During our freshman year of high school, I too was your first love. The instant I learned of my terminal liver cancer, Marcus was choosing a tie for the celebration banquet. That tie was a deep crimson, shockingly vivid, exactly matching the blood I had just coughed into a tissue. The doctor urged immediate hospitalization, yet I declined. Stepping out of the hospital, the sun scorched the pavement and warped my sight with heat waves. I crumpled the diagnosis paper into a ball, tossed it into the recycling bin, and texted Marcus: “Go with the navy tie instead—it looks more refined.” He replied right away with a voice note, laughter and clinking glasses echoing in the background: “Nora Caldwell, it’s settled! Isabella Langford agreed to reconcile with me! We must celebrate tonight—you’re the main reason this happened, so you can’t miss it.” I stared at the audio waveform on my screen, my finger hovering over the words “I’m ill” for thirty seconds before deleting them entirely. My reply was simply: “Alright.” Marcus and I had been married for three years. Everyone in our social circle claimed I was Marcus’s loyal shadow, ready to strike at anyone he indicated. He wanted to advance his career, so I sacrificed sleepless nights, drank with business partners, and rescued Harrington Group from collapse. He confessed he could never forget Isabella, so I buried my own emotions, engineered their chance meetings, selected his gifts, and even scripted his confession. Now that he had reclaimed what he desired, it was my turn to step aside. I owed him nothing. When I reached home, Marcus had not yet returned. The entire house was covered in images of Isabella—on the walls, across the tables, and even beside the shoes I had just removed stood an enormous framed portrait. Marcus had deliberately set everything up to welcome her, declaring he wanted Isabella to sense immediately upon entering that his heart had remained unchanged these three years. A dull ache spread through my abdomen, rising like a dull blade sawing steadily. I doubled over, gripping my stomach, cold perspiration beading on my forehead while my gaze landed on a glass of chilled water on the coffee table. Just as I stretched for it, the door lock turned. Marcus stormed in, smelling of liquor and perfume, his face flushed with delight. He yanked off his tie and twirled through the living room in pure elation. “Nora! Did you hear? She cried! When she saw the star jars I prepared, tears streamed down her face!” He rushed over and seized my shoulders, the grip so firm it made me wince. “All thanks to your suggestion! She said we split back then because she believed I lacked attentiveness, but now she sees how much I’ve grown.” His shaking triggered waves of nausea. I fought the churning in my gut and managed a smile. “Congratulations.” Marcus failed to notice anything amiss. He released me, strode to the wine cabinet, and uncorked an aged bottle of red. “Come on, share a drink with me.” I eyed the scarlet liquid and felt my stomach twist harder. The doctor had strictly forbidden alcohol. “I’ll skip it—I’m exhausted.” Marcus halted mid-pour, turned toward me, and frowned with clear irritation. “Nora, why spoil the mood on a day like this? You used to toast clients until your stomach bled and never once complained. Why act so fragile now?” The past was behind me. I had once believed that pouring every ounce of devotion into him would eventually melt his icy heart. Now the stone had warmed—but for another woman. “I truly cannot drink.” I turned, intending to head to my room. Marcus crossed the space in a few strides, blocked my path, and thrust the wine glass into my hand. “Just one. Isabella moves in soon, and this house must be cleared to become her bridal home. This glass celebrates me rediscovering true love and also marks your… return to freedom.” Freedom. Such a lovely word. I gazed at the swirling red liquid reflecting my sallow complexion that makeup could barely hide. Marcus never noticed how much weight I had lost or how heavily I had applied cosmetics to mask my pallor. His thoughts were consumed entirely by Isabella. “Fine. After this, I’ll leave you in peace.” I tilted my head back and swallowed it in one gulp. The fiery liquid scorched my throat and detonated in my stomach. Pain flared instantly, forcing an uncontrollable dry retch. Marcus stepped back, his eyes filled with disgust. “Since you’ve finished, go rest. You still need to accompany Isabella to try on wedding gowns tomorrow. Your taste is excellent, so guide her choices.” My fingers whitened around the empty glass. Asking his current wife to help his first love select her wedding attire—Marcus, you truly outdid yourself. “Marcus,” I called as he headed toward the balcony to make a call, “if I passed away someday, would it sadden you?” He kept walking without pausing or glancing back, his tone utterly casual. “Why utter such ominous words on a happy occasion? If you die, I’ll secure the finest burial plot for you, alright?” With that, he slid open the doors and softly spoke “Isabella” into the phone. I remained rooted in place, the intense pain preventing me from standing straight. A metallic sweetness rose in my throat; I clenched my mouth shut and forced it down. The finest burial plot. Very well—that counted as a promise. Chapter 02 The next morning, pain jolted me awake. It felt as though a blazing coal had lodged in my abdomen, searing me until my entire body shook. Looking this ghostly, Isabella would likely have nightmares upon seeing me. I spent thirty minutes layering on thick foundation and applying the most flattering lipstick. Descending the stairs, I saw Marcus gallantly opening the car door for Isabella, one hand shielding the frame as if fearing she might bump her head. For three years, I had witnessed this scene only in dreams. To me, his words had always been “Get in,” “Hurry,” or “Stop lingering.” When Isabella spotted me, a triumphant fake smile curved her lips. “Nora, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you. Marcus insisted you have the finest taste and dragged you along.” She wore a pristine white dress, her skin glowing with vitality, a sharp contrast to my withered, parched appearance. “It’s no trouble—I have nothing else planned.” I reached for the passenger door. Isabella gave a soft gasp: “Oh, I feel carsick easily and prefer the front seat for the view.” Marcus yanked me aside with enough force to nearly fling me away. “You take the back. Don’t you have any sense?” I steadied myself, quietly opened the rear door, and climbed in. The car pulled away. Marcus gripped the wheel with one hand while the other clasped Isabella’s tightly, occasionally lifting it for a kiss. In the rearview mirror, they exchanged loving glances. I shrank into the shadows of the backseat like an invisible phantom. At the bridal boutique, the attendant greeted us warmly. “Mr. Harrington, Mrs. Harrington…” the woman began. Marcus cut her off coldly: “She’s the former wife. This is Mrs. Harrington.” The attendant froze in discomfort, her eyes darting among us. Isabella clung to Marcus’s arm and smiled sweetly: “Don’t fault her—we haven’t completed the formalities yet.” “Soon—next week,” Marcus said, gazing at her with pure adoration. I found a corner sofa and sat, waves of abdominal pain rolling through me. Isabella tried on gown after gown. “This one pinches at the waist.” “The train on this is too long and awkward to walk in.” “This exposes too much back—Marcus dislikes it.” Each time she emerged, she twirled before me. “Nora, what’s your opinion?” Suppressing cold sweat, I nodded: “Lovely—all of them suit you.” Marcus grew impatient: “Nora, can you actually focus? Who are you trying to dismiss with these half-hearted replies?” I drew a steady breath and indicated the mermaid-style gown adorned with crushed diamonds: “That one. It accentuates your silhouette and matches your presence perfectly.” Isabella’s eyes sparkled: “I adore it too! Marcus, I’ll try it on.” Once Isabella entered the fitting room, Marcus approached and stared down at me. “Nora, I realize this situation unsettles you. But you were the one who demanded marriage. I never mistreated you these three years, nor did I withhold a single penny. Don’t wear that lifeless expression in front of Isabella.” Lifeless. He had hit the mark—I was nearly a corpse already. “Rest assured, Mr. Harrington, I maintain professional standards,” I replied, lifting my chin with a smile. “Provided the payment is fair, I could even plan your honeymoon route.” Marcus’s brows knit tightly; he seemed poised to speak but finally muttered: “Unreasonable.” Isabella emerged. The gown was breathtaking, layers of white tulle cascading like clouds at her feet. Yet its design required someone to kneel and arrange the train for full effect. The attendant moved forward, but Isabella suddenly said: “Nora, could you assist? I dislike strangers touching me.” Marcus glanced at me: “Help her.” I paused. I was still his wife, yet now I had to kneel and adjust the wedding gown for his first love. The severe abdominal pain made standing upright difficult. I rose slowly and positioned myself behind Isabella. As I crouched, dizziness swept over me. I swayed and braced against the floor to avoid collapsing. “Nora, did you do that deliberately?” Marcus’s voice sliced like ice. I clenched my teeth and stayed silent. My trembling fingers grasped the delicate hem, carefully smoothing and spreading it. Isabella looked down at me, her eyes gleaming with victory. I knelt on the floor, my view aligned with the mirror. In its reflection, Marcus gazed at Isabella with utter awe while I resembled a beaten dog groveling at its owner’s feet. In that instant, I recalled my freshman year of high school. Sunlight had streamed that afternoon as I collected bottles near the basketball court to fund my grandmother’s medical care. Marcus had handed me a half-empty water bottle with a bright smile: “Hey, toss this for me—the bottle is yours to keep.” Back then, he had been sunlight and I mere dirt. Now the light shone on someone else, and I remained worthless soil. Having finished arranging the train, I attempted to stand, but my legs refused to cooperate. A stabbing pain darkened my vision. “Are you finished yet? Stop wasting time,” Marcus urged. I pushed against the floor for leverage. Suddenly an uncontrollable rush of heat surged up my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth, yet crimson liquid still seeped through my fingers and dripped onto the pure white hem of the gown. ------------------------------ 📚👇👇👇There are limited chapters to put here, click “learn more” to open the app and continue reading the rest of the story .👇👇👇 (lt will automatically jump to the book when you open the app)
Connect Live: Redefining Human Connection in the Digital Age Executive Summary: The 1V1 Social Revolution In an era defined by hyper-connectivity yet plagued by epidemic loneliness, Connect Live emerges as a paradigm-shifting solution to one of modernity's most pressing dilemmas: the degradation of authentic human interaction. This 5,000-word whitepaper presents a comprehensive examination of our revolutionary 1V1 social platform—a meticulously engineered ecosystem designed not merely to connect people, but to foster genuine, meaningful dialogue in an increasingly fragmented digital landscape. Recent studies from Harvard's Social Capital Project reveal a startling paradox: while the average social media user maintains 338 "friends" across platforms, 36% report having zero confidants with whom they can discuss important matters. The University of Chicago's National Social Life, Health, and Aging Project further indicates that between 2004 and 2022, the number of Americans reporting "no one to talk to about important matters" tripled, despite social media adoption increasing by 4,200% during the same period. Connect Live directly addresses this crisis of connection through a fundamentally reimagined approach to digital socialization. Unlike traditional social networks that prioritize breadth over depth, or dating platforms that impose romantic frameworks on all interactions, our platform creates a sanctuary for authentic, agenda-free conversation. This document will explore the philosophical foundations, technological architecture, safety protocols, and user experience innovations that make Connect Live not just another app, but a movement toward reclaiming the art of conversation in the digital age. Part 1: The Crisis of Modern Connection 1.1 The Loneliness Epidemic: Data and Diagnosis The statistics paint a sobering picture of our disconnected reality: CDC Reports: 61% of young adults (18-25) and 51% of mothers with young children report "significant loneliness" Meta-Analysis Findings: Across 148 studies involving 308,849 participants, researchers found that strong social relationships increase survival by 50%—a greater impact than quitting smoking or obesity reduction Economic Impact: The RAND Corporation estimates loneliness costs U.S. employers $154 billion annually in stress-related absenteeism Digital Correlation: MIT's Human Dynamics Laboratory found that increased social media usage correlates with decreased emotional well-being, with each additional platform used associated with a 9-15% decline in reported social satisfaction 1.2 The Flawed Paradigms of Current Solutions Traditional Social Media: The Performance Trap Platforms like Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok have inadvertently created what psychologist Sherry Turkle terms "the performance of connection." Users curate idealized versions of their lives, leading to: Social comparison anxiety (documented in 32 studies across 12 countries) The "highlight reel" effect, where users compare their behind-the-scenes to others' curated best moments Algorithmic echo chambers that reinforce existing views rather than exposing users to diverse perspectives Dating Apps: The Romanticization of All Interaction The swipe-based model popularized by Tinder, Bumble, and Hinge has fundamentally altered social dynamics by: Imposing romantic/sexual frameworks on all potential connections Reducing human interaction to binary judgments based on limited visual data Creating what anthropologist Helen Fisher calls "the commodification of connection," where people become products to be evaluated Interest-Based Platforms: The Content-Connection Confusion While platforms like Reddit, Discord, and Clubhouse focus on shared interests, they suffer from: Scale problems where meaningful interaction gets lost in noise Lack of intentional 1:1 connection frameworks Moderation challenges in large, anonymous groups Part 2: The Connect Live Philosophy 2.1 Foundational Principles: Our Manifesto for Authentic Connection Connect Live is built upon seven non-negotiable principles: Principle 1: Quality Over Quantity We believe one meaningful conversation is worth 100 superficial connections. Our entire architecture is designed to facilitate depth rather than accumulate breadth. Principle 2: Voice as the Vehicle of Vulnerability Neuroscience reveals that voice communication activates different brain regions than text, increasing empathy by 38% and trust formation by 34%. We prioritize voice/video for this reason. Principle 3: Interest-Based, Not Appearance-Based Unlike dating apps that foreground physical appearance, we foreground intellectual, creative, and experiential common ground. Principle 4: Ephemerality as Freedom Conversations aren't permanently recorded or displayed, reducing performance anxiety and encouraging authenticity. Principle 5: Structured Serendipity We create the conditions for meaningful connection without predetermined outcomes or expectations. Principle 6: Safety Through Design Protection from harassment isn't an added feature—it's woven into our architecture at every level. Principle 7: The Anti-Dating Mandate We explicitly reject romantic frameworks, creating space for platonic connection free from romantic pressure. 2.2 The Psychological Framework: How We Foster Genuine Connection Connect Live's design incorporates evidence-based psychological principles: The "Fast Friends" Protocol Adaptation Based on Dr. Arthur Aron's seminal research showing that reciprocal self-disclosure builds intimacy faster than shared activities, our conversation prompts guide users through escalating levels of vulnerability in structured, comfortable increments. The "Shared Vulnerability" Model We create what Dr. Brené Brown identifies as the foundation of connection: environments where vulnerability is reciprocated rather than exploited. Optimal Anxiety Theory Application Our system operates in what educational psychologist Lev Vygotsky called the "Zone of Proximal Development" for social interaction—challenging enough to be engaging, but not so challenging as to be overwhelming. Part 3: Technological Architecture 3.1 The Matching Engine: Beyond Basic Algorithms Our proprietary matching system represents a significant advancement over traditional social/dating algorithms: Multi-Dimensional Interest Mapping Instead of simple tag matching, we employ: Semantic analysis of user-described interests Behavioral analysis of conversation patterns (with explicit consent) Temporal interest mapping (how interests evolve over time) Contextual understanding (differentiating between "casual interest" and "passionate expertise") Dynamic Compatibility Scoring Our algorithm evaluates 47 distinct compatibility dimensions across three categories: Cognitive compatibility (thinking styles, curiosity levels) Emotional compatibility (communication style, vulnerability comfort) Experiential compatibility (shared interests, complementary knowledge) The Serendipity Engine Deliberately designed "controlled mismatches" introduce users to adjacent interests, creating space for discovery and growth. Research shows these 15-30% mismatches often produce the most meaningful connections. 3.2 Audio/Video Infrastructure: Engineering Empathy Audio Engineering for Emotional Connection Our proprietary audio processing includes: Emotion-preserving noise reduction (removing background noise while maintaining vocal nuance) Latency optimization to 67ms (below the human perception threshold of 100ms) Psychoacoustic spatial processing that creates subconscious feelings of presence and attention Video Optimization for Authenticity Unlike platforms that prioritize "beautification," our video processing: Minimizes artificial enhancement Maintains natural lighting conditions Prioritizes stability and clarity over alteration Includes optional "vulnerability modes" that slightly soften focus to reduce appearance anxiety Bandwidth Intelligence System Our adaptive streaming technology ensures seamless connection across varying network conditions, automatically adjusting quality to maintain connection rather than dropping calls. 3.3 Privacy Architecture: Security by Design End-to-End Encryption Implementation All 1:1 conversations are protected with military-grade encryption that even our engineers cannot access. Ephemeral Data Policy Conversation data is temporarily cached in volatile memory only for the duration of the call, with complete deletion upon call conclusion (unless a safety report is filed). Zero-Knowledge Authentication Our authentication system verifies credentials without storing or transmitting actual passwords. Privacy-Preserving Analytics We employ differential privacy and federated learning to improve our systems without compromising individual user data. Part 4: The User Experience Journey 4.1 Onboarding: The Foundation of Intentionality The Interest Genome Project During onboarding, users don't simply select interests—they build what we call an "Interest Genome": Primary Passions (3-5 core interests that define you) Secondary Curiosities (5-10 areas you'd like to explore) Conversation Preferences (depth, pace, format preferences) Learning/Teaching Balance (how much you want to share vs. learn) The Intentionality Framework Users explicitly define their conversation goals: Social connection Knowledge exchange Skill practice (like language learning) Creative collaboration Professional networking Cultural exchange The Safety Acknowledgment All users must complete our 8-minute interactive safety tutorial covering: Community guidelines Reporting procedures Conversation exit strategies Digital citizenship principles 4.2 Profile Design: The Anti-Performance Portfolio Connect Live profiles deliberately reject traditional social media conventions: No Follower Counts We completely eliminate public metrics of popularity. No "Best" Photos Users upload 1-3 casual, authentic photos—no professional headshots or highly curated images. Interest-First Display The profile foregrounds interests and conversation styles, with photos as secondary elements. Dynamic "Recently Discussed" Section Shows topics of recent conversations (with conversation partners anonymized) to demonstrate engagement patterns. The "Human Reading" Each profile includes a 50-100 word self-description focused on curiosity, values, and conversational style rather than achievements or attributes. 4.3 The Matching Interface: Beyond Swiping The Daily Introduction System Each day, users receive 3-8 "Introductions" rather than unlimited options. This scarcity promotes intentionality. Introduction Cards Display: Shared and adjacent interests (with compatibility percentages) Conversation style indicators Availability patterns A brief, interest-focused icebreaker suggestion The "Connect" Decision Instead of swiping, users have three options: Connect Now (initiate immediate conversation) Save for Later (bookmark for future connection) Not My Vibe (provides feedback to improve future matches) The Algorithmic Feedback Loop Each decision trains the matching system, with "Not My Vibe" requiring a 1-2 sentence explanation that improves future matches. 4.4 The Conversation Experience: Engineered Authenticity Pre-Conversation Alignment Before connecting, both users see: Shared interest highlights Suggested conversation paths Agreed-upon conversation guidelines The Conversation Framework Each call includes optional structured elements: Two-Minute Check-In: Quick personal update Interest Deep Dive: 10-15 minutes on a shared interest Reciprocal Exchange: Each person shares then listens Forward Look: Natural conversation flow Conversation Tools Interest Prompts: AI-generated questions based on shared interests The "Pause" Button: 30-second break for thought collection Topic Transition Suggestions: Natural segues when conversation lags The "Gratitude Moment": Optional prompted appreciation exchange Post-Conversation Integration After calls, users can: Privately note what they enjoyed about the conversation Tag topics discussed for better future matching Choose to "Meet Again" or "One and Done" Part 5: Safety, Moderation, and Community Governance 5.1 The Multi-Layered Safety Architecture Preventive Layer: The Trust Score System Each user maintains a dynamic trust score based on: Conversation completion rates Positive feedback from partners Community guideline adherence Reporting accuracy Reactive Layer: Real-Time Intervention Voice Stress Analysis: Flags potential harassment (82% accuracy in trials) Keyword Monitoring: Detects guideline violations User-Initiated "Assist" Requests: Immediate moderator attention The "Graceful Exit" Protocol: Pre-formulated exit lines for uncomfortable situations Post-Conversation Layer: Feedback and Adjustment Mandatory Feedback: Brief sentiment feedback after each conversation Pattern Analysis: Identifies potential issues across multiple conversations Educational Interventions: Customized guidance for users with repeated negative feedback 5.2 The Moderation System: Human-Centered AI AI Triage System Natural language processing analyzes 217 risk factors across: Verbal content Conversational patterns User history Cross-platform data (where legally permissible) Human Moderation Team Our 24/7 moderation team includes: Clinical psychologists specializing in digital interaction Cultural competency experts Multilingual moderators covering 47 languages Continuous training on emerging harassment patterns The Escalation Framework Reports move through four tiers: AI Assessment (immediate) Moderator Review (under 15 minutes) Specialist Evaluation (complex cases) Oversight Committee (contentious decisions) Transparent Accountability Users receive detailed explanations of moderation decisions and have clear appeal pathways. 5.3 Community Governance: Users as Stakeholders The Community Council 50 active users, demographically representative, provide monthly feedback on: Policy updates Feature changes Moderation standards Product direction Transparency Reports Quarterly publication of: Moderation statistics Safety system effectiveness User demographic data Feature adoption rates User-Led Initiatives Community-proposed features and policies that receive 1,000+ signatures receive formal review and response. Part 6: The Connect Live Ecosystem 6.1 Core Platform Features 1:1 Live Conversations The heart of the platform—unstructured, agenda-free dialogue. Interest Pods Small groups (3-5 people) with dedicated moderators for ongoing discussion communities. Learning Exchanges Structured conversations for skill development, particularly language practice. Virtual Co-Working Silent companionship with optional check-ins for remote workers and students. Event Series Expert-led conversations on specialized topics with participant caps to maintain intimacy. 6.2 Premium Tier Value Proposition Connect Live Premium ($9.99/month or $89.99/year) includes: Advanced Matching Features Interest Radar: Discover users with rare interest combinations Compatibility Forecasting: Predictive analytics on conversation success Global Search: Filter by country, time zone, and language proficiency Enhanced Conversation Tools Real-Time Translation: 42 languages with voice preservation Conversation Analytics: Insights on your communication patterns Personal Conversation Coach: AI-guided improvement suggestions Exclusive Access Expert Sessions: Conversations with thought leaders Premium-Only Events: Smaller, more focused discussions Early Feature Access: Beta test new functionality Professional Features Networking Mode: Business-focused matching Conversation Recording (with dual consent): For later review Professional Analytics: Communication skill development tracking Part 7: Data, Research, and Impact 7.1 Pilot Program Results Our six-month beta with 5,000 users showed: Mental Health Impact 47% reduction in self-reported loneliness 34% increase in social confidence 28% decrease in social anxiety symptoms Connection Quality Average conversation length: 22 minutes (vs. 1.5 minutes on dating apps) 68% of conversations rated "meaningful" or "very meaningful" 42% of users formed ongoing conversation partnerships Platform Integrity 0.03% report rate (vs. industry average of 0.3%) 94% user retention at 90 days 4.7/5 average safety rating 7.2 Research Partnerships Connect Live collaborates with: Stanford's Social Neuroscience Lab Studying how voice-only communication affects empathy and connection formation. MIT's Human Dynamics Group Researching optimal conversation structures for relationship development. The University of Tokyo's Digital Society Research Center Examining cross-cultural communication patterns on the platform. Part 8: Compliance and Policy Framework 8.1 Meta Platform Compliance Connect Live strictly adheres to all Meta policies: No Dating Functionality No romantic preference filters No physical attribute search parameters No "looking for" relationship indicators Explicit prohibition of romantic solicitation in Terms of Service Age-Restricted Access Strict 18+ policy with age verification protocols. Transparent Data Usage Clear disclosure of all data practices with user consent gates. Advertising Compliance All ads emphasize social networking, never implying romantic connections. 8.2 Global Regulatory Compliance GDPR Implementation Full compliance with all European data protection standards. COPPA Adherence Strict no-under-18 policy with verification measures. Global Content Standards Localized moderation for all operating regions. Part 9: The Roadmap: Evolving Connection 9.1 Short-Term Development (0-12 Months) Q3-Q4 2024 Group conversation expansion (3-5 people) Interest-based event platform Enhanced accessibility features Q1-Q2 2025 Professional networking tier Educational partnership program Advanced conversation analytics 9.2 Medium-Term Vision (1-3 Years) The Connect Live Ecosystem Integration with educational platforms Professional development certifications Mental health partnership programs Cultural exchange initiatives Technological Advancements Emotion-aware matching Real-time communication coaching Enhanced accessibility for neurodiverse users VR conversation spaces 9.3 Long-Term Vision (3-5 Years) Redefining Digital Society Research-driven connection optimization Global understanding initiatives Intergenerational connection programs Mainstream adoption as an alternative to traditional social media Part 10: Conclusion: A New Standard for Digital Connection Connect Live represents more than technological innovation—it embodies a fundamental rethinking of how human connection can and should work in the digital age. In a marketplace crowded with platforms that either encourage performance or impose romantic frameworks, we offer a third way: intentional, authentic, agenda-free human connection. Our approach is both radical and simple: give people the tools, structure, and safety to have the conversations they're hungry for, without the baggage of social performance or romantic expectation. The results from our beta testing are clear: when you create the right conditions, people are eager to connect deeply, vulnerably, and authentically. The future of social technology isn't more connections—it's better ones. It's not more content—it's more meaning. It's not broader networks—it's deeper relationships. Connect Live is building that future, one authentic conversation at a time. We invite researchers, journalists, potential partners, and curious individuals to explore our platform, examine our data, and join us in this mission to combat the loneliness epidemic through thoughtful, human-centered technology.
Connect Live: Redefining Human Connection in the Digital Age Executive Summary: The 1V1 Social Revolution In an era defined by hyper-connectivity yet plagued by epidemic loneliness, Connect Live emerges as a paradigm-shifting solution to one of modernity's most pressing dilemmas: the degradation of authentic human interaction. This 5,000-word whitepaper presents a comprehensive examination of our revolutionary 1V1 social platform—a meticulously engineered ecosystem designed not merely to connect people, but to foster genuine, meaningful dialogue in an increasingly fragmented digital landscape. Recent studies from Harvard's Social Capital Project reveal a startling paradox: while the average social media user maintains 338 "friends" across platforms, 36% report having zero confidants with whom they can discuss important matters. The University of Chicago's National Social Life, Health, and Aging Project further indicates that between 2004 and 2022, the number of Americans reporting "no one to talk to about important matters" tripled, despite social media adoption increasing by 4,200% during the same period. Connect Live directly addresses this crisis of connection through a fundamentally reimagined approach to digital socialization. Unlike traditional social networks that prioritize breadth over depth, or dating platforms that impose romantic frameworks on all interactions, our platform creates a sanctuary for authentic, agenda-free conversation. This document will explore the philosophical foundations, technological architecture, safety protocols, and user experience innovations that make Connect Live not just another app, but a movement toward reclaiming the art of conversation in the digital age. Part 1: The Crisis of Modern Connection 1.1 The Loneliness Epidemic: Data and Diagnosis The statistics paint a sobering picture of our disconnected reality: CDC Reports: 61% of young adults (18-25) and 51% of mothers with young children report "significant loneliness" Meta-Analysis Findings: Across 148 studies involving 308,849 participants, researchers found that strong social relationships increase survival by 50%—a greater impact than quitting smoking or obesity reduction Economic Impact: The RAND Corporation estimates loneliness costs U.S. employers $154 billion annually in stress-related absenteeism Digital Correlation: MIT's Human Dynamics Laboratory found that increased social media usage correlates with decreased emotional well-being, with each additional platform used associated with a 9-15% decline in reported social satisfaction 1.2 The Flawed Paradigms of Current Solutions Traditional Social Media: The Performance Trap Platforms like Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok have inadvertently created what psychologist Sherry Turkle terms "the performance of connection." Users curate idealized versions of their lives, leading to: Social comparison anxiety (documented in 32 studies across 12 countries) The "highlight reel" effect, where users compare their behind-the-scenes to others' curated best moments Algorithmic echo chambers that reinforce existing views rather than exposing users to diverse perspectives Dating Apps: The Romanticization of All Interaction The swipe-based model popularized by Tinder, Bumble, and Hinge has fundamentally altered social dynamics by: Imposing romantic/sexual frameworks on all potential connections Reducing human interaction to binary judgments based on limited visual data Creating what anthropologist Helen Fisher calls "the commodification of connection," where people become products to be evaluated Interest-Based Platforms: The Content-Connection Confusion While platforms like Reddit, Discord, and Clubhouse focus on shared interests, they suffer from: Scale problems where meaningful interaction gets lost in noise Lack of intentional 1:1 connection frameworks Moderation challenges in large, anonymous groups Part 2: The Connect Live Philosophy 2.1 Foundational Principles: Our Manifesto for Authentic Connection Connect Live is built upon seven non-negotiable principles: Principle 1: Quality Over Quantity We believe one meaningful conversation is worth 100 superficial connections. Our entire architecture is designed to facilitate depth rather than accumulate breadth. Principle 2: Voice as the Vehicle of Vulnerability Neuroscience reveals that voice communication activates different brain regions than text, increasing empathy by 38% and trust formation by 34%. We prioritize voice/video for this reason. Principle 3: Interest-Based, Not Appearance-Based Unlike dating apps that foreground physical appearance, we foreground intellectual, creative, and experiential common ground. Principle 4: Ephemerality as Freedom Conversations aren't permanently recorded or displayed, reducing performance anxiety and encouraging authenticity. Principle 5: Structured Serendipity We create the conditions for meaningful connection without predetermined outcomes or expectations. Principle 6: Safety Through Design Protection from harassment isn't an added feature—it's woven into our architecture at every level. Principle 7: The Anti-Dating Mandate We explicitly reject romantic frameworks, creating space for platonic connection free from romantic pressure. 2.2 The Psychological Framework: How We Foster Genuine Connection Connect Live's design incorporates evidence-based psychological principles: The "Fast Friends" Protocol Adaptation Based on Dr. Arthur Aron's seminal research showing that reciprocal self-disclosure builds intimacy faster than shared activities, our conversation prompts guide users through escalating levels of vulnerability in structured, comfortable increments. The "Shared Vulnerability" Model We create what Dr. Brené Brown identifies as the foundation of connection: environments where vulnerability is reciprocated rather than exploited. Optimal Anxiety Theory Application Our system operates in what educational psychologist Lev Vygotsky called the "Zone of Proximal Development" for social interaction—challenging enough to be engaging, but not so challenging as to be overwhelming. Part 3: Technological Architecture 3.1 The Matching Engine: Beyond Basic Algorithms Our proprietary matching system represents a significant advancement over traditional social/dating algorithms: Multi-Dimensional Interest Mapping Instead of simple tag matching, we employ: Semantic analysis of user-described interests Behavioral analysis of conversation patterns (with explicit consent) Temporal interest mapping (how interests evolve over time) Contextual understanding (differentiating between "casual interest" and "passionate expertise") Dynamic Compatibility Scoring Our algorithm evaluates 47 distinct compatibility dimensions across three categories: Cognitive compatibility (thinking styles, curiosity levels) Emotional compatibility (communication style, vulnerability comfort) Experiential compatibility (shared interests, complementary knowledge) The Serendipity Engine Deliberately designed "controlled mismatches" introduce users to adjacent interests, creating space for discovery and growth. Research shows these 15-30% mismatches often produce the most meaningful connections. 3.2 Audio/Video Infrastructure: Engineering Empathy Audio Engineering for Emotional Connection Our proprietary audio processing includes: Emotion-preserving noise reduction (removing background noise while maintaining vocal nuance) Latency optimization to 67ms (below the human perception threshold of 100ms) Psychoacoustic spatial processing that creates subconscious feelings of presence and attention Video Optimization for Authenticity Unlike platforms that prioritize "beautification," our video processing: Minimizes artificial enhancement Maintains natural lighting conditions Prioritizes stability and clarity over alteration Includes optional "vulnerability modes" that slightly soften focus to reduce appearance anxiety Bandwidth Intelligence System Our adaptive streaming technology ensures seamless connection across varying network conditions, automatically adjusting quality to maintain connection rather than dropping calls. 3.3 Privacy Architecture: Security by Design End-to-End Encryption Implementation All 1:1 conversations are protected with military-grade encryption that even our engineers cannot access. Ephemeral Data Policy Conversation data is temporarily cached in volatile memory only for the duration of the call, with complete deletion upon call conclusion (unless a safety report is filed). Zero-Knowledge Authentication Our authentication system verifies credentials without storing or transmitting actual passwords. Privacy-Preserving Analytics We employ differential privacy and federated learning to improve our systems without compromising individual user data. Part 4: The User Experience Journey 4.1 Onboarding: The Foundation of Intentionality The Interest Genome Project During onboarding, users don't simply select interests—they build what we call an "Interest Genome": Primary Passions (3-5 core interests that define you) Secondary Curiosities (5-10 areas you'd like to explore) Conversation Preferences (depth, pace, format preferences) Learning/Teaching Balance (how much you want to share vs. learn) The Intentionality Framework Users explicitly define their conversation goals: Social connection Knowledge exchange Skill practice (like language learning) Creative collaboration Professional networking Cultural exchange The Safety Acknowledgment All users must complete our 8-minute interactive safety tutorial covering: Community guidelines Reporting procedures Conversation exit strategies Digital citizenship principles 4.2 Profile Design: The Anti-Performance Portfolio Connect Live profiles deliberately reject traditional social media conventions: No Follower Counts We completely eliminate public metrics of popularity. No "Best" Photos Users upload 1-3 casual, authentic photos—no professional headshots or highly curated images. Interest-First Display The profile foregrounds interests and conversation styles, with photos as secondary elements. Dynamic "Recently Discussed" Section Shows topics of recent conversations (with conversation partners anonymized) to demonstrate engagement patterns. The "Human Reading" Each profile includes a 50-100 word self-description focused on curiosity, values, and conversational style rather than achievements or attributes. 4.3 The Matching Interface: Beyond Swiping The Daily Introduction System Each day, users receive 3-8 "Introductions" rather than unlimited options. This scarcity promotes intentionality. Introduction Cards Display: Shared and adjacent interests (with compatibility percentages) Conversation style indicators Availability patterns A brief, interest-focused icebreaker suggestion The "Connect" Decision Instead of swiping, users have three options: Connect Now (initiate immediate conversation) Save for Later (bookmark for future connection) Not My Vibe (provides feedback to improve future matches) The Algorithmic Feedback Loop Each decision trains the matching system, with "Not My Vibe" requiring a 1-2 sentence explanation that improves future matches. 4.4 The Conversation Experience: Engineered Authenticity Pre-Conversation Alignment Before connecting, both users see: Shared interest highlights Suggested conversation paths Agreed-upon conversation guidelines The Conversation Framework Each call includes optional structured elements: Two-Minute Check-In: Quick personal update Interest Deep Dive: 10-15 minutes on a shared interest Reciprocal Exchange: Each person shares then listens Forward Look: Natural conversation flow Conversation Tools Interest Prompts: AI-generated questions based on shared interests The "Pause" Button: 30-second break for thought collection Topic Transition Suggestions: Natural segues when conversation lags The "Gratitude Moment": Optional prompted appreciation exchange Post-Conversation Integration After calls, users can: Privately note what they enjoyed about the conversation Tag topics discussed for better future matching Choose to "Meet Again" or "One and Done" Part 5: Safety, Moderation, and Community Governance 5.1 The Multi-Layered Safety Architecture Preventive Layer: The Trust Score System Each user maintains a dynamic trust score based on: Conversation completion rates Positive feedback from partners Community guideline adherence Reporting accuracy Reactive Layer: Real-Time Intervention Voice Stress Analysis: Flags potential harassment (82% accuracy in trials) Keyword Monitoring: Detects guideline violations User-Initiated "Assist" Requests: Immediate moderator attention The "Graceful Exit" Protocol: Pre-formulated exit lines for uncomfortable situations Post-Conversation Layer: Feedback and Adjustment Mandatory Feedback: Brief sentiment feedback after each conversation Pattern Analysis: Identifies potential issues across multiple conversations Educational Interventions: Customized guidance for users with repeated negative feedback 5.2 The Moderation System: Human-Centered AI AI Triage System Natural language processing analyzes 217 risk factors across: Verbal content Conversational patterns User history Cross-platform data (where legally permissible) Human Moderation Team Our 24/7 moderation team includes: Clinical psychologists specializing in digital interaction Cultural competency experts Multilingual moderators covering 47 languages Continuous training on emerging harassment patterns The Escalation Framework Reports move through four tiers: AI Assessment (immediate) Moderator Review (under 15 minutes) Specialist Evaluation (complex cases) Oversight Committee (contentious decisions) Transparent Accountability Users receive detailed explanations of moderation decisions and have clear appeal pathways. 5.3 Community Governance: Users as Stakeholders The Community Council 50 active users, demographically representative, provide monthly feedback on: Policy updates Feature changes Moderation standards Product direction Transparency Reports Quarterly publication of: Moderation statistics Safety system effectiveness User demographic data Feature adoption rates User-Led Initiatives Community-proposed features and policies that receive 1,000+ signatures receive formal review and response. Part 6: The Connect Live Ecosystem 6.1 Core Platform Features 1:1 Live Conversations The heart of the platform—unstructured, agenda-free dialogue. Interest Pods Small groups (3-5 people) with dedicated moderators for ongoing discussion communities. Learning Exchanges Structured conversations for skill development, particularly language practice. Virtual Co-Working Silent companionship with optional check-ins for remote workers and students. Event Series Expert-led conversations on specialized topics with participant caps to maintain intimacy. 6.2 Premium Tier Value Proposition Connect Live Premium ($9.99/month or $89.99/year) includes: Advanced Matching Features Interest Radar: Discover users with rare interest combinations Compatibility Forecasting: Predictive analytics on conversation success Global Search: Filter by country, time zone, and language proficiency Enhanced Conversation Tools Real-Time Translation: 42 languages with voice preservation Conversation Analytics: Insights on your communication patterns Personal Conversation Coach: AI-guided improvement suggestions Exclusive Access Expert Sessions: Conversations with thought leaders Premium-Only Events: Smaller, more focused discussions Early Feature Access: Beta test new functionality Professional Features Networking Mode: Business-focused matching Conversation Recording (with dual consent): For later review Professional Analytics: Communication skill development tracking Part 7: Data, Research, and Impact 7.1 Pilot Program Results Our six-month beta with 5,000 users showed: Mental Health Impact 47% reduction in self-reported loneliness 34% increase in social confidence 28% decrease in social anxiety symptoms Connection Quality Average conversation length: 22 minutes (vs. 1.5 minutes on dating apps) 68% of conversations rated "meaningful" or "very meaningful" 42% of users formed ongoing conversation partnerships Platform Integrity 0.03% report rate (vs. industry average of 0.3%) 94% user retention at 90 days 4.7/5 average safety rating 7.2 Research Partnerships Connect Live collaborates with: Stanford's Social Neuroscience Lab Studying how voice-only communication affects empathy and connection formation. MIT's Human Dynamics Group Researching optimal conversation structures for relationship development. The University of Tokyo's Digital Society Research Center Examining cross-cultural communication patterns on the platform. Part 8: Compliance and Policy Framework 8.1 Meta Platform Compliance Connect Live strictly adheres to all Meta policies: No Dating Functionality No romantic preference filters No physical attribute search parameters No "looking for" relationship indicators Explicit prohibition of romantic solicitation in Terms of Service Age-Restricted Access Strict 18+ policy with age verification protocols. Transparent Data Usage Clear disclosure of all data practices with user consent gates. Advertising Compliance All ads emphasize social networking, never implying romantic connections. 8.2 Global Regulatory Compliance GDPR Implementation Full compliance with all European data protection standards. COPPA Adherence Strict no-under-18 policy with verification measures. Global Content Standards Localized moderation for all operating regions. Part 9: The Roadmap: Evolving Connection 9.1 Short-Term Development (0-12 Months) Q3-Q4 2024 Group conversation expansion (3-5 people) Interest-based event platform Enhanced accessibility features Q1-Q2 2025 Professional networking tier Educational partnership program Advanced conversation analytics 9.2 Medium-Term Vision (1-3 Years) The Connect Live Ecosystem Integration with educational platforms Professional development certifications Mental health partnership programs Cultural exchange initiatives Technological Advancements Emotion-aware matching Real-time communication coaching Enhanced accessibility for neurodiverse users VR conversation spaces 9.3 Long-Term Vision (3-5 Years) Redefining Digital Society Research-driven connection optimization Global understanding initiatives Intergenerational connection programs Mainstream adoption as an alternative to traditional social media Part 10: Conclusion: A New Standard for Digital Connection Connect Live represents more than technological innovation—it embodies a fundamental rethinking of how human connection can and should work in the digital age. In a marketplace crowded with platforms that either encourage performance or impose romantic frameworks, we offer a third way: intentional, authentic, agenda-free human connection. Our approach is both radical and simple: give people the tools, structure, and safety to have the conversations they're hungry for, without the baggage of social performance or romantic expectation. The results from our beta testing are clear: when you create the right conditions, people are eager to connect deeply, vulnerably, and authentically. The future of social technology isn't more connections—it's better ones. It's not more content—it's more meaning. It's not broader networks—it's deeper relationships. Connect Live is building that future, one authentic conversation at a time. We invite researchers, journalists, potential partners, and curious individuals to explore our platform, examine our data, and join us in this mission to combat the loneliness epidemic through thoughtful, human-centered technology.
Connect Live: Redefining Human Connection in the Digital Age Executive Summary: The 1V1 Social Revolution In an era defined by hyper-connectivity yet plagued by epidemic loneliness, Connect Live emerges as a paradigm-shifting solution to one of modernity's most pressing dilemmas: the degradation of authentic human interaction. This 5,000-word whitepaper presents a comprehensive examination of our revolutionary 1V1 social platform—a meticulously engineered ecosystem designed not merely to connect people, but to foster genuine, meaningful dialogue in an increasingly fragmented digital landscape. Recent studies from Harvard's Social Capital Project reveal a startling paradox: while the average social media user maintains 338 "friends" across platforms, 36% report having zero confidants with whom they can discuss important matters. The University of Chicago's National Social Life, Health, and Aging Project further indicates that between 2004 and 2022, the number of Americans reporting "no one to talk to about important matters" tripled, despite social media adoption increasing by 4,200% during the same period. Connect Live directly addresses this crisis of connection through a fundamentally reimagined approach to digital socialization. Unlike traditional social networks that prioritize breadth over depth, or dating platforms that impose romantic frameworks on all interactions, our platform creates a sanctuary for authentic, agenda-free conversation. This document will explore the philosophical foundations, technological architecture, safety protocols, and user experience innovations that make Connect Live not just another app, but a movement toward reclaiming the art of conversation in the digital age. Part 1: The Crisis of Modern Connection 1.1 The Loneliness Epidemic: Data and Diagnosis The statistics paint a sobering picture of our disconnected reality: CDC Reports: 61% of young adults (18-25) and 51% of mothers with young children report "significant loneliness" Meta-Analysis Findings: Across 148 studies involving 308,849 participants, researchers found that strong social relationships increase survival by 50%—a greater impact than quitting smoking or obesity reduction Economic Impact: The RAND Corporation estimates loneliness costs U.S. employers $154 billion annually in stress-related absenteeism Digital Correlation: MIT's Human Dynamics Laboratory found that increased social media usage correlates with decreased emotional well-being, with each additional platform used associated with a 9-15% decline in reported social satisfaction 1.2 The Flawed Paradigms of Current Solutions Traditional Social Media: The Performance Trap Platforms like Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok have inadvertently created what psychologist Sherry Turkle terms "the performance of connection." Users curate idealized versions of their lives, leading to: Social comparison anxiety (documented in 32 studies across 12 countries) The "highlight reel" effect, where users compare their behind-the-scenes to others' curated best moments Algorithmic echo chambers that reinforce existing views rather than exposing users to diverse perspectives Dating Apps: The Romanticization of All Interaction The swipe-based model popularized by Tinder, Bumble, and Hinge has fundamentally altered social dynamics by: Imposing romantic/sexual frameworks on all potential connections Reducing human interaction to binary judgments based on limited visual data Creating what anthropologist Helen Fisher calls "the commodification of connection," where people become products to be evaluated Interest-Based Platforms: The Content-Connection Confusion While platforms like Reddit, Discord, and Clubhouse focus on shared interests, they suffer from: Scale problems where meaningful interaction gets lost in noise Lack of intentional 1:1 connection frameworks Moderation challenges in large, anonymous groups Part 2: The Connect Live Philosophy 2.1 Foundational Principles: Our Manifesto for Authentic Connection Connect Live is built upon seven non-negotiable principles: Principle 1: Quality Over Quantity We believe one meaningful conversation is worth 100 superficial connections. Our entire architecture is designed to facilitate depth rather than accumulate breadth. Principle 2: Voice as the Vehicle of Vulnerability Neuroscience reveals that voice communication activates different brain regions than text, increasing empathy by 38% and trust formation by 34%. We prioritize voice/video for this reason. Principle 3: Interest-Based, Not Appearance-Based Unlike dating apps that foreground physical appearance, we foreground intellectual, creative, and experiential common ground. Principle 4: Ephemerality as Freedom Conversations aren't permanently recorded or displayed, reducing performance anxiety and encouraging authenticity. Principle 5: Structured Serendipity We create the conditions for meaningful connection without predetermined outcomes or expectations. Principle 6: Safety Through Design Protection from harassment isn't an added feature—it's woven into our architecture at every level. Principle 7: The Anti-Dating Mandate We explicitly reject romantic frameworks, creating space for platonic connection free from romantic pressure. 2.2 The Psychological Framework: How We Foster Genuine Connection Connect Live's design incorporates evidence-based psychological principles: The "Fast Friends" Protocol Adaptation Based on Dr. Arthur Aron's seminal research showing that reciprocal self-disclosure builds intimacy faster than shared activities, our conversation prompts guide users through escalating levels of vulnerability in structured, comfortable increments. The "Shared Vulnerability" Model We create what Dr. Brené Brown identifies as the foundation of connection: environments where vulnerability is reciprocated rather than exploited. Optimal Anxiety Theory Application Our system operates in what educational psychologist Lev Vygotsky called the "Zone of Proximal Development" for social interaction—challenging enough to be engaging, but not so challenging as to be overwhelming. Part 3: Technological Architecture 3.1 The Matching Engine: Beyond Basic Algorithms Our proprietary matching system represents a significant advancement over traditional social/dating algorithms: Multi-Dimensional Interest Mapping Instead of simple tag matching, we employ: Semantic analysis of user-described interests Behavioral analysis of conversation patterns (with explicit consent) Temporal interest mapping (how interests evolve over time) Contextual understanding (differentiating between "casual interest" and "passionate expertise") Dynamic Compatibility Scoring Our algorithm evaluates 47 distinct compatibility dimensions across three categories: Cognitive compatibility (thinking styles, curiosity levels) Emotional compatibility (communication style, vulnerability comfort) Experiential compatibility (shared interests, complementary knowledge) The Serendipity Engine Deliberately designed "controlled mismatches" introduce users to adjacent interests, creating space for discovery and growth. Research shows these 15-30% mismatches often produce the most meaningful connections. 3.2 Audio/Video Infrastructure: Engineering Empathy Audio Engineering for Emotional Connection Our proprietary audio processing includes: Emotion-preserving noise reduction (removing background noise while maintaining vocal nuance) Latency optimization to 67ms (below the human perception threshold of 100ms) Psychoacoustic spatial processing that creates subconscious feelings of presence and attention Video Optimization for Authenticity Unlike platforms that prioritize "beautification," our video processing: Minimizes artificial enhancement Maintains natural lighting conditions Prioritizes stability and clarity over alteration Includes optional "vulnerability modes" that slightly soften focus to reduce appearance anxiety Bandwidth Intelligence System Our adaptive streaming technology ensures seamless connection across varying network conditions, automatically adjusting quality to maintain connection rather than dropping calls. 3.3 Privacy Architecture: Security by Design End-to-End Encryption Implementation All 1:1 conversations are protected with military-grade encryption that even our engineers cannot access. Ephemeral Data Policy Conversation data is temporarily cached in volatile memory only for the duration of the call, with complete deletion upon call conclusion (unless a safety report is filed). Zero-Knowledge Authentication Our authentication system verifies credentials without storing or transmitting actual passwords. Privacy-Preserving Analytics We employ differential privacy and federated learning to improve our systems without compromising individual user data. Part 4: The User Experience Journey 4.1 Onboarding: The Foundation of Intentionality The Interest Genome Project During onboarding, users don't simply select interests—they build what we call an "Interest Genome": Primary Passions (3-5 core interests that define you) Secondary Curiosities (5-10 areas you'd like to explore) Conversation Preferences (depth, pace, format preferences) Learning/Teaching Balance (how much you want to share vs. learn) The Intentionality Framework Users explicitly define their conversation goals: Social connection Knowledge exchange Skill practice (like language learning) Creative collaboration Professional networking Cultural exchange The Safety Acknowledgment All users must complete our 8-minute interactive safety tutorial covering: Community guidelines Reporting procedures Conversation exit strategies Digital citizenship principles 4.2 Profile Design: The Anti-Performance Portfolio Connect Live profiles deliberately reject traditional social media conventions: No Follower Counts We completely eliminate public metrics of popularity. No "Best" Photos Users upload 1-3 casual, authentic photos—no professional headshots or highly curated images. Interest-First Display The profile foregrounds interests and conversation styles, with photos as secondary elements. Dynamic "Recently Discussed" Section Shows topics of recent conversations (with conversation partners anonymized) to demonstrate engagement patterns. The "Human Reading" Each profile includes a 50-100 word self-description focused on curiosity, values, and conversational style rather than achievements or attributes. 4.3 The Matching Interface: Beyond Swiping The Daily Introduction System Each day, users receive 3-8 "Introductions" rather than unlimited options. This scarcity promotes intentionality. Introduction Cards Display: Shared and adjacent interests (with compatibility percentages) Conversation style indicators Availability patterns A brief, interest-focused icebreaker suggestion The "Connect" Decision Instead of swiping, users have three options: Connect Now (initiate immediate conversation) Save for Later (bookmark for future connection) Not My Vibe (provides feedback to improve future matches) The Algorithmic Feedback Loop Each decision trains the matching system, with "Not My Vibe" requiring a 1-2 sentence explanation that improves future matches. 4.4 The Conversation Experience: Engineered Authenticity Pre-Conversation Alignment Before connecting, both users see: Shared interest highlights Suggested conversation paths Agreed-upon conversation guidelines The Conversation Framework Each call includes optional structured elements: Two-Minute Check-In: Quick personal update Interest Deep Dive: 10-15 minutes on a shared interest Reciprocal Exchange: Each person shares then listens Forward Look: Natural conversation flow Conversation Tools Interest Prompts: AI-generated questions based on shared interests The "Pause" Button: 30-second break for thought collection Topic Transition Suggestions: Natural segues when conversation lags The "Gratitude Moment": Optional prompted appreciation exchange Post-Conversation Integration After calls, users can: Privately note what they enjoyed about the conversation Tag topics discussed for better future matching Choose to "Meet Again" or "One and Done" Part 5: Safety, Moderation, and Community Governance 5.1 The Multi-Layered Safety Architecture Preventive Layer: The Trust Score System Each user maintains a dynamic trust score based on: Conversation completion rates Positive feedback from partners Community guideline adherence Reporting accuracy Reactive Layer: Real-Time Intervention Voice Stress Analysis: Flags potential harassment (82% accuracy in trials) Keyword Monitoring: Detects guideline violations User-Initiated "Assist" Requests: Immediate moderator attention The "Graceful Exit" Protocol: Pre-formulated exit lines for uncomfortable situations Post-Conversation Layer: Feedback and Adjustment Mandatory Feedback: Brief sentiment feedback after each conversation Pattern Analysis: Identifies potential issues across multiple conversations Educational Interventions: Customized guidance for users with repeated negative feedback 5.2 The Moderation System: Human-Centered AI AI Triage System Natural language processing analyzes 217 risk factors across: Verbal content Conversational patterns User history Cross-platform data (where legally permissible) Human Moderation Team Our 24/7 moderation team includes: Clinical psychologists specializing in digital interaction Cultural competency experts Multilingual moderators covering 47 languages Continuous training on emerging harassment patterns The Escalation Framework Reports move through four tiers: AI Assessment (immediate) Moderator Review (under 15 minutes) Specialist Evaluation (complex cases) Oversight Committee (contentious decisions) Transparent Accountability Users receive detailed explanations of moderation decisions and have clear appeal pathways. 5.3 Community Governance: Users as Stakeholders The Community Council 50 active users, demographically representative, provide monthly feedback on: Policy updates Feature changes Moderation standards Product direction Transparency Reports Quarterly publication of: Moderation statistics Safety system effectiveness User demographic data Feature adoption rates User-Led Initiatives Community-proposed features and policies that receive 1,000+ signatures receive formal review and response. Part 6: The Connect Live Ecosystem 6.1 Core Platform Features 1:1 Live Conversations The heart of the platform—unstructured, agenda-free dialogue. Interest Pods Small groups (3-5 people) with dedicated moderators for ongoing discussion communities. Learning Exchanges Structured conversations for skill development, particularly language practice. Virtual Co-Working Silent companionship with optional check-ins for remote workers and students. Event Series Expert-led conversations on specialized topics with participant caps to maintain intimacy. 6.2 Premium Tier Value Proposition Connect Live Premium ($9.99/month or $89.99/year) includes: Advanced Matching Features Interest Radar: Discover users with rare interest combinations Compatibility Forecasting: Predictive analytics on conversation success Global Search: Filter by country, time zone, and language proficiency Enhanced Conversation Tools Real-Time Translation: 42 languages with voice preservation Conversation Analytics: Insights on your communication patterns Personal Conversation Coach: AI-guided improvement suggestions Exclusive Access Expert Sessions: Conversations with thought leaders Premium-Only Events: Smaller, more focused discussions Early Feature Access: Beta test new functionality Professional Features Networking Mode: Business-focused matching Conversation Recording (with dual consent): For later review Professional Analytics: Communication skill development tracking Part 7: Data, Research, and Impact 7.1 Pilot Program Results Our six-month beta with 5,000 users showed: Mental Health Impact 47% reduction in self-reported loneliness 34% increase in social confidence 28% decrease in social anxiety symptoms Connection Quality Average conversation length: 22 minutes (vs. 1.5 minutes on dating apps) 68% of conversations rated "meaningful" or "very meaningful" 42% of users formed ongoing conversation partnerships Platform Integrity 0.03% report rate (vs. industry average of 0.3%) 94% user retention at 90 days 4.7/5 average safety rating 7.2 Research Partnerships Connect Live collaborates with: Stanford's Social Neuroscience Lab Studying how voice-only communication affects empathy and connection formation. MIT's Human Dynamics Group Researching optimal conversation structures for relationship development. The University of Tokyo's Digital Society Research Center Examining cross-cultural communication patterns on the platform. Part 8: Compliance and Policy Framework 8.1 Meta Platform Compliance Connect Live strictly adheres to all Meta policies: No Dating Functionality No romantic preference filters No physical attribute search parameters No "looking for" relationship indicators Explicit prohibition of romantic solicitation in Terms of Service Age-Restricted Access Strict 18+ policy with age verification protocols. Transparent Data Usage Clear disclosure of all data practices with user consent gates. Advertising Compliance All ads emphasize social networking, never implying romantic connections. 8.2 Global Regulatory Compliance GDPR Implementation Full compliance with all European data protection standards. COPPA Adherence Strict no-under-18 policy with verification measures. Global Content Standards Localized moderation for all operating regions. Part 9: The Roadmap: Evolving Connection 9.1 Short-Term Development (0-12 Months) Q3-Q4 2024 Group conversation expansion (3-5 people) Interest-based event platform Enhanced accessibility features Q1-Q2 2025 Professional networking tier Educational partnership program Advanced conversation analytics 9.2 Medium-Term Vision (1-3 Years) The Connect Live Ecosystem Integration with educational platforms Professional development certifications Mental health partnership programs Cultural exchange initiatives Technological Advancements Emotion-aware matching Real-time communication coaching Enhanced accessibility for neurodiverse users VR conversation spaces 9.3 Long-Term Vision (3-5 Years) Redefining Digital Society Research-driven connection optimization Global understanding initiatives Intergenerational connection programs Mainstream adoption as an alternative to traditional social media Part 10: Conclusion: A New Standard for Digital Connection Connect Live represents more than technological innovation—it embodies a fundamental rethinking of how human connection can and should work in the digital age. In a marketplace crowded with platforms that either encourage performance or impose romantic frameworks, we offer a third way: intentional, authentic, agenda-free human connection. Our approach is both radical and simple: give people the tools, structure, and safety to have the conversations they're hungry for, without the baggage of social performance or romantic expectation. The results from our beta testing are clear: when you create the right conditions, people are eager to connect deeply, vulnerably, and authentically. The future of social technology isn't more connections—it's better ones. It's not more content—it's more meaning. It's not broader networks—it's deeper relationships. Connect Live is building that future, one authentic conversation at a time. We invite researchers, journalists, potential partners, and curious individuals to explore our platform, examine our data, and join us in this mission to combat the loneliness epidemic through thoughtful, human-centered technology.
After three years of marriage to Marcus Harrington, I took it upon myself to help him reunite with his first love. On the night before their ceremony, doctors confirmed my terminal liver cancer. I kept the news hidden from everyone and silently arranged their entire wedding, selecting the flowers, booking the venue, and choosing the gown. As his first love approached him in the dress I had selected, I stood in the hospital signing a do-not-resuscitate form. On the day of my burial, Marcus discovered a faded photograph tucked beneath my pillow. On the reverse side it read: During our freshman year of high school, I too was your first love. The instant I learned of my terminal liver cancer, Marcus was choosing a tie for the celebration banquet. That tie was a deep crimson, shockingly vivid, exactly matching the blood I had just coughed into a tissue. The doctor urged immediate hospitalization, yet I declined. Stepping out of the hospital, the sun scorched the pavement and warped my sight with heat waves. I crumpled the diagnosis paper into a ball, tossed it into the recycling bin, and texted Marcus: “Go with the navy tie instead—it looks more refined.” He replied right away with a voice note, laughter and clinking glasses echoing in the background: “Nora Caldwell, it’s settled! Isabella Langford agreed to reconcile with me! We must celebrate tonight—you’re the main reason this happened, so you can’t miss it.” I stared at the audio waveform on my screen, my finger hovering over the words “I’m ill” for thirty seconds before deleting them entirely. My reply was simply: “Alright.” Marcus and I had been married for three years. Everyone in our social circle claimed I was Marcus’s loyal shadow, ready to strike at anyone he indicated. He wanted to advance his career, so I sacrificed sleepless nights, drank with business partners, and rescued Harrington Group from collapse. He confessed he could never forget Isabella, so I buried my own emotions, engineered their chance meetings, selected his gifts, and even scripted his confession. Now that he had reclaimed what he desired, it was my turn to step aside. I owed him nothing. When I reached home, Marcus had not yet returned. The entire house was covered in images of Isabella—on the walls, across the tables, and even beside the shoes I had just removed stood an enormous framed portrait. Marcus had deliberately set everything up to welcome her, declaring he wanted Isabella to sense immediately upon entering that his heart had remained unchanged these three years. A dull ache spread through my abdomen, rising like a dull blade sawing steadily. I doubled over, gripping my stomach, cold perspiration beading on my forehead while my gaze landed on a glass of chilled water on the coffee table. Just as I stretched for it, the door lock turned. Marcus stormed in, smelling of liquor and perfume, his face flushed with delight. He yanked off his tie and twirled through the living room in pure elation. “Nora! Did you hear? She cried! When she saw the star jars I prepared, tears streamed down her face!” He rushed over and seized my shoulders, the grip so firm it made me wince. “All thanks to your suggestion! She said we split back then because she believed I lacked attentiveness, but now she sees how much I’ve grown.” His shaking triggered waves of nausea. I fought the churning in my gut and managed a smile. “Congratulations.” Marcus failed to notice anything amiss. He released me, strode to the wine cabinet, and uncorked an aged bottle of red. “Come on, share a drink with me.” I eyed the scarlet liquid and felt my stomach twist harder. The doctor had strictly forbidden alcohol. “I’ll skip it—I’m exhausted.” Marcus halted mid-pour, turned toward me, and frowned with clear irritation. “Nora, why spoil the mood on a day like this? You used to toast clients until your stomach bled and never once complained. Why act so fragile now?” The past was behind me. I had once believed that pouring every ounce of devotion into him would eventually melt his icy heart. Now the stone had warmed—but for another woman. “I truly cannot drink.” I turned, intending to head to my room. Marcus crossed the space in a few strides, blocked my path, and thrust the wine glass into my hand. “Just one. Isabella moves in soon, and this house must be cleared to become her bridal home. This glass celebrates me rediscovering true love and also marks your… return to freedom.” Freedom. Such a lovely word. I gazed at the swirling red liquid reflecting my sallow complexion that makeup could barely hide. Marcus never noticed how much weight I had lost or how heavily I had applied cosmetics to mask my pallor. His thoughts were consumed entirely by Isabella. “Fine. After this, I’ll leave you in peace.” I tilted my head back and swallowed it in one gulp. The fiery liquid scorched my throat and detonated in my stomach. Pain flared instantly, forcing an uncontrollable dry retch. Marcus stepped back, his eyes filled with disgust. “Since you’ve finished, go rest. You still need to accompany Isabella to try on wedding gowns tomorrow. Your taste is excellent, so guide her choices.” My fingers whitened around the empty glass. Asking his current wife to help his first love select her wedding attire—Marcus, you truly outdid yourself. “Marcus,” I called as he headed toward the balcony to make a call, “if I passed away someday, would it sadden you?” He kept walking without pausing or glancing back, his tone utterly casual. “Why utter such ominous words on a happy occasion? If you die, I’ll secure the finest burial plot for you, alright?” With that, he slid open the doors and softly spoke “Isabella” into the phone. I remained rooted in place, the intense pain preventing me from standing straight. A metallic sweetness rose in my throat; I clenched my mouth shut and forced it down. The finest burial plot. Very well—that counted as a promise. Chapter 02 The next morning, pain jolted me awake. It felt as though a blazing coal had lodged in my abdomen, searing me until my entire body shook. Looking this ghostly, Isabella would likely have nightmares upon seeing me. I spent thirty minutes layering on thick foundation and applying the most flattering lipstick. Descending the stairs, I saw Marcus gallantly opening the car door for Isabella, one hand shielding the frame as if fearing she might bump her head. For three years, I had witnessed this scene only in dreams. To me, his words had always been “Get in,” “Hurry,” or “Stop lingering.” When Isabella spotted me, a triumphant fake smile curved her lips. “Nora, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you. Marcus insisted you have the finest taste and dragged you along.” She wore a pristine white dress, her skin glowing with vitality, a sharp contrast to my withered, parched appearance. “It’s no trouble—I have nothing else planned.” I reached for the passenger door. Isabella gave a soft gasp: “Oh, I feel carsick easily and prefer the front seat for the view.” Marcus yanked me aside with enough force to nearly fling me away. “You take the back. Don’t you have any sense?” I steadied myself, quietly opened the rear door, and climbed in. The car pulled away. Marcus gripped the wheel with one hand while the other clasped Isabella’s tightly, occasionally lifting it for a kiss. In the rearview mirror, they exchanged loving glances. I shrank into the shadows of the backseat like an invisible phantom. At the bridal boutique, the attendant greeted us warmly. “Mr. Harrington, Mrs. Harrington…” the woman began. Marcus cut her off coldly: “She’s the former wife. This is Mrs. Harrington.” The attendant froze in discomfort, her eyes darting among us. Isabella clung to Marcus’s arm and smiled sweetly: “Don’t fault her—we haven’t completed the formalities yet.” “Soon—next week,” Marcus said, gazing at her with pure adoration. I found a corner sofa and sat, waves of abdominal pain rolling through me. Isabella tried on gown after gown. “This one pinches at the waist.” “The train on this is too long and awkward to walk in.” “This exposes too much back—Marcus dislikes it.” Each time she emerged, she twirled before me. “Nora, what’s your opinion?” Suppressing cold sweat, I nodded: “Lovely—all of them suit you.” Marcus grew impatient: “Nora, can you actually focus? Who are you trying to dismiss with these half-hearted replies?” I drew a steady breath and indicated the mermaid-style gown adorned with crushed diamonds: “That one. It accentuates your silhouette and matches your presence perfectly.” Isabella’s eyes sparkled: “I adore it too! Marcus, I’ll try it on.” Once Isabella entered the fitting room, Marcus approached and stared down at me. “Nora, I realize this situation unsettles you. But you were the one who demanded marriage. I never mistreated you these three years, nor did I withhold a single penny. Don’t wear that lifeless expression in front of Isabella.” Lifeless. He had hit the mark—I was nearly a corpse already. “Rest assured, Mr. Harrington, I maintain professional standards,” I replied, lifting my chin with a smile. “Provided the payment is fair, I could even plan your honeymoon route.” Marcus’s brows knit tightly; he seemed poised to speak but finally muttered: “Unreasonable.” Isabella emerged. The gown was breathtaking, layers of white tulle cascading like clouds at her feet. Yet its design required someone to kneel and arrange the train for full effect. The attendant moved forward, but Isabella suddenly said: “Nora, could you assist? I dislike strangers touching me.” Marcus glanced at me: “Help her.” I paused. I was still his wife, yet now I had to kneel and adjust the wedding gown for his first love. The severe abdominal pain made standing upright difficult. I rose slowly and positioned myself behind Isabella. As I crouched, dizziness swept over me. I swayed and braced against the floor to avoid collapsing. “Nora, did you do that deliberately?” Marcus’s voice sliced like ice. I clenched my teeth and stayed silent. My trembling fingers grasped the delicate hem, carefully smoothing and spreading it. Isabella looked down at me, her eyes gleaming with victory. I knelt on the floor, my view aligned with the mirror. In its reflection, Marcus gazed at Isabella with utter awe while I resembled a beaten dog groveling at its owner’s feet. In that instant, I recalled my freshman year of high school. Sunlight had streamed that afternoon as I collected bottles near the basketball court to fund my grandmother’s medical care. Marcus had handed me a half-empty water bottle with a bright smile: “Hey, toss this for me—the bottle is yours to keep.” Back then, he had been sunlight and I mere dirt. Now the light shone on someone else, and I remained worthless soil. Having finished arranging the train, I attempted to stand, but my legs refused to cooperate. A stabbing pain darkened my vision. “Are you finished yet? Stop wasting time,” Marcus urged. I pushed against the floor for leverage. Suddenly an uncontrollable rush of heat surged up my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth, yet crimson liquid still seeped through my fingers and dripped onto the pure white hem of the gown. ------------------------------ 📚👇👇👇There are limited chapters to put here, click “learn more” to open the app and continue reading the rest of the story .👇👇👇 (lt will automatically jump to the book when you open the app)
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
🔞🔞God, I have s3x with my boss! The guy I hate the most in workplace. -------------------------------------------------------- Blair I can't believe there are women who want to date their boss. Clearly, they've never met Adrian Drake. I get off the train and make my way to the office. Please let today be a decent day at work. I work in central London, and there's a small coffee shop diagonally across from the Drake Media building; it's busy and bustling as people rush in and out on their way to work. "Hey, beautiful girl," says Mike. "Hi." I smile happily. Mike is the barista who works here; also he's had a low-key crush on me for a few years. He's sweet and cute and unfortunately I feel absolutely nothing every time he speaks to me. It sucks, because he's a really great guy. If ever there was someone that I knew would be good for me, it would be Mike. I wish I could pick who I was attracted to; it definitely would make things a lot easier in my life. "The usual?" Mike asks. I take a seat by the window. "Yes please." I look around. Mike makes my coffee and comes over and sits it down in front of me. "What's new?" he asks. "Not much." I pick up my coffee, steam floats to the ceiling, and I blow on it. "I'm thinking of joining the gym at work." "Yeah?" Mike's gaze looks over to the building across the street. "You have a gym in there?" "A huge one, on level fourteen." "Ha, who knew? Do you have to pay?" "No, it's free for employees." I take a sip of my coffee. Mike chuckles as he pretends to wipe down the table next to where I'm sitting. "I can come with you," he offers with a cute wink. "Sorry, it's for employees only and I can't afford to go to another gym." Mike rolls his eyes. Mike and I watch on as a black Bentley pulls up in front of the Drake Media building. The driver gets out of the car and opens the back door, and Adrian Drake climbs out. Like some kind of morning spectacle that I go through every day, my eyes roam up and down the man I despise. Today he's wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt, his dark hair curled to just-fvcked perfection. I watch him do up his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in his other. His back is ramrod-straight, his stance dominant. Arrogance personified. I sip my coffee as I watch him; it infuriates me that he's gorgeous. It infuriates me that every woman stops dead in her tracks, and stares when he walks into a room. And more than anything, it infuriates me that he knows it. Although I'd never admit it, I read the tabloids and gossip magazines, I see all the exotic parties he goes to and the beautiful women he dates. I know more about Adrian Drake than I care to admit. I mean, I should—I've hated the man for the whole seven years that I've worked for him. I watch as he says something to his driver with a smile, then he walks into the Drake Media building as people turn their heads to watch him, and I feel the hackles on the back of my neck rise. Adrian Drake, the epitome of a rich bastard ... pisses me off. It's just three in the afternoon and my email pings. I open it. Adrian Drake. CEO Drake Media UK. [Blair, Have you finalized the tracking report?] Asshole. I clench my jaw and type my reply. [Dear Mr. Drake, Good afternoon, always a pleasure to receive correspondence from you. Your manners are as impeccable as ever. The report isn't due until Tuesday next week, you will receive it then. Perhaps if I had the adequate number of staff members, I could work to your unrealistic work schedule. Enjoy the rest of your day. Sincerely, Blair.] I smirk and hit send; being a sarcastic bitch to Adrian Drake is my favorite hobby. A reply bounces straight back in. [Good afternoon Blair, As always, your dramatics are unappreciated. I didn't ask when I would receive the report, I asked if you had finished it. Please pay attention to detail, I don't want to constantly repeat myself. Have you finished the report or not?] I inhale sharply, this damn man drives me fvcking crazy. I type my reply, hitting my keyboard so hard I'm surprised I don't break a finger. [Mr. Drake, Of course the report is finalized. I am, as always, prepared for your inconsistencies in dates and timelines. Thankfully, one of us is a professional. Please find the attached report. If you have trouble understanding it, I'm happy to take time out of my busy schedule to explain it before you meet the board. I smirk as I keep typing, imagining the smoke coming out of his ears as he reads it. Have a lovely afternoon, always a pleasure. Blair Bennett.] I sip my tea, feeling happy with myself—take that. My email pings again and I open it. [Miss Bennett. Thank you. Have a safe trip home this afternoon, don't walk in front of a bus or anything.] I smile to myself. Stupid twat ... you wish. Chapter 2 Blair I stand and watch my roommate Rebecca run around the apartment like a chicken—Daniel is arriving at any moment. And boy oh boy, is Rebecca in overdrive. "Don't just stand there," she snaps. "What do you want me to do?" I look around the spotless apartment. "There is literally nothing left to clean. What is it with you and this guy?" I ask. "You're hell-bent on impressing him. The fact that he's gorgeous wouldn't have anything to do with it, would it?" "Don't be ridiculous," she snaps again. "I have a boyfriend, remember?" "Oh, I remember, but do you?" "Shut up," she huffs. The doorbell sounds and our eyes meet. "He's here," she whispers. "Well." I gesture to the front door. "Go and let him in." Rebecca nearly runs to the front door and opens it in a rush. "Hi." She smiles. It's really hard not to roll my eyes. "Hi." He smiles as he looks between us. He's got two big suitcases with him, he's tall and blond, and I have to admit, he really is quite handsome. I don't remember him being this good-looking when he came around to meet us before. No wonder Beck is breaking her back to impress him. "Here, let me help you with those," I offer. Beck looks out onto the street. "Do you have any more things you want help with bringing in?" "Thanks, I've just got another two suitcases in my car. I can get them." "You remember Blair?" She gestures to me. Daniel's eyes come to me. "Yes, of course I do. Nice to see you again, Blair." I give an awkward smile—I'm always so weird in social situations. Until I get to know someone I'm really not friendly at all. Not by choice of course, shyness is a curse. "This is your bedroom through here." Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. "And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I'll show you Blair's bedroom," she offers. I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he's wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist. "When do you start work?" I ask as I try and make conversation. "I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible," he says. I smile. "But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I'm going to be one of their in-house shoppers." Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. "I've never met a personal shopper before." Daniel smiles. "There aren't too many of us." I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez ... I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff? Surely he would want to live alone? I know I would. He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn't know what to buy even if I did have the money. Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. "Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There's no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks." Rebecca's eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. "That sounds awesome." She glances over to me. "Doesn't it, Blair?" Not really. A fake smile. "Sure does." "Shall we go?" he asks. "Now?" I frown. "You don't want to put anything away first?" "No, I'm good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission." An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand. "So?" Daniel looks between the two of us. "What's the story with you two, are you single or dating?" "Well." Rebecca smiles. "I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Blair here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery." I laugh. "That's not true. I'm just very picky." Daniel gives me a cute wink. "Nothing wrong with that. I'm quite picky myself actually." "And what's your story?" Rebecca asks. "Well ..." Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. "I am ..." He pauses again. "Gay?" I ask. Daniel laughs. "I like women too much to title myself completely gay." "So ..." Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement. "You're bisexual?" Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. "I wouldn't say I'm bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately ..." His voice trails off. "What?" I ask, fascinated. "A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn't know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay." "How many were you away with?" I ask. "There were four of us in total." "So, three of you were straight?" Daniel nods. "Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don't know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side." Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she's ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be. I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. "How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn't your natural inclination?" "Good. Perhaps a little kinky." Daniel shrugs. "I think that's what it is for me, I feel like I'm doing something naughty, something that I shouldn't be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don't regret it. It doesn't feel wrong, if that's what you mean." "How many ..." Rebecca's voice trails off as she stops herself. "You can ask me anything," Daniel prompts her. "How many men have you been with?" Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty." "Jeez." My eyebrows raise by themselves. "What's that look for?" Daniel smiles. "Well, you said that you haven't slept with many men. If that's a low number for you what's a high number? I mean ... what are your numbers for women?" Daniel laughs. "Too many to count, I'm afraid. I meet some beautiful people in my industry, sometimes the temptation is just too great." Disappointment fills me and I screw up my napkin and throw it onto the table in disgust. "I wish I was more like you," I sigh. "Meaning?" "You know, all liberated and cool and"—I pause as I think of the right terminology—"I guess, free." Daniel's face falls. "You don't feel free?" Oh God, why did I say that? Now I sound like a freaking drama queen. "What I meant is, I guess I would like to be in your shoes, you know, sleeping with whoever I wanted to for fun." "You don't have sex for fun?" Daniel frowns. This is all coming out wrong. "I mean, I have in the past. I guess I just got out of the swing of it as I got older." "How old are you?" he asks. "Twenty-seven. I had a few boyfriends in high school and college, and then after that I had a long-term boyfriend. We broke up a year after my parents died." "Your parents died?" I sip my drink; how did we get onto this subject? Why did I say that? "They were involved in a head-on collision car crash," Rebecca replies; she knows how much I hate saying that out loud. Daniel's eyes come to me in a question. "My mother died at the scene, my father died on the way to hospital. The driver that hit them had a heart attack and veered onto the wrong side of the road." I feel the heaviness come over me as my chest constricts, and I glance up into the kind eyes of Rebecca, who gives me a soft smile and takes my hand across the table. I had just moved in with Rebecca at college when my parents died. She's been my rock and a wonderful friend and has been there for me on many lonely sad nights. "I'm so sorry," Daniel whispers. "Do you have any other family?" "Yes." I smile. "I have a wonderful brother, Brad, and I have a sister who ..." My voice trails off. "Who what?" Daniel asks. "Is a raving bitch," Rebecca snaps. "I have no idea how the two of these girls are genetically related. They have nothing at all in common. Chalk and cheese." Daniel smiles in surprise as he looks between us. "Why, what's she like?" "Beautiful." I sip my drink. "Entitled and mean," Rebecca interjects. I smile sadly. "She's not so bad. She's taken our parents' death the hardest and somehow her personality changed overnight. Brad and I have held each other up and limped along and yet, all she wanted to do is be on her own. She hasn't handled grief the same as we have." "You don't see her at all?" Daniel asks. "No, I do see her," I reply. "I'm just usually upset or ruffled after she leaves. You know when you spend time with someone and they kind of suck the life out of you. She likes money and fame and having the designer handbags and all her gorgeous boyfriends. I feel like"—I pause as I try to articulate myself—"I feel like she's replacing our parents' love with objects." "You don't like designer things?" "I guess." I shrug. "Everyone likes nice things, don't they? It's just not my priority." "Blair is very good with her money," Rebecca interrupts. "That's code for tight." Daniel laughs as his eyes flick to me. "Are you tight, Blair?" "I am not tight." "Oh, you are too," Rebecca scoffs. "She won't spend any money on herself at all and is always saving for a rainy day. She wears the same ten outfits and hides behind those big thick glasses." "I need them to see, Rebecca," I announce, indignant. "And I just don't see the point in spending a fortune on clothes and dressing up fancy all the time." "You work in central London with some of the hottest men in the capital and you're too busy wearing sensible office clothes to attract any of them." I roll my eyes in disgust. "Trust me, there is no one at work worth impressing." Daniel's eyes linger on me and, as amusement flashes across his face, he clinks his wineglass with mine. "What?" I ask. "I think I just found my new project." Chapter 3 Blair Four hours and three bottles of wine later, and with Stevie Nicks playing in the background, Daniel says, "Then what will I write?" He laughs. We are sitting on the couch still talking way too much nonsense, and filling in a profile on a dating app for Daniel on my computer. Apparently this is a priority when you move to a new city. Who knew? The question reads: What are you looking for? "Hmm, that's a hard one." Daniel inhales sharply as he does his best to think through the cloud of alcohol. "Oh, I know. Write this," Rebecca says in her throaty, I'm-as-drunk-as-a-skunk voice. "Vag1na or d1ck, short or tall, waxed or hairy, preferably hot." "So basically"—I point to him with my wineglass—"you'll take anything." "In a nutshell," Daniel replies as he types something in. "Scratch the preferably." I laugh as I lie back; the room is beginning to spin. "I have to go to bed." I sigh. "I have to work tomorrow." "Not so fast," Daniel says. "We're making you a profile next." "I am not getting on a dating website. For your information," I slur, "there isn't a man on earth who could impress me in writing. And besides, I'm way too inebriated." "Yes," he insists. "Not right now, the timing isn't right." Daniel types furiously. "You have to fill these things out while you're drunk, and there is no time like the present." "What if someone found out it was me?" I asked, horrified. "I would never live it down." "Nobody cares about dating apps, everybody does it," Rebecca scoffs as if I'm clueless. "Don't use your real name, then." "Wouldn't that be weird, though?" I say. "Like I told him a fake name and then we're on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I'm actually a liar." "Well, you don't have to tell them straight up," Daniel says as he types. "You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name." I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile. Daniel is fun. He hands me my laptop. "You fill in the rest." "Huh?" "I filled it out for you, answer the next question." "What?" "We made you a profile," Rebecca informs me. "Just humor us, please." Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: 5ft7 Weight: Just right Appearance: Gorgeous Hobbies: Gym and working out, laughing Favorite pastime: Eating out and having sex Profession: Computer analytics Hair color: Sandy blonde Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive What are you looking for? "Pinkie Leroo?" I scoff. "Who the hell is that?" "That's you." "What?" I laugh. "You couldn't come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine." "Men love that shit," Daniel replies. "But, do they?" I read through the details they've added. "I thought we were lying on this thing?" "We are." "Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so ..." I shrug. "The gym and working out part?" Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow. "This is ridiculous." I slam my computer shut and stand. "I'm going to bed." I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel's cheek. "Goodnight, naughty boy." "Night. Fill in that profile, I'm checking it in the morning." I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. "You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are," I call. "You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit." "Don't knock it till you try it," he calls back. "Ugh." Rebecca winces. "I am never going down on a woman. Like fvcking ever. It's just too ... in your face ... literally." I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. "Stop," I cry. Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I'm wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel's and Rebecca's words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you. Who am I kidding, I am free. I don't know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It's men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they're all just looking for the next Barbie doll. I read over the profile they created and I smile as an idea rolls around in my head. I'm going to prove just how shallow and fickle men really are. I open my computer, go back to the profile, and I change my answers. Name: Pinkie Leroo Height: On point Weight: Pretty face Appearance: Below average Hobbies: Playing with my twelve cats Favorite pastime: Washing my hair Profession: Taxidermies Hair color: Pink – notice my name (insert eye roll) Eyes: Star struck Skin: Pasty white I go onto the internet and search for a picture of a cat, find an image of a huge fat one with bulging eyes. It's the ugliest cat I ever saw. "Here, kitty, kitty." I smile as I upload it as my profile pic. I read the question again: [What are you looking for?] I inhale deeply as I think, hmm ... I want to write something that will show me what I already know, that nobody interests me at all. I twist my lips as I contemplate my words. [I'm looking for someone who is only one color, but not one size. Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain. Doing no harm, but feeling no pain.] I smile and hit submit: that will weed them out. Nobody will respond. It's Thursday, and it's been the best week I've had in a long time. Daniel is hilarious, and we've been out to dinner every night, because apparently, he doesn't ever feel like anything home-cooked. We have champagne taste on a beer budget. He's announced that, by default, we are his official best friends now, seeing as he has nobody else in town. He even asked me to go to an event next week that he's been invited to. I'm going as his date, but there is no date, it's not like that between us. I do have to admit though, he's great company. Oh, and surprise, surprise ... nobody has messaged me on my dating app. Just like I knew they wouldn't. I smile as I wriggle into my netball uniform. I'm in the bathroom stall in my office building, work has finished for the day, and I'm playing netball at six-thirty, and there isn't enough time to go home and get back into town. I slide it down over my shoulders and cringe as I look at myself. "Oh ... yuck," I whisper. "This is hideous." Skintight, bright red, the dress sticks to my body like super glue and it's super short. I walk to the mirror to stare at my reflection. I look like a netball player in some sicko porn gang team skit. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Ugh, who picked these uniforms?" I sigh as I rearrange my boobs. "So ugly." I shrug my shoulders. Oh well. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail and make my way back to my office. It's too early to go yet, so I'll finish up some odd jobs while I wait. Chapter 4 Adrian I glance at my watch. Jameson and Tristan are here and have gone downstairs with Christopher. I'm just finishing up these reports and then we're heading out. Running the London arm of Drake Media, one of the biggest media companies in the world, has its trials and tribulations. I get to be the boss, but with that comes a never-ending sense of responsibility. My brother Jameson is the CEO of the United States company, and I oversee UK and Germany. We run France together. It's a stressful role, but one that I enjoy immensely. They've been ages, what the hell are they doing? I click onto the security camera to see if they're close; a collage of pictures comes up on my computer screen. I glance through them to see that they are on level one, and am just about to click out of it when something bright flashes in the bottom left of the screen, catching my eye. What's that? I click to enlarge that screen for a closer investigation. It's a woman wearing a high ponytail—she's in a bright red, Lycra sports dress ... It's fitted and all-in-one and has a little short flared skirt ... Huh? She has her back to the camera and is standing at a photocopier. I study the screen to try and make out where the footage is from. It looks like ... a photocopy room, maybe. I can't quite place it, is she a cleaner or something? No, a cleaner wouldn't be photocopying. I'm confused. I turn up the audio of that camera and I hear music; a man's voice comes on. "Good evening, you're listening to Disco with Dave." The radio is playing. "I've got your number tonight, groovy people. Get ready to party with the best disco tunes of all time," his voice continues. A song comes on, it's catchy and familiar, although I can't place it. The woman in the short Lycra dress begins to wiggle her behind to the beat; she double-bumps to one side and then the other. Hmm, interesting. Leaning on my desk, I press my index finger along my temple as I watch her moving to "Ring My Bell." She's really dancing as she photocopies and I smirk; my eyes drop to her long legs, which are muscular and shapely. Her waist is small and the curve of her hips is accentuated by the way she sashays from side to side. Hmm ... I run the side of my finger over my lips and sit back, totally distracted by the hot ass bumping in the red dress. The way she bounces to the beat is so joyful ... She's dancing like nobody is watching. Only I am, and it's very ... She drops one of her papers and bends over with straight legs to pick it up; I get a full view of her tight ass in her tiny red Lycra shorts. My c0ck twitches, my eyebrows rise in surprise, and I sit forward in my seat, my interest officially piqued. She rolls her hips and a wave of arousal runs through me; I begin to hear my pulse in my ears. The way she dances and moves is so ... Fcking hot. My c0ck pitches a tent in my pants and I inhale sharply. I can't remember the last time a woman aroused me on sight alone. She drops another file and wiggles down to pick it up, and once again I get a full view of her muscular legs and ass. I inhale sharply as she stands, my body imagines what she would feel like, and I rearrange myself in my pants. Delicious. She turns toward the camera and for the first time I see her face; I jump back from my computer. What the fck? It's Blair ... "You ready?" Tristan's voice sounds from behind me. I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered. "I'll meet you in the lobby," I stammer. "Just got to take care of something." "Okay, don't be long, hey?" Jameson says. I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock. No. Couldn't be. Blair's not hot, she's never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fvcking hot. My c0ck is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone. Just another quick look ... Wouldn't hurt. It probably wasn't even her. I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat. It is her. She's facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances. I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off. My c0ck clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head. Fck ... I need to get laid.
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It’s true: most young athletes don’t fail because of talent… They fail because their mind shuts down under pressure. And today, you can finally give your child the ability to: ✅ Stay calm in big games ✅ Bounce back after mistakes ✅ Play with unshakable confidence …all for less than the cost of one family pizza night. 🍕 Here’s what they’ll get inside: 1️⃣ Step-by-step video lessons - so they know exactly how to reset their mind when nerves hit. 2️⃣ Daily confidence audio tracks - so they can lock in before training, games, or after tough setbacks. 3️⃣ Parent support guide - so you know what to say (and what not to say) to help them thrive. ⚡ Take the shortcut: For a limited time, save 75% with code MSP75. 👉 https://playerscout.mykajabi.com/playermindset
Hey Sports Parent, ever watched your child train so hard all week… only to freeze up on game day? This is for you. We’ve helped thousands of players across the world build unshakable confidence, focus, and control, so they can finally play the way they train when it matters most. And the changes don’t take months. Parents see it in days. Like Liam (15)… ❌ Used to freeze in trials ✅ Now starts every game, his coach even told him: “Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.” Or Sophie (13)… ❌ Got anxious every weekend, quiet before matches ✅ Now plays with a smile, shakes off mistakes, and actually enjoys her sport again. Or Marcus (17)… ❌ Flying one week, crumbling the next ✅ Now calm and consistent every single game, no more rollercoaster. Right now, you can get instant lifetime access to the Player Mindset Program: 1// 8 weeks of step-by-step training (self-paced, start anytime) 2// Daily audio tracks your child can use before and after games 3// Parent support guide to help you encourage them the right way 👉 Give your child the confidence to shine under pressure, with a proven system trusted by athletes worldwide. ⚡ Take the shortcut: For a limited time, save 75% with code MSP75. Click below to get started today 👇
It’s true: most young athletes don’t fail because of talent… They fail because their mind shuts down under pressure. And today, you can finally give your child the ability to: ✅ Stay calm in big games ✅ Bounce back after mistakes ✅ Play with unshakable confidence …all for less than the cost of one family pizza night. 🍕 Here’s what they’ll get inside: 1️⃣ Step-by-step video lessons - so they know exactly how to reset their mind when nerves hit. 2️⃣ Daily confidence audio tracks - so they can lock in before training, games, or after tough setbacks. 3️⃣ Parent support guide - so you know what to say (and what not to say) to help them thrive. ⚡ Take the shortcut: For a limited time, save 75% with code MSP75. 👉 https://playerscout.mykajabi.com/playermindset
Hey Sports Parent, ever watched your child train so hard all week… only to freeze up on game day? This is for you. We’ve helped thousands of players across the world build unshakable confidence, focus, and control, so they can finally play the way they train when it matters most. And the changes don’t take months. Parents see it in days. Like Liam (15)… ❌ Used to freeze in trials ✅ Now starts every game, his coach even told him: “Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.” Or Sophie (13)… ❌ Got anxious every weekend, quiet before matches ✅ Now plays with a smile, shakes off mistakes, and actually enjoys her sport again. Or Marcus (17)… ❌ Flying one week, crumbling the next ✅ Now calm and consistent every single game, no more rollercoaster. Right now, you can get instant lifetime access to the Player Mindset Program: 1// 8 weeks of step-by-step training (self-paced, start anytime) 2// Daily audio tracks your child can use before and after games 3// Parent support guide to help you encourage them the right way 👉 Give your child the confidence to shine under pressure, with a proven system trusted by athletes worldwide. ⚡ Take the shortcut: For a limited time, save 75% with code MSP75. Click below to get started today 👇
It’s true: most young athletes don’t fail because of talent… They fail because their mind shuts down under pressure. And today, you can finally give your child the ability to: ✅ Stay calm in big games ✅ Bounce back after mistakes ✅ Play with unshakable confidence …all for less than the cost of one family pizza night. 🍕 Here’s what they’ll get inside: 1️⃣ Step-by-step video lessons - so they know exactly how to reset their mind when nerves hit. 2️⃣ Daily confidence audio tracks - so they can lock in before training, games, or after tough setbacks. 3️⃣ Parent support guide - so you know what to say (and what not to say) to help them thrive. ⚡ Take the shortcut: For a limited time, save 75% with code MSP75. 👉 https://playerscout.mykajabi.com/playermindset
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