Oops.
Wrong guess.
But am I CEO or am I CEO?
I lean back in my chair, let a slow smile spread, and point at him. “Gotcha.” I slap the table. “Of course we’re ready. We’re ready to launch that rocket into the holiday stratosphere. Santa’s going to have a bag full of naughty this Christmas.”
I’m rewarded with cheers and laughter.
I stand, give a quick wave, and say, “I have an important call to make. Good work, good focus, and great hustle.”
That earns me some smiles for keeping the meeting on time.
Inside my office, I close the door and will my mind to concentrate on the mountain of work that awaits me. With iron focus and sheer determination, I power my way through the afternoon.
In the early evening, I take off, saying goodbye to Brian. “Don’t work too late.”
He shuts his laptop. “I’m on my way out now. I need to head home to Missy and bring her some pepper steak. She’s been craving that like mad the last few weeks.”
“How far along is she now?”
“Thirty-seven weeks.”
I clap him on the back. “Excellent. And is everything going well?”
“Perfectly. Knock on wood.”
“Send her my best, and on the way home, why don’t you pick up some takeout from the Hunan Garden around the corner? Put it on my personal account.”
A grin spreads across his face. “I really appreciate that.”
“My pleasure.”
A productive day at work, a gesture of goodwill toward a colleague and his lady, and a hard workout in my future—it’s all good. But I can’t help wishing CJ were going to be with me tonight.
I’d really like to take her to night school. Right now.
After a muscle-burning and heart-pounding five-mile run, followed by an intense session of weights, I’ve exhausted my body and d
istracted my mind.
At home, I pour myself a Scotch and settle in to catch up on one of my favorite flicks of all time, Office Space. At this point, I can recite it as I watch, including the bit where the douche boss in his blue shirt and white cuffs monotones the line that makes every employee cringe. “Yeah, I’m going to need you to come in on Saturday.”
But rather than laughing at a too-true bit, I’m back where I started the day.
With CJ.
Bending her over my desk.
Working overtime on her body. Making her come on a Saturday. A Sunday. Hell, every day.
Damn, I’m an easy bastard, managing to get hard watching a dark comedy.
I glance down at the tent in my shorts. Thanks, CJ, for yet another erection courtesy of you. Tomorrow—and lesson two—can’t come soon enough.
I flick off the TV, since there’s no way I’m going to take care of this while Bill Lumbergh, the douche boss from the flick, is on the screen.
But my office is where I’d like to see CJ.