“You think that maybe….” Carla trails off because right at that moment my assistant, Cheryl walks up to me. I’m putting on my boxer briefs. But Cheryl doesn’t care. She’s seen everything already. And fuck you, no, I’ve never fucked her. But she’s been there for me since I was a kid.
Before I inherited all this. Before Illicit Entertainment was a globe girdling media company.
“I see you still insist on doing these movies, Ethan,” Cheryl says in an exasperated voice as she barely pays Carla any mind. Carla stands around for another minute, but decides that being naked at this point in time as everyone moves around her is just silly.
“You didn’t get the head shots, right?” I ask Cheryl.
She shakes her head. “No, everything was caught from the neck down,” she confirms. “It’s ready for beta testing on the product. We can head to the developer meeting right after this.”
Cheryl turns and starts walking to the door. She expects me to follow.
Oh right. The product. Haven’t told you what that is, babe. But trust me, you’re going to love it.
But before you head on in, let me just give you a fucking warning, okay?
You’ve seen what my fucking monster cock can do.
There’s a lot more fucking coming up. Seriously, either take your panties off now, or get ready for them to get drenched. And I’m talking wet enough that there’s no passing it off.
Make sure you’re by yourself. Get the fucking batteries ready. Get the fan. Fuck. Do whatever.
Because you’re about to go for a ride that’s gonna fucking rock your whole world.
Just don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you, babe.
I turn around and slip my shirt on and follow Cheryl out of the studio.
Brittney
I check my face in my compact mirror one last time and get out of the car. I get a few looks from the people on the street—a door to a limo usually has the driver opening it, but no way I’m going to waste Walter’s time doing that right now. He absolutely has places to be and he needs to go focus on that. Besides, I’m a big girl. I’ve been a big girl for a while now.
I tug the sash around my trench coat and hold my head up. This is going to be easy. This is going to be fun.
My heels click and clack on the shiny marble floor as I walk into the global headquarters of Carter Jeffries—the storied investment bank. It’s located in midtown Manhattan, on 52nd and Park Avenue. I head straight to the security desk and look the overworked schmo in the eye.
“Brittney Roman to see Carl Ketchum,” I tell the security guard. I don’t pay any attention to the guy. I need to let him think that I think I’m too good for him. That I’m too busy looking at my phone, looking at my nails, doing anything.
I know how to pull it off. I’ve had to pull myself out of worse before. Hell, there’s not a day that doesn’t go by where I don’t look back at my life and wonder how I ended up here, owning my own company that's worth millions of dollars at the age of 27.
When just four years ago I was in Los Angeles and seriously wondering if I was going to be alive the next day. If it was better off to just die.
But no, I’m sorry hun; I need to focus. I’ll tell you all about it later, okay?
Right now, I need to smile perfunctorily at the guard as he scans my face and asks for my ID. I need to look to the side so he can stare at my profile in what he thinks is a sneaky manner.
I need to loosen my trench coat just a little bit to give him a peek down into my tits. That always works for men. Not much trouble getting them to say fuck it with protocol and let me in if I show some boob. He doesn’t care if I’m not on the list. I’ve smiled and flirted and I even touched his hand an extra second longer when I gave him my ID. But then I went back to ignoring him.
I’m sure subconsciously he’s thinking if he makes this fast for me he's going to have some kind of shot when I come downstairs. Maybe I’ll go back with him to his studio apartment in the Bronx and suck his dick.
Too bad I don’t leave Manhattan. Or suck loser dick.
And that’s just what he is. A fucking loser. Because two seconds later he does everything I told you he would. He hands me a temporary pass. “45th floor, Miss Roman,” he says to me and I nod sweetly. Let’s keep the hope alive. Without hope, we’re all dead anyways, right hun?
Oh, yeah, okay, fine. I’ll even shake my ass a bit side to side as I walk to the security turnstiles. Keep his stare for a bit longer.
The elevator ride takes seriously just under a minute. That’s because the elevator I get into serves only the first floor, and floors 40 to 50. I guess those investment and private equity bankers can’t wait, huh? They have to get to work at their desks screwing over the country as fast as they can.
I walk out of the elevators and enter the lobby of the 45th floor. This is the Private Client floor for Carter Jeffries—one department among dozens that operates as a company within a company.