“Which you would be.” I shook my finger at him. “I told you the escorting was a big decision, not to be taken lightly. Once you do it, you can’t erase it from your past.”
“I enjoyed it for a while. I’m still enjoying it. The money’s great. It’s just…”
“I know.” I walked over and embraced him. “I remember. If you want to stop, just tell Henry. He won’t be angry. He won’t pimp-slap you or anything.”
Andrew pressed his curls against my cheek. “That’s too bad. I probably would have liked it.”
I was glad Andrew and I were friends, even if he bitched at me sometimes about Price. We understood each other because we were equally fucked up in the head.
“Price wants me to travel to Oslo with him,” I said. I’d been saving that little nugget until Andrew calmed down. “He’s been offered a commission there, to design a historical museum. We’ll be there a couple weeks, for meetings and financial stuff.”
“Let me guess, it’s just an internship thing?” Andrew pulled away from me. “I guess you’ve already told him yes?”
“I won’t have sex with him. We won’t be alone there. Three of his associates are coming too.”
“Great, an orgy then. How exciting!”
“No sex. No orgies. No choking and fucking and mayhem,” I emphasized. “One hundred percent professional.”
Dear religious, all-powerful entity, please help me be professional. Please help me resist sleeping with my sexual titan of a boss on this business trip.
In the name of God or Krishna or Moses, or whoever can freaking help me. Amen.
Price
We weren’t alone on this flight to Oslo. It wasn’t a lovers’ getaway, unfortunately. In my fantasies, yes. In reality? No.
Three of my firm’s associates were with us, and one of them, Raneesh, had taken the seat beside me on the plane. Hannah and Jennifer sat in the adjacent row, and Chere was one row back, in the seat I’d intended for one of them.
Fuck. I couldn’t oust Raneesh so Chere could sit beside me, because I had business to talk with Raneesh, and Chere was just along to “learn.” Still, I wanted to do it.
I didn’t.
In all this time, not one of my associates had come to suspect that Chere and I had a history together. They treated Chere the way you’d expect them to treat an intern, with polite and stand-offish condescension. If they thought it strange that I paid for an intern to accompany us to Oslo for two weeks, they didn’t comment on my decision.
Chere wasn’t even in front of me, damn it. If she was in front of me, I could have at least stared at the back of her head. Instead, I had to control the number of times I zoned out on Raneesh to glance back at her. I cursed myself for not hiring a private plane, large enough for two passengers and a bed. I could have been inside her all the way across the ocean. Oh, but I couldn’t. Professionalism and all that.
When we arrived in Oslo, it was evening, local time, and Jennifer suggested dinner before we headed to the hotel.
Fuck me. Of course we would go to dinner. That’s what associates did on a business trip, and I was the only one fluent in Norwegian. At least I could look at Chere during dinner, if I couldn’t touch her and lick her all over the way I wanted to. Travel made me horny. No, not exactly. Traveling with Chere made me horny.
I stared at her as we waited for a car to take us to the restaurant. She was in full intern mode, silent, sober, listening to Hannah and Jennifer go on as if their idle conversation about Oslo’s skyline was of utmost importance.
“Hey, boss. You all right?”
Raneesh’s question stopped the ladies’ conversation and brought all eyes to me.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“You look tense.”
I raised my shoulders. “I might be a little tense. I worked late last night, getting some final idea sheets together.” Actually, I’d worked late last night masturbating to the fantasy of fucking Chere over my drafting table. “I’ll order a massage at the hotel,” I said, as they continued to regard me with concern.
Hannah was the first to drop her gaze, but not before I saw the invitation there. She’d give me a massage if I asked her to. She’d even let me fuck her over my drafting table, but she was the ball-busting, corporate-climber type, and I was pretty sure if I ever let her touch my dick, she’d break it off.
At dinner, I played a game called How long can I go without looking at Chere? Some of the glances were gimmes. It was natural to look at someone while they were talking, or while they were ordering. It was less natural to look at someone as she chewed bites of lemon-sauced salmon, and took sips of wine that seemed increasingly seductive. I wondered what the others would have thought if I ordered her under the table to suck me off. If they weren’t here, I might have tried it just to see what would happen. I was that wrought up.