Declan
I wake up and check the time. Six thirty, which is a little early. But going back to sleep is impossible. My mind is whirring. My body feels tight and hot.
Hello, morning wood.
Usually my dick doesn’t get like this when I’m up earlier than normal. Usually I just want to pee and go back to sleep.
But that isn’t happening today.
So I get up and shower. Yuna’s coming in a couple of hours. Thinking about her makes me even harder.
“I’m not jerking off to my assistant,” I say to my dick. “If I’m going to come, I want to come inside her.”
It remains mute. And hard.
Fine. I’ll think of something disgusting. Like…Tim and Melvin making out.
In the nude.
It works. Tim and Melvin are in their late fifties, and I do not need to see them naked, ever, in my imagination or anywhere else. Especially if they’re making out.
I shave, stretch out and do some light calisthenics. Then put on a silk V-neck shirt and some slacks. A slightly upscale look for my lunch with Tim.
I go to the kitchen, start the coffee machine and dump some egg whites into a bowl to make a scramble. I don’t know why you have to beat egg whites together—I mean, they’re all just white—but a celebrity chef at a party told me once you need to beat them anyway.
Yuna arrives by the time I’ve poured myself a mug of coffee. The eggs are almost finished, too.
“Want some?” I ask, in case she’s hungry. She might’ve tossed my card out, but I’m not a total bastard.
“No, thank you. I don’t like egg whites.”
“What do you like for breakfast, then?”
“Coffee and abalone porridge topped with a little bit of sesame seed oil and seaweed flakes. It’s one of my favorites. My parents’ chef makes the best abalone porridge. Better than what you can get at some five-star hotels.”
I’ve never had that particular dish, bu
t it doesn’t sound appetizing. “Isn’t abalone, like, seafood?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you put it in a porridge?”
“Uh-huh.” She beams happily.
Who eats seafood for breakfast? Well, maybe caviar. But even caviar is pretty weird for breakfast. “I didn’t know hotels had porridge for breakfast.”
“They do in Korea.” She looks at the lone egg bagel on the counter. “Are you going to eat that?”
“Hadn’t planned on it.”
“Then I’ll have that, toasted. With some cream cheese if you’ve got it.”
I give her a look. How did she jump from something as odd as abalone porridge to bagels?
“Oh, right,” she says. “Sorry! You’re the boss, I’m the assistant. I’m supposed to be serving myself.” She reaches for the bagel.
She thought I was giving her a funny look because she asked for the bagel? Jeez. Maybe her family’s really high-handed and snotty with their assistants.