Page 5 of Heartless Boss
Ask Mandy, she’s in charge of hosting parties.
“The system is down in the marketing department.”
Check with the IT department.
“Mr. Underwood!”
“Gunner!”
The elevator doors open. I step inside and tap the button, and it takes me to the thirtieth floor. As I open the glass door, Gia sits at my sister’s old desk. Raggedy purple headphones cover her ears, and her wavy, brunette hair falls over her shoulders like a waterfall as she sings off tune to a garbage current rock song.
FYI—rock music today is straight-up garbage. Eighties and nineties rock music is where it’s at. Legends were created during that era.
I stand in the arch of the doorway, admiring the beauty in front of me. Gia’s face is as beautiful as a sunset over the ocean when the sky bleeds orange. You want to stare at it all day. Whiskey eyes with specks of gold around the irises. She has a button nose and bee-stung lips, the bottom one slightly bigger, and her skin is as pale as Snow White’s.
Is she wearing the black dress that hugs her tits and makes her ass look good enough to bite? The one I fantasize about fucking her in—the one that makes my dick go hard in my slacks?
When she shoots me hate glares from across the room, my dick gets even harder. I want to flip her over the desk and fuck her until she’s begging me to stop. I try to discreetly adjust myself.
Gia’s the fuck who got away. I wanted to fuck her in college, but she’d never give me the time of day. I’d stalk her when she was working at the library and she would not utter one word to me. At first, I thought she was mute until I saw her speaking to one of her coworkers.
Nothing has really changed about her; she hides her personality under cheap clothing, and she wears her emotions on her sleeve like armor as if she’s ready for battle. Mingling with people is her least favorite thing—when we have our Thursday morning meet-and-greets in the conference room, Gia sits in the corner by herself playing on her phone. When workers try to have a conversation with her, she only gives them one- or two-word answers, but when I speak to her, she bites down on her bottom lip, like she wants to say something smart. Gia doesn’t strike me as the type to do one-night stands or indulge in fucking without strings attached. She has this innocent and pure demeanor to her that tells me she hasn’t been properly fucked by a guy.
Don’t let me get started on how she sucks at her job—she sends the wrong flowers to my ma, books wrong meetings, and almost sent my ma and her husband to Georgia. Not the state, but the country.
The only real reason why I keep her around is that when I interviewed her, she was hungry for the job. The rest of the interviewees were interested in more than the job. They were interested in me feasting on their pussy.
My sister, Alana, was my last PA, and she worked for me for about seven years. She was on her A-game, and so far, no one has been as good as her.
When Gia stands up from the desk to lean over the printer, my eyes drink in her creamy legs up to her curvy, ripe ass. It’s like staring at a forbidden fruit. What kind of panties is she wearing? Probably some dark color that matches her dress.
Gia turns around and stops dead in her tracks, scrunching up her button nose.
Fuck me.
My balls feel like they are about to explode. The hem stops above her knee, and she’s wearing black knee-high socks. Rainbow looks like heaven wrapped in cheap clothing.
How can she be sexy without trying to be?
“I printed out your schedule for today and set it on your desk. You need anything?” Her voice is alluring, soothing my ears, like a siren.
Yeah, hop on the desk, spread your legs, and let me eat your pussy.
I need to get her the hell out of here—keep her busy for the next hour or so—before I say or do something stupid. I grab my black credit card from my breast pocket and hand it to her. “Pick up my suit from the dry cleaners, buy a pair of ballet shoes in a size five from Dance Ware, and go pick up my watch from my jeweler on Forty-Seventh Street.”
“Um, okay,” Rainbow says, her almond-shaped eyes narrow.
“Grab something to eat while you’re out.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs, clutching her purse and slinging it over her shoulder.
As she marches past me, the smell of fresh apples filters through my nose. This is what forbidden innocence smells like.
When I march to my desk, I slouch in my brown leather seat, glancing at the time on my computer. It’s eleven-thirty a.m. So I have three hours to kill until I have my conference call with my CFO, Mason. In the meantime, I can get my dick sucked by a woman I met last night at the club. I grab my iPhone from my breast pocket and tap the letterNin the contacts. She can keep me from fucking Gia.
Me: Come to my office and suck my dick.
I serve her a cold plate of straight-to-the-point, that way she won’t get it in her skull I’m the type to take home to meet Mommy and Daddy. No, not me. I’m quite the opposite.
