‘Brock. Are you okay?’
I can hear the concern in Clarissa’s voice as she hastily makes her way around to my side of the desk. I hear her gasp when she sees my pants around my thighs and Natalie on her knees under the desk. My cock is still in her mouth. I have to hold back a laugh when Natalie gives her a little wave.
‘How could you? This shit is going to stop when we’re married. Do you hear me?’ Clarissa screams, turning on her heel and running for the door. Natalie and I both burst out laughing when it slams closed behind her.
I push my chair back and stand to pull my pants up. Holding my hand out, I help Natalie to her feet.
‘Well that was awkward,’ she says, making me chuckle.
Hours later, my office door flies open again. The floor to ceiling windows behind me rattle as the handle hits the adjoining wall with a loud bang. Christ, doesn’t anyone know how to knock anymore? My head snaps up in annoyance. Great, my father. He only ever comes in here when he’s pissed and wants to rant. My guess is Clarissa went home and had a little cry to Daddy.
‘Have a seat, Father,’ I say sarcastically as he sits in the chair opposite me without waiting for an invitation.
‘I want her name. I’ll fire her immediately.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I say as I settle back into my chair and casually fold my arms behind my head.
‘Don’t play coy with me, young man. This is a business, not a damn whorehouse.’
‘You’d know all about that,’ I mumble under my breath. My father’s been seeing whores behind my mother’s back for as long as I’ve been old enough to know better. Does he think I’m stupid? At least I don’t have to pay women to have sex with me.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Exactly that. If you weren’t married to my mother, I wouldn’t give a shit about what you do, but the fact remains you are.’ The disdain in my voice doesn’t go unnoticed as I watch him squirm in his chair.
‘Don’t turn this around on me. I want her name, and I want it now.’
I have to repress my smile when I notice his face turning red. ‘You can’t fire someone who doesn’t work here.’
‘What do you mean she doesn’t work here? Who was she then?’
‘She works at the coffee shop across the street,’ I lie, because I don’t want Natalie to lose her job. She’s a single mother and needs the money. ‘You should go there some time. They give great service.’ I don’t know why I get pleasure out of getting under his skin, but I do. Maybe it’s because I don’t like him. Not a nice thing to say about your father, I know, but I lost all respect for him years ago.
‘There’s nothing funny about this,’ he yells, slamming his hand down on the desk. ‘Why I thought you could run a multimillion dollar enterprise, I’ll never know. You’re as useless as your fag of a brother.’
My knuckles turn white as my hands clamp onto either side of the desk in an effort not to wring his fucking neck. I lean towards him. ‘I’m doing a hell of a lot better than you did when you were in charge. This business has grown by fifty-seven percent in the two years since I’ve taken control, and it continues to grow daily.’
My father leans back in his chair, clearing his throat. He has no reply to that because he knows I’m right. Nobody could run this business as well as I do. Nobody.
After looking down at my Rolex watch, I lean across the desk and push the intercom. ‘Amy, can you tell my driver I’m ready to leave, please.’ I stand and grab my jacket off the back of the chair. This conversation is over.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I have a plane to catch.’
I can’t contain the excitement that courses through me as Rupert packs the last of my suitcases into the trunk of the limousine. This is my favourite time of the year: my one-week holiday. It’s the only time off I get, so I look forward to it. No M, no clients, no rules. Well, the rules are still there, but she’s not around to enforce them. M insists Rupert accompany me everywhere, but I’m okay with that. He lurks in the shadows mostly, letting me enjoy my free time.
My flight to New York leaves in just over three hours, but we need to stop by M’s place for my final inspection. I hate that she controls me like this. Two more years, I keep telling myself. Two more years.
While I make my way into the house, Rupert unloads the bags from the car so she can go through them. She insists that because I’m on show twenty-four-seven, she needs to inspect what I’ve packed and make sure it’s up to her standards. I’m forbidden to wear jeans, shorts, yoga pants, sweats, tees; things of that nature. I must dress and act like a lady at all times. I’m a fucking prostitute, for god’s sake. I get paid to have sex with men. There’s nothing ladylike about what I do for a living.