James
Ow. The cold water pelts my chest and back. It lands on my throbbing cock like an airdrop of water on a forest fire—in that it does little to put out my lust.
I wish I had known when she first got into my bed so I could’ve done something with it. Spooned her.
No. Stop. I’m not going to bemoan that I didn’t make a move. It would be below me. She’s a dozen years my junior. My employee.
What do I want the papers saying about me? I remember how they tore into Alex when he first started dating Hailee. She was an employee of his, too.
The modern world does not look well on bosses who shit where they eat. And for good reason. Hell, in college I used to never sleep with girls I had a class with. That’s how far my rule for separation between business and sex went.
But I’m stuck picturing her messy hair when she woke up this morning. The wrinkles of sheets tattooed on her shoulder. The little burn of embarrassment on her cheeks. I could study her like one could a piece of art in the gallery. Hell, for much, much longer.
Maybe art began as a fill-in for men who didn’t have beautiful women in their lives. Who in their right mind would spend a minute admiring a painting if they had a woman like Sophia in their bed?
I start to grow hot under the cold water, but it’s not from wanting.
I’m wondering if she’s seeing another man right now. I doubt it. I don’t think she’d be so quick to come up to my apartment last night. But still… The question eats at me more than I thought it would. Picturing another man laying hands on her makes my muscles flex in anger.
I turn off the shower, not feeling any better than before. The first thing I do when I’m dry is walk towards the guest room Sophia stayed in. The bed is made perfectly, as if she was never even here.
I lean against the doorframe and stare for a minute. I think I know what I have to do to keep good on my promise to Alex. There’s only one thing I can do.
I need to fire her.
Now would be a good time to do it. I’d give her a year’s worth of income. There’d be no guilt there. I could even set her up with another job in the industry. I can work with Jessica, annoying as she is.
I text Richard to schedule a meeting to terminate Sophia at three p.m. tomorrow. It turns out I won’t be seeing her after all.
This is more like it. More like me. Brutal. Business oriented. The best way to avoid temptation is to not be fucking tempted.
I have no intention of ruining Sophia’s life or having to worry about her catching feelings. There’s enough tension between us as is. Therefore, I should fire her. Doing so would be practical, pragmatic. Correct.
I go to the offices of Aquarius on Park Ave. We occupy a Gilded Age mansion that was first converted into an event venue but is now made up of a couple dozen offices.
Our company doesn’t require many employees. My extremely low overhead is one of the reasons I’ve been able to accumulate such a fortune at such an age.
My office is in what was once the master bedroom. It’s half the size of a basketball court. There’s a fireplace, big desk, and two couches facing each other like it’s the Oval Office. This company is not the jeans and T-shirt tech outfit you’ll find on the West Coast.
Our clients want us in suits.
Besides, I’m no whiz kid. That was Raheem Faris, my roommate back in college. He created security software that I didn’t have a dream of creating myself. I am no math genius—I’m a businessman. So, the two of us made the perfect pair.
I sold the software, grew our client list, and managed the books while he made the tech. We made a meager living with small to mid-sized businesses as our customers.
It all changed when we managed to snag a contract from the Department of Defense for four hundred million a year. Raheem retired years ago at twenty-nine. He’s currently biking around the world after completing the seven summits. Good for him. I prefer the summits of real life.
Growing the business, and the lion’s share of its stock, has been left to me.
Lately, however, the same old sales calls and board meetings have grown old. It’s time to diversify. Branch into more interesting industries now that I have the money to do it.
Art isn’t a bad one. It’s a gateway to connections. Owning a fancy gallery that sells some of the most priceless pieces of art and artifacts in the world will put the business card of every royal heir and billionaire dictator in my pocket.
Today creeps along. When it’s lunch, I think it’s three in the afternoon. I take a few calls where I know I’m noticeably more distant than usual. It’s not Sophia who’s distracting me. I’m just horny.
I should’ve released my lust in the shower with my right hand. I’m picturing what it would feel like to press her against a wall and stick my tongue down her throat.
To conquer her.
I want to get those big brown eyes begging .
Enough. I shut my laptop and briefly bite my thumbnail. I’m like an ape right now. Uncontrolled. Animal.
I know what it is. A bad case of wanting what I can’t get. Maybe if Alex hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have this problem.
But I doubt it. I hate that I can’t have her.
I fill my briefcase and stand to leave. It’s not even four, but I have my secretary reschedule the rest of my calls. I walk through the wood-paneled halls and out through the marble foyer.
I wave off my driver and decide to walk the mile and a half back home. My security trails me half a block behind.
I get back to the penthouse and go to its second floor, where my home office and gym are both located. I find myself useless in both.
I can’t focus on work, but when I go to workout, I stare off into space between sets. It’s not just Sophia.
It’s the gallery. The plan. The creeping feeling that I don’t even know what I want.
To conquer, I told Sophia. That’s the only thing that brings me a modicum of satisfaction. But it’s only for a moment. All my wins feel fleeting. They just leave me wanting the next one.
I run on the treadmill, something that doesn’t need focusing. I turn up the speed faster and faster until I’m sprinting, and sweat is flying off my arms with each pump.
My lungs and legs burn.
My brain can think of nothing else but pushing through the pain. I go longer than I should, and when I hit the stop button and my heart rate begins to slow, I feel all the thoughts immediately crawling back to my brain.
Like roaches that scatter in the light but come back as soon as it’s dark again.
It’s already evening. The sun is gone. I go downstairs to shower. I’m about to step inside it when my doorbell rings. That’s odd. It’s never rung before. I’ve always been ready to let guests in myself, and my security has their own keycards.
Brock is off tonight. Part of the reason I have him posted to the roof is for show. Anyone casing this place will know it’s heavily guarded.
I walk naked to a security control panel in my bedroom. There, I open the cameras and see Sophia standing outside my private door in the stairwell. She’s holding a plate with tinfoil on top of it.
I frown, and for a second, I think of not answering, but then I remember her meeting tomorrow with Richard. If I’m going to have her fired, I should face her myself.
I toss on a black bathrobe and go to the door. By the time I get there and open it, she has already turned and started back down the stairs to her apartment. She turns back as I step out into the stairwell.
“Oh hey.” Her eyes glance nervously over my bathrobe. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You’re not disturbing.”
“Great.” She walks back up the stairs with her eyes on the foil-covered plate she holds. “I brought these as thanks. By the way, my new door is swankier than my old one. Much sturdier.”
“That’s good. And what are these?” I ask as I slowly take the plate.
“Snickerdoodles.” Sophia beams.
I blink in surprise. What the hell is this girl doing? Do I look like the kind of guy who eats a plate of snickerdoodles? Maybe I’ve let my image slip with all this gentleman nonsense.
But I’m not about to shove them back at her. I’m already about to be the bad guy. Still she’s teasing me. And I tease back. “Snickerdoodles. I should’ve guessed, snowflake.” I shouldn’t call her names, but I can’t resist teasing back. But I must end this. I move aside. “Do you want to come in for a moment?”
“Oh. I mean—”
“I insist. It’s about business.”
“Oh.” Sophia nods agreeably. “Okay.”
She walks in, and I lead her to the living room. “Stay for a minute,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
I go to my room and change quickly into dark jeans and a dress shirt. I am not about to fire someone in a bathrobe. When I get back, she’s eating one of the cookies and looking around at the art on the walls. Judging my taste, no doubt.
“What’s the meeting about tomorrow?” she says, her mouth ever so slightly full. It makes her sound endearing. She looks like a fragile little thing, sitting on the massive couch with her cookies in front of her.
I feel like I’m about to put a Girl Scout in front of a firing squad. “It’s about our next collection. Egyptian artifacts. Some sculptures but also ornaments and jewelry. I’m going to Cairo to see a man’s private collection.”
“Oh, are you serious? I love Egyptology! It was my minor in college.”
Shit. Why did I tell her anything? This is just going to make the bad news worse. Alex isn’t going to be happy with me firing her, but didn’t he say she was sick of the gallery?
“Yeah. Jessica is going to be accompanying me.”
“That’s right,” she says.
My heart sinks as I watch Sophia’s shoulders fall in disappointment. Why on earth is my heart tied to this girl’s emotions? It needs severing, and I plan to do it now.
“I forgot Jessica is actually kind of an expert on ancient Egypt and Mesopotamian art,” says Sophia. I didn’t expect her to be interested in this Egyptian project.
“Yes. Jessica may be a bit… impersonal. But she’s not bad at what she does.”
Sophia picks up another cookie. I can tell she just wants something else to focus on.
She’s nervous.
I would say this feels like I’m preparing to rip off a Band-Aid, but the anticipation is much worse. It’s like I’m about to put down a dog. Where are my iron nerves now?
I don’t try to summon them. They’re nowhere to be found. I just speak with my mouth dry with guilt. “Look, Sophia…”
She glances up at me with a hint of concern in those big dark eyes. She can tell from my tone that what I’m about to say is not good.
“We are going to be doing some restructuring at the gallery.”
“Sure. I think ancient Egypt is a good choice. It’s niche enough to get attention. And while not cheap, you have the money to pull off a serious collection, obviously.”
I’m so pained, I close my eyes for a second. I’m usually much smoother at firing people. But they’re not usually in my living room with a plate of fucking cookies. Nor do they not deserve it. I don’t fire people who haven’t fucked up big-time.
“I know you haven’t been in love with your job at the gallery. And it’s a good time for us to make some adjustments. I think it’s best if we go our separate ways.”
She stops chewing. She holds the crescent of her cookie after taking a big bite of it. She sits still for several seconds before I watch her finish chewing and swallow.
There’s no anger in her eyes. That would be much preferable to what I see.
There’s insecurity. Damage.
“You’re firing me?”
I feel like I just kicked a dog. “I’m offering a full year severance and a glowing recommendation to any future employer. We’re just trying to lighten the ship.” I cringe. Lighten the ship. I should throw myself off my balcony. What kind of corporate tool talks like that?
“Oh.” She sets the half-eaten cookie on the plate.
Say more. Yell. Her stunned silence is torture. I assure myself this is for the best. Sophia only stands to get hurt from being in business with me. And not just emotionally. I’m doing her a professional courtesy, but it’s not something I can easily elaborate on. Not without spilling what a monster I really am.
“Thank you for the cookies, Sophia. I’ll have your termination documents emailed over by midnight.”
She widens her eyes. And I almost know what she’s thinking—it turns out she was right about me all along.
Asshole. Billionaire. A man who cares about nothing but his own bottom line.
“Okay,” she says, agreeably. Again, there’s no anger to be found on her face or in her tone. Just sadness.
I don’t understand what it’s like to get fired. I’m sure it comes with a feeling of inadequacy. Inadequate is not what Sophia is, but I’m too busy wearing my armor to articulate that to her. She is just an employee, I remind myself. But my fingers tighten into fists.
Sophia stands and starts to walk out of the living room before she stops and turns. “You may think you’re different , that you’re not like all the other dirty old bastards with a billion dollars, but just know the only thing separating you and them is a pretty face.”
She leaves before I have a chance to respond, not that I was planning on it. Based on the persona I’ve just shown her, she’s right.
I almost admire her for having the guts to speak her mind. In fact, not almost—I do admire her. She’s not a kiss-ass like Jessica or the majority of the people I’ve employed over the years.
That kind of personality is valuable. Someone who can call you out on a blind spot.
Am I really that afraid of my inability to not sleep with a woman that I fired her?
But I’m not being ridiculous. There’s a sexual tension between the two of us that won’t lead anywhere good.
She doesn’t understand that if we slept together, she’d be mine. And by the time I was done with her, she’d be a messy, blubbering mess who loved me with her whole heart. It’s not presumptuous of me to think this. It happens every time.
Lust turns to love. She’ll want to be owned for life.
But that is never an option.
I stand and go to the bar in the corner of the room. I bring down a bottle of scotch and fill a glass half full.
The burn and brain blur of liquor doesn’t do anything to cool the guilt I feel. I walk into my bedroom, where I know her apartment is below. She’s just feet away. A thin layer of concrete. But I know that she’ll never want to see me again.
In fact, the distance between us might as well be miles.