Chapter 6 #2
I cringe. Something else that is not my sort of thing, regardless of the crowd being male or female. Only for my big brother would I deign to attend such a spectacle – I don’t even think Presley could convince me, and she would con me into being her “maid of honor” or whatever Edwin is calling me. When he asked me to be his “best mate,” I laughed in his face. I thought he was joking. Honestly.
I didn’t expect him to want me in his wedding party. Doesn’t he have friends?
My brother laughs at my obvious discomfort. “One day, Jules, it’ll be your turn. You’re not getting any younger. Cupid will snap your ass with his love-towel at some point.”
Only Ted Marcon will talk to me like that. He gets away with it because he’s my older brother, and they love to metaphorically pull their sister’s hair all the way to forty.
At least he’s the distraction I need. After I hang up, I’m still fuming over my circumstances with my brother. The man hasn’t had to work for much. Since he’s six years older than me, he’s had ample time to take over the family business that splits its time up and down the Pacific coast. Right now, Ted is in LA, where he met his intended. Jordan’s decent enough, I suppose. I don’t care about that. I care that my brother doesn’t take his job as CEO of my family’s business more seriously.
As for me? I’ve worked my ass off for this business with Presley, and that was with minimal capital from my father. I come from privilege, naturally, but I used up most of my money establishing my lucrative career. How the hell would I have had time for this love bullshit Ted loves to dabble in? This will be his first marriage, but far from his first whirlwind romance. He’s rather infamous for his serial monogamy, so we’ll see how long this marriage lasts.
Meanwhile, I’ll continue to obsess over a woman I currently don’t have.
That must be what it is. Obsession. Every once in a while, a woman comes along who is beguiling enough to hypnotize me until I’m a mere shell of my former self. It was bound to happen at some point. Unlike my brother’s assertions, however, I won’t succumb. This is a mere, temporary annoyance that I will get over in due time.
One terrific way to do that would be by having her here with me.
My investigator has long returned the information I required. Personal information, of course. Contact information. I start by calling Alessa.
I’m sent straight to her voicemail.
Instead of leaving a message, I hang up and text her. “This is your boss. I would like an explanation for your disappearance last night. When you’re done apologizing, I want to meet you somewhere. Tonight.”
Nothing. No reply. For hours.
Hours I could spend working. Instead, I continue to obsess.
The curve of her throat.
The depth of her cleavage.
The sounds she made as I opened her up to a brand-new world she’s always desired, but never tasted before.
The scent of her body as it begged for me.
The damn feeling of half my hand inside of her, my intimate desires going into overdrive and turning me into a woman I rarely indulge in. I’m supposed to be in control. Dominant. Giving more pleasure than taking. Watching a woman scream in ecstasy beneath me is supposed to be enough to sate my lust. The whole point of fucking someone in my office is that I don’t have to take off most of my clothes to get what I want.
Her complete surrender.
I’d be disgusted with myself and my complete lack of self-control, but fuck it. I’ll nip this in the bud by continuing to claim Alessa until I’m finally sick of her.
All right. That was harsh. When I’m finally bored with her.
A part of me worries that something happened to her last night. She disappeared without a trace. She won’t respond. The only reason for that would be something unfortunate happened. Back to my phone I go, calling my investigator and asking him to confirm Alessa’s safety.
Two hours later, he emails me photos of her sitting by the window in a café. A pen is in her hand, a large textbook opened before her. I had forgotten she was still in college. That’s how young she is. Even more reason to be over her soon.
Really, though. She’s blowing me off for homework? I could hire her a tutor or a Pulitzer Prize-winning author to write her term paper. There’s no reason for any woman to reject me when I have enough money and the right connections to take out whatever obstacle is in our way.
The investigator gives me the name of the café. It’s a few neighborhoods away from here, but I could drive there within twenty minutes.
No. No, that’s ridiculous. And a complete waste of my time.
It’s late Sunday evening. I should be in bed, resting for my early morning meeting.
Besides, Alessa will be there, and the sooner I go to sleep, the sooner I’ll see her.
She hasn’t responded to any of my messages. Today, I sent a dozen red roses with a note, asking her to get in contact with me. Nothing bad, I assured her.
I want to see her again.
I want her again.
I’m reaching critical mass. Every five minutes I get distracted by the thought of her body pressed against mine, aching for me, her tender voice begging me to fuck her again. I’m her first, after all. Before, that would have meant nothing to me, but now I want her to be obsessed with me. Why not? My ego would love it. As for my heart? Hmph. Perhaps it would be nice…
My ego is honestly not on the line. The only thing on my line is my God damned sanity.
How dare she reject my offers of communication? The least she could do is openly turn me down. That’s better than this silent treatment. I’d rather have her scream and yell at me that I’m an awful person for seducing her than hear nothing at all.
It’s ten at night, but my assistant is used to me calling him around this time.
I go over the usual bullshit for the next day, particularly about the meeting, but before he becomes confident that our conversation is over, I say, “I need you to type up a memo to distribute tomorrow morning. It needs to go out as soon as you get in. It must be the first thing every employee sees when they open their company email.”
“Yes, Ms. Marcon.” The pause tells me Vern is opening a new note on his tablet. “Go ahead and tell me what to write.”
“First of all, I’m taking on a second assistant. As of tomorrow morning, Alessa Penrose is my second assistant.” I adjust my Bluetooth as I approach my window and gaze out at the blinking lights of a sleepy northwestern city. “There’s something else, too.”
Vern asks me to repeat myself multiple times regarding the second note because his disbelief is that overwhelming. Am I stuttering? I’ll say what I have to say a hundred more times if that’s how long it takes for his brain to work again.
After I hang up, I call the head of my company’s HR department. There are a few matters we must sort out. Now.