“That’s right. And you’re proving my point. Back to what I was saying. Why would you f**k him?”
She went back to studying me. It was highly disconcerting. “Because he’s hot. Nice bod, I can tell. Clothes are a bit sloppy, but his jawline alone makes me wet.”
“Would you still f**k him if I told you he was dead broke?”
She bit her lip, her eyes still raking over me. “Yes. I wouldn’t marry his broke ass, but I’d sure as hell f**k him.”
He waved her off. “Thank you for your expert opinion. Carry on with something that hopefully resembles work this time.”
Candy sashayed out of the room, putting some extra sway into it, sending me a few smoldering, sidelong glances as she went.
“See that? She’s a dime and she’d f**k you, even if you were broke. You need to get out of your own self-loathing head and give yourself an ounce of credit. You don’t get laid enough because you’re a hermit. If you went out more, chicks would be dropping their panties for you all over the place, even if they didn’t know you were loaded.”
“Yes, but—”
“Okay, now. Back to the mysterious Iris of the f**kable tits. She was last seen coming back to find you in a public place, like a stalker, then she’s gone again, and you’re worried, again that was it. She’ll be back. She obviously enjoyed herself. It’s that simple.”
“But did you catch the part where she’s known who I was the whole time? She knew about my money, because she admitted that she’s been reading my books since she was a kid. She definitely wasn’t upfront about that before. And when she left the first time, two months ago, she acted deeply offended by the fact I assumed she knew I had money before I took her home the first time.”
I let him think about that, realize how incriminating it was. I’d certainly been obsessing about it myself.
“So f**king what, dude?” he finally shot back. “So she knew who you were and pretended she didn’t. Doesn’t prove she’s not into you.”
“It proves she’s a liar.”
“Again, so f**king what? Most people are liars. She’s nice to you. She’s into you. Sounds like she’s a f**king ace in bed. She hasn’t asked for a thing from you, aside from your dick. I say just go with it. She shows up, you f**k her however you please. She leaves, take that Lourdes chick out. She’s hot. Probably more of the relationship type, which is what you’re looking for, God only knows why.”
I grimaced. I couldn’t even imagine going out on a date with someone at this point. My head was too screwed up for that.
“Not ready for that yet? Good. So keep it simple. Go f**k Candy. I won’t take offense. I was planning to bang her when she quits, but you can have her, if you’re so inclined. Hell, go bend her over her desk right now. I’ll put on some headphones and pretend it isn’t happening.”
“That’s generous,” I got out, feeling slightly nauseated at the thought. I wasn’t even that tempted, and just thinking about it made me feel a little guilty, which was ridiculous, because Iris and I had never so much as talked about being exclusive.
And for all I knew, she was with that f**ker in the Jag as we spoke.
“Well, you’re my friend, and I feel sorry for you. Forty years old without an ounce of game. Sad old bastard. Listen, if you’re not ready to f**k someone else, just go in there and at least let Candy give you a blow job. She’s waxed on, ad nauseum, about how good she is at oral. She’s always walking around, sucking on something or other, trying to get a rise out of me. Literally.”
“You have the most messed up relationships with your assistants, I swear,” I told him, and not for the first time.
“They call me the tyrant. Did you know that? Often. My employees, past and present. It’s become my nickname. I think they started a Facebook group about it.”
I tried not to laugh, though I doubted he was exaggerating much.
“Don’t believe me? We can ask Candy about it. I like her to be honest. She knows that. We ask her and she’ll tell you I am hellish to work for. A demanding bastard. I don’t like to ask for things twice, and I expect her to catch on quick.
I explain on day one that I don’t f**k where I sleep. I’m civilized like that. And if I sign your paycheck, fuuuck no, I’m not making my life messy. So what does she do? She dresses like a f**king sex kitten and brushes her tits against me every chance she gets. She keeps a jar of lollipops on her desk and sucks on them whenever she thinks I might notice.
And she’s not the exception, she’s the rule. This is how it always goes: They sign a lot of paperwork, agree to a lot of things, hate working for me, and about three months in, they all quit.”
“Because you’re a tyrant,” I pointed out.
“No, you see, that is the interesting part. They never, ever quit because of that. I make it clear from day one, if you want to f**k me, you won’t be working for me when it happens. No exceptions. They all agree, and a few months later, after brushing their tits against me, bending over to show me their sweet little asses, me saying no all the while, and what happens? They quit, and beg me to f**k them.”
“And what do you do?”
“I oblige. You’ve seen the women I hire. I f**k their brains out. This lasts anywhere from a day to a week, and then I send them on their way, with a glowing reference, because I’m nice like that. Though I have to say, the whole thing pisses me off. I like the eye candy, but I’m sick of training them.