He’s So Bad
A San Francisco Love Story
Z.L. Arkadie
Contents
Copyright
Mailing List
1. What Shame
2. The End of An Era
3. The Proposition
4. It’s A Lemon
5. Tango
6. The Girl with the Red Metallic Motorcycle Helmet
7. Principals
8. Soul Proprietor
9. What’s in a Weekend
10. Forbid The Fruit
11. The Amazing Disappearing Act
12. Two Crazies in a Company
13. The RT Success Story
Also by Z.L. Arkadie
About the Author
Copyright © 2015 by Z.L. Arkadie
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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What Shame
Five Months Ago…
She moans, and it makes me harder. We’re in the supply closet in my New York office, flanked by ballpoint pens, legal pads, staplers, and shit like that. Her stomach is pressed against my drafting table. The edge of a blueprint that I’ve been working on catches my eye. Drafting is a hobby of mine. When I have nothing to do, which is often, I walk into an old building, imagine how I would rebuild it, then return to this room and sketch my recreation.
“Shush,” I whisper to the girl. I don’t know her name, but this is the third time I’ve asked her to keep quiet.
I fuck her type often. She thinks making noises will make me come faster, and that’s what she wants. She isn’t enjoying the pounding I’m giving her. The way I’m fucking her isn’t meant for her enjoyment. It’s meant for mine.
She and I have been flirting for a while. She works on the twenty-second floor. Whenever I come to the New York office, we end up riding the elevator together at least three times a week. This morning I broke from the norm and asked if she wanted to see where I worked. She raised an eyebrow and let the door close on the twenty-second floor. The elevator opened on the twenty-third floor, and she followed me out of it. Only a few people were sitting at their desks but not for long. Like everyone else, they were on their way to the large conference room for today’s company-wide meeting.
Once in my office, she strutted around my desk, touching shit. “No pictures?”
I was dazed by how her long hair grazed the small of her back. Just beneath was one gorgeous ass just begging to be handled.
“I prefer real life,” I said.
She grinned impishly. I had impressed her with my bullshit. The truth is I have nobody to put in a picture frame. My father’s dead, and my mom abandoned me for her new husband and the children they have together.
She sat on the edge of my desk and crossed her legs, hiking up her hip. “But a picture’s worth a thousand words.”
The long muscle that ran up her thigh made my pants tight. I smirked. “How about I show you my favorite part?”
Her eyebrows crumpled. “Favorite part of what?”
“My office.”
“Is it this?” She spread her hand over the top of my desk as she batted her eyelashes at me.
I was the spider that had just captured the fly. I nodded toward the supply closet. “It’s in there.”
I observed the look in her eye as she calculated the risk, wondering if I was the type who would fuck her and forget her. I grinned to sway her thoughts in my favor.
“You have a Jacuzzi in there?” she asked.
I walked boldly to the closet and opened the door. “You want to come and see?”
She hesitated but chose to enter. She stopped in front of my drafting table and turned to face me.
I got close enough to feel her quick breaths against my chin. “Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to kiss you?” That line never failed me.
Her lips parted. “How long?”
“This long.” I pulled her soft body against me.
I kissed her gently at first. She stared into my eyes. I’d seen that look a million times. She was searching for the promise of dinner tonight and our first stroll as a couple in Central Park this weekend. My expression gave her no answers or false illusions. I wanted to fuck. Apparently she did too because she kissed me back. My dick got harder. She unzipped my pants. I lifted her skirt.
And now my heavy-lidded gaze is pinned to her round ass as I watch my dick shift in and out of her like a locomotive. The sight adds fuel to my fire, and I bang her harder.
“Shit,” I mutter. Not because my dick feels good but because she’s too inexperienced to know how to chase an orgasm and get the most out of my engorged cock.
I lift her hips about a half inch and aim for the right spots to help her out. She makes a new sound, nothing like the fake squealing noise porn actresses make. I’ll be damned if I let her leave this room not knowing that she just experienced the fuck of her life.
Since I’ve made this morning diversion worth it for her, I can let myself blow. I toss my head back. My balls tighten. Blood rushes to my dick. Then I hear…
“Wait a second, Maggie.” It’s Mavis.
My office door closes. I put a hand over the chick’s mouth and lean over to put my lips to her ear. “Hush,” I whisper.
“Take your hand off my mouth,” the woman hisses.
She stands straight, and my deflated dick falls out of her. I put my fingers across my lips, asking her to remain silent. She rolls her eyes defiantly but complies nevertheless.
“Is Robert there?” Maggie asks. She’s on speaker.
“You know he never shows up for the weekly meeting. Hell, he hardly shows up for work.”
“Is that still the case?”
“We actually get more done when he’s not here anyway. Vince has been using me as his New York assistant.”
“Oh, so you work with Langley?” That’s Vince’s regular assistant.
“Yeah, but jeez, Maggie, I’m over being his assistant. He’s just not my cup of tea.”
I ignore the way the girl from the elevator looks at me as if she’s trying to assess whether or not I’m the asshole they’re talking about.
“But he pays you an executive’s salary,” Maggie says.
“Which is only because he was fucking with you.” Mavis sighs. “He’s such a game player. And do you know what else I hate about Tango?”
“That he looks at your ass and pussy like he’s a starving hyena?” Maggie says.
Mavis laughs a little. “Yes. That. I feel like he has fucked me a million times in his imagination. To him, women are pussies, not people. I think his greatest ambition is to get trapped in a porno.”
Maggie laughs so loud that it sounds as if she’s in the closet. “Thanks, Mavis, I needed that.”
Mavis chuckles. “Well, it’s true. The way he looks at women is disgusting, and may I say sad.”
The chick I was fucking meets my gaze. She’s heard the awful truth about me, and so have I.
“Yeah, well… give him a break. Robert is only a lost soul because Vince has done a mighty fine job of enabling him,” Maggie says.
Suddenly I feel ashamed of myself. They’re discussing me as if I’m a cross between a hormonal teenager and a dirty old man.
“It’s pathetic,” Mavis says.
“I don’t know. Someday Robert will be forced to pull his head out of Vince’s ass and figure out what the hell he was put on this earth to do—”
“Other than ch
ase skirts,” Mavis says snidely.
“Right…” Maggie sighs as if the thought of me getting my shit together is a long and arduous plight. “But enough talk about him. I’m happy to have you back in my universe.”
“I’ve already typed up my two weeks’ notice,” Mavis says.
I close my eyes to endure the brunt of the distressing emotions surging through me. My fuck buddy straightens her skirt. Before overhearing Mavis and Maggie’s conversation, she probably believed she was fucking a mighty man; now she knows she’s been nailed by a mouse.
Her face has turned red, and she’s fanning herself. “I have to go.” She starts for the door, puffing as if she can’t catch her breath.
I reach out to stop her. “Please…”
But she’s too quick.
Mavis gasps. “What the hell?”
My heart beats a mile a minute as I listen to the main door open then slam shut. What was supposed to have been a ten-minute dose of pussy has turned into a disaster.
I zip my pants. “Shit, shit, shit…” I put on a brave face and walk into the office, determined to carry the shame like a man.
Mavis’s mouth falls open. With her low opinion of me, I’m surprised she’s shocked. My heart is beating even faster. I tighten my jaw as my eyes water. I’ve never quite felt like this before. It feels like I’ve been sentenced to eternal damnation or some shit.
“What’s the matter?” Maggie says.
Mavis and I look at the cell phone, which she’s put on my desk. I think part of her stunned expression comes from being caught taking some liberties inside my office. It’s not like her to do that. She always asks if she can sit down, open this or that, or walk through my office to get to the supply cabinet.
“Nothing,” Mavis says spastically. “I’ll call you later.”
“Is everything okay?” Maggie asks.
“Everything is fine,” she says, more composed.
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“Well, it is. I just have to take another call.”
Maggie pauses. “Okay then.”
Mavis watches me with panicked eyes. “Talk to you later.”
“Later.”
Maggie hangs up, and Mavis swipes her phone off my desk. “Sorry.” She looks from my face to the supply closet. I wish I had closed the door. “Um…”
I’m so fucking embarrassed. All I can do is drop my face, clear my throat, and say, “You don’t have to wait.” I lift my head.
Mavis can’t look me in the eyes. “I’m so sorry for invading your space.”
I wave off her apology and massage my temple. “You don’t need to give me a two weeks’ notice.”
Mavis presses a hand to her chest. “Oh… you heard that. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I mean…” She drops her face and shakes her head.
Her demeanor baffles me. She appears remorseful, which is a one-hundred-eighty degree turn from her earlier opinion of me. I would respect her more if she would show me the truth of how she feels about me. I don’t say a word. Instead I glare at her until she finds the will to look me in the eyes. Finally she does.
“You can go,” I say.
She still looks confused.
Rage mixed with the incessant need to be alone fills me. “Two weeks! I’ll pay you! Go!”
Mavis jumps. “I didn’t mean to…”
Her worried expression gets to me, and I take the asshole out of my expression. “Go work for Maggie. I wish you the best.”
Mavis parts her lips. Damn, they’re sexy. I feel disgusting for wanting to kiss her and fuck her. I suddenly realize that it isn’t Mavis I want to pound—not all of her at least. I don’t want to fuck her personality or emotions. I just see tits, ass, curves, and pussy. I look away from her and rub my temples because my head hurts.
“But I can work for two more weeks or however long you need me.”
I shake my head. “Just go.”
She’s still there. Her presence washes over me like an ice-cold tidal wave.
“I’ll just get my stuff,” she finally says.
I listen to her heels click against the floor. Her steps are slow and unsure. I’m a blob of mixed emotions, stuck here and staring out the window. Am I the sorry asshole that Vince has been carrying on his back for all of these years?
I think back to three years ago, before Maggie showed up at A&Rt Media. Vince and I had a system. He ran the show, and I looked after the money by meeting with Gabe Zenith, our accountant, once a week. Our sit-downs consisted of us shooting the breeze for ten minutes. Next Gabe would run down the financial gains report. I would only cut in to ask him to be more specific about how the money got from point A to point B. Our meetings always culminated with him informing me that financially, A&Rt Media was in a great position. That was what I reported back to Vince. I figured I would spare him the details.
I recall the time he patted me on the back and said, “Great.” Was he patronizing me? Whenever Vince insisted I attend an event or meeting to show myself as a figurehead or when he called me into his office to sign business-oriented documents, I complied. Sometimes, while in the moment, I found my CEO requirements belittling. These days, the scope of my involvement with A&Rt business has changed. I tried my hand at launching a new show for Prime D TV but failed. My dick was in it more than my heart was. I had something going on with Hannah Brady, the producer of a show I was trying to get off the ground. Neither ended well.
I look toward the gentle rapping on my door. It’s a woman’s knock.
I clear my throat. “Yes.” That sounded good—composed.
“I’m leaving,” Mavis says without opening the door.
“Good luck,” I say.
She pauses. “The same to you.”
I sit and wait until she’s good and gone before I grab my briefcase and get the hell out of Dodge before the big morning meeting ends.
Two Hours Later…
I just finished my walk through the Carlyle. Whenever I feel like shit, I visit my favorite buildings in the city. The Carlyle Hotel is one of them. A&Rt Media keeps an apartment here for upscale guests who come to town for a meeting or a visit. The lease is in my name. If I were ever to part ways with the company, then the apartment would go to me. I skip down the marble staircase. I’ve spent an hour overdosing on Roaring Twenties lavishness. I’ve reimagined this hotel at least fifty different ways, and none of my reinventions kept the hotel looking close to the way it is now.
I exit the building through the lobby. The extra light makes me squint. It’s September and a comfortable seventy degrees or so, but I’m sweating like a pig as I walk south on 3rd Avenue. There’s a bar about ten blocks away. My first inclination is to stop and drink whisky until I forget this shitty day ever happened, but I need more than a round of stiff drinks to take the edge off. I need a warm, soft body. I need pussy. The women don’t trickle into the bar until after five.
I’ve been stopped by a red light. There’s a pretty blonde across the street. She’s wearing tight jeans, a low-cut sheer blouse, and high heels. A big leather bag, one of those expensive ones, hangs on her arm. Cars and buses whisk by. The woman is thinner than I like, but I leer at her anyway.
Someday Robert will be forced to pull his head out of Vince’s ass and figure out what the hell he was put on this earth to do… Maggie says inside my head. Other than chase skirts, Mavis replies.
The stoplight turns green. The blonde has noticed me watching her, and she cracks a tiny smile. The herd of pedestrians around me rushes across the street. The girl bats her eyelashes. I have a second to make a decision. I can expand my smirk, say hello, and ask her if she has a second. She’ll say yes, and I’ll walk with her. This time, I’ll ask for her name and where she’s from. She’ll ask the same of me.
“Are you on your way to the office?” I would ask in a tone that indicates there’s no motive behind that crucial question.
If she says yes, then I’d be forced to take her number and decide whether it’s bene
ficial to call her later—in this case, it would not be. If she says no, then I would ask her for a cup of coffee and conversation. She’d play hesitant, but after one good head-to-toe look at me, she’d give in to my minimal powers of persuasion.
Most men couldn’t pull off picking up a woman so easily, but I could. My suit is Brioni. My shoes are Mezzomi, a little-known but brilliant Italian designer who handcrafts each shoe. Basically, I look and smell expensive. The woman has already fantasized about introducing me to her single friends, making them jealous in the process. And this chick is no Pollyanna. She can tell a good fuck when she sees one, and she’s already sussed me out. Engaging with this attractive woman is certainly one way to go.
However, I see myself standing alone, facing down the fork in the road. One path leads to self-destruction, and the blonde is the first person I’ll encounter.
The blonde and I pass each other. The glimmer in her eyes and the tiny smile make it clear she’s trying to seduce me. But I nod and look forward. I have no fucking idea what’s down the other path, but I choose to walk it even though it scares the hell out of me. I have forsaken the pussy. That’s definitely a road that I’ve never taken, but now that I’m on it, I can say that it feels like the path to salvation.
The End of An Era
Yesterday, after I crossed the street, I went home. I spent the rest of the day and night sitting on the sofa in my living room, staring out over the city lights. Even when I became sleepy, I forced my eyes to stay open and my brain to keep thinking. I needed answers. I needed to make changes, life-altering ones, which meant I had to break through some serious mental barriers. Sweat drenched my skin. At times, I got up and paced until what felt like hours had passed. I fought the urge to sift through my contact list within the STAT (Sure Thing—stat) folder and call up a nice piece of ass.
I fuck a lot. I like to fuck. But when the fucking is over, I’m alone, and I’m not sure if I’m the guy who likes being alone.
He's So Bad Page 1