Reality is a cold, hard conference table in a fog of sex. We took a few moments to catch our breath but as I went over in my head what we just did my heart picked up its pace, instead of slowing.
I just had sex with Morgana on the RT Mitchell conference table while Jacob Mimir and Gregory Mitchell III talked down the hall. What had I done?
I came here today to get Morgana back as my assistant, not as my fuck buddy.
Damn it, Captain Cock, you had one job. To stay silent.
Getting dressed, I helped her off the table. My head was spinning with how I could rectify everything. I made my way to the door and words tumbled out of my mouth.
I say “words” because they made no sense. This was not me. Sure, I was aloof and was not what anyone would call romantic, but this was low even for me. Somehow as they spilled from me like the innards of a bloated five-day-old dead fish, I couldn’t seem to do anything to stop them.
“Thank you, Ms. Drake. Good luck with your new job.”
Coming here today I was ready to confront what I had done, own up to my mistakes. Face Morgana, beg her for forgiveness and tell her I needed her back. Yet, instead of doing any of that, I fucked her on a hard table. Then I walked out like the scumbag I was.
I was wrong. I was a monster.
SIXTEEN
Morgana's Problem
Her Dating Life
The Brooks Bomb.
It was ten forty, and I had been at my desk for the last half hour making client phone calls, fixing the errors to the Denton file, calendar adjustments, and sorting through the Payne’s emails to catch the mistakes he usually made before I sent them off on his behalf.
The clock ticked, reminding me to finish quickly before Ken Brooks made his way to his daily eleven o’clock appointment with the toilet. My desk had the luxury of being catty-corner to the men’s and women’s restroom.
I had been back working for Henrik Payne for a few weeks now. Evaleen Bechmann told me about a month ago at our weekly SWIM meet with my friends, that she never submitted the paperwork to Edgar Mimir. Therefore, I was never really fired.
Our Thursday night SWIM Meet was when Evaleen, Aria, and Mr. Payne’s friend, Tiffany, and I go out for drinks. SWIM was an acronym that stood for Smart Women with Idiot Men.
I had started to become friends with Tiffany when I realized she wasn’t Henrik’s girlfriend.
I got to know her and realized she needed a night out with friends more than anyone. Her story made me realize I judged her unfairly.
Swallowing my fear and my hands shook as I tried to finish my last task before running to the safety of the kitchen. I wondered if I would run into Grace the receptionist in the kitchen. Part of me wondered if she timed her breaks just to talk to me. Not necessarily to get to know me, but to find out about Henrik.
Poor woman had a crush on Henrik. Not that I should talk. My crush got me fired, twice.
As much as a jerk Henrik was to people, it was hard not to admire him.
Henrik Payne had the unique ability to get clients to easily part with their money. I was awestruck by how he got them to believe by working with Mimir they were carrying out a great service for humankind. I couldn’t help but laugh a little after his meetings with them like they were contributing to the cure for cancer and not just making a deal with a large corporation to make them more money.
I gave my body a stretch and heard a whistle off in the distance. Evaleen Bechmann strode toward my desk. Her long blond ponytail swaying out to the sides of her modelesque frame as her deep blue eyes zeroed in on their intended target, me.
Evaleen’s crisp, formless brown pantsuit did nothing to disguise her lean but perky body. Every time I saw her, I wondered why she wasn’t on the cover of Vogue or walking down a catwalk in New York. Why human resources?
I asked her once at happy hour a while back when I had one too many rum and cokes. She just smiled and gazed at Edgar Mimir, refusing to answer my question.
The usual in control and wise Evaleen turned to mush in front of that man. Unfortunately for her, Edgar was a man-whore. Don’t get me wrong, Edgar was a great guy and really sweet, I totally got what Evaleen saw in him. He was also crazy gorgeous. But, that man would do just about any woman who showed him the least bit of attention.
“Looking extra sexy today, Drake.” Evaleen had yet to actually call me by my first name. When I started here, she was professional, addressing me as Ms. Drake, but once we got to know each other we had developed a very odd friendship. One of mutual respect, fear, love, and of course, cake. She preferred cheesecake, whereas I was open-minded in my love of cake.
I was not offended that she only called me by my last name, as she did that with everyone. Everyone except Edgar Mimir.
“It’s just who I am, Bechmann.” I got up from my chair to illustrate my point by shaking my butt to an imaginary beat.
“When you got junk like this in the trunk and milkshakes that call all the men to the yard, then you need to let it shine.” I grooved to the song playing in my head “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” by The Darkness.
“Wasn’t it boys to the yard, not men?” Evaleen pointed out while she shifted her weight so her ass was half on and half off my desk.
I stopped my dance and cooled my expression. “I don’t want boys, Bechmann. Men, only men.”
Slightly winded, I sat back in my seat and picked up a pink sticky note, one of many, which Mr. Payne left on my desk to avoid speaking to me. He must have placed it there when I went to get his coffee.
It reads: Late work day. Order us pizza for dinner. Large, hand tossed, with ham, green peppers, and onions.
Grabbing a pen, I scratched out the toppings he listed, writing in pepperoni instead. Knowing I would be berated for ordering the wrong pizza, I didn’t care. I felt a sick satisfaction with the minor irritation.
“Speaking of men, have you found any on that dating site I told you about a few weeks ago?”
The smile that broke out on my face was too obvious, no matter how I tried to conceal it by turning to place the sticky note on my desk phone.
“Maybe.” I tried to play it cool, but one eye twitch from Evaleen was all it took to break me. I would make an awful spy.
“All right, I can’t keep it in. I found one guy that so far seems great. I was a little worried for a while because most of them came across as losers. One guy had his mom call me. Ugh! But when Hi-Ed-Junior emailed me, I liked what he had to say. He also didn’t want a picture or phone number right away. He just wanted to talk, well, message back and forth. Spend some time getting to know each other. It was refreshing.”
Evaleen leaned across my desk producing a sly smile. Mr. Payne’s door swung open just as she opened her mouth to speak. His hard gaze jumped between us as his body filled the doorway. Seeing him standing there just reminded me of how big he was. Not just his body, but certain parts of that body too.
I’m talking about his cock. It’s big. Even with his suspicious glare I couldn’t help but think of what I would like it to fill.
The little pink piece of paper was hard to ignore as it dangled from his fingertips. Thoughts of parts filling holes waned upon seeing the sticky note. I tried not to sigh.
Mr. Payne stared at my phone as he placed the new note in front of me. Before I had a chance to take back the edited sticky note he had it in his hands, reading what I wrote. As he took my pen to edit the square piece of paper further, Mr. Payne cleared his throat and then settled his irked gaze upon Evaleen.
“Bechmann, don’t you have some HR wizardry you need to be doing that doesn’t involve bothering my assistant?”
Most people cower in the company of Mr. Payne. To say he had a strong presence was an understatement. It was a presence that screamed, RUN! But, Evaleen was not most people. She wasn’t afraid of anyone. A man could hold a shotgun to her face and she would probably roll her eyes. Plus, she hated Henrik.
She surveyed him without standing from my desk. “No, Payn
e. Don’t you have some lackey you have to make cry?”
They both narrowed their eyes at each other, and I swore I heard rattlesnakes and saw a tumbleweed roll down the hall.
Waving at the pink paper before pointing two fingers at his eyes and back to me to let me know he was watching me, Mr. Payne went back into his office. Once he shut the door I picked up the note on my phone: I wrote Ham, Green Peppers, & Onions on the Pizza. Get it right!
I groaned as I glanced at the other note he brought out: Drink your own coffee in the morning.
He was on to me.
“His name was what exactly? It sounds weird.”
“What? Oh, you mean the online dating guy. It’s hi as in hello, then Ed, and then junior. It’s probably Edward, and he was named after his dad or something. I don’t know. We have only been PMing on Gchat so I don’t know his real name.”
Evaleen’s mouth fell open and it took her a moment to regain her verbal function. She twisted her head to the side, confusion crinkling her brow.
“He hasn’t told you his real name yet?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “No.”
“At least tell me you have seen his picture.”
I started to wonder if I shouldn’t have told her. As I talked about it out loud it did sound kind of weird.
“Uh, no. But he hasn’t asked for my real name or picture either, so it’s not like he’s getting his load off on what I look like or anything.” Wow, this was sounding worse and worse.
Evaleen moved to pace the floor.
“He could be a seventy-year-old man in Orlando or a North Korean spy for all you know.”
I chuckled at her paranoia. Shaking my head, I put my feet up on the desk and began to roll my pen between my fingers.
“The dating site matches you based on age and where you live.”
I laughed to ease her apprehension and to ease mine too.
“I doubt a North Korean spy has any interest in my belief that we should implement a law for a cake break. Much like the Spanish have a siesta, we should have a break every afternoon around three specifically for cake.”
“I guess so, but just be careful, okay. Every man wants to get laid eventually, and I worry there is something wrong with him if he doesn’t want to even talk to you on the phone.”
She came to a halt. Wide-eyed, Evaleen walked over to the corner of my desk. “What if he’s married or he is some creeper?”
“I’m not going to get myself worked up over something that might not even be true.” I said.
My brain started to go a mile a minute with worst case scenarios.
Why didn’t I realize this stuff before? The way he said everything it just seemed normal, natural, and even a little romantic.
“Drake, you’re a better woman than I am. I would have been afraid he’s a serial killer or something. Well, I better get back. It’s almost eleven. Shouldn’t you be hanging out in the kitchen to avoid the nuclear fallout from the Brooks Bomb?”
I nodded my head but continued to sit there in shock as I watched her walk away. Maybe I should push him tonight to show me a picture when we chat, and ask if he’s married, and if he’s ever been affiliated with the Communist party.
My brain was making a mental list of all the questions I would discuss with him tonight when a pungent odor assaulted my nostrils. The horrible realization sent nauseating chills through me as I looked up and heard the distinct sounds of Ken Brooks in the men’s restroom.
It smelled like he was shitting out a three-day-old dead raccoon that was being dissected on the side of the road in the summer sun by a curious hermit that believed washing was a sin.
I needed to get out of here.
SEVENTEEN
Morgana's Problem
Her Family
Ric’s his name.
And Sunday he wants to meet me for coffee. As worried as I was yesterday after what Evaleen said about weirdos on the Internet, when I confronted Hi-Ed-Junior he complied.
We had a long night Thursday evening of telling things about ourselves, sex chatting, and revealing our names. His name is Ric and mine is Morgan.
Yes, I lied, kind of. I’m still a little worried about the creepers Evaleen spoke of. All I did was leave the e off the end of my name. No big deal.
I went to work Friday excited for my date over the weekend when Mr. Payne told me I would be going with him and the other executives to London on a business trip next week.
After the shitty past couple of months, I have had, having a chance to get to know a great guy over coffee and traveling to England makes up for it.
Nothing Mr. Payne said or didn’t say to me on Friday got to me. I was riding too big of a high.
It’s Saturday and I’m walking up to my parents’ house to have dinner and share with them my exciting news. My parents’ modest home is in Evanston, just north of Chicago.
Before I left my mother had called me to pick up a few things on my way over. I lugged up the four heavy bags of groceries to the front door of their suburban two-story home.
Lowering the bags I listened and heard mumbling inside. I usually put my ear to their door before going inside; it’s best to be prepared for whatever my parents had in store.
“She’s here! Everyone act natural!” My mom, at the top of her lungs, informed everyone I had arrived. Guess I didn’t really need to press my ear to the door this time.
I knew what was coming and slumped my shoulders. This wasn’t a dinner but my surprise birthday party. Never mind that my thirtieth birthday was over a month ago, that wasn’t important to my mom. I was a preemie, born almost five weeks early. My mom’s due date was April ninth, but I decided to show up March third. She refused to accept that I came early. My mother had some control issues and may be an undiagnosed perfectionist. She expected things to go exactly as she had planned. She intended on an April baby, and she was going to have an April baby.
Picking up the bags I braced myself and opened the door. My dad was sitting in his blue lazy-boy recliner watching the Cubs on TV, while my brother with his “girl of the moment” were situated next to him on the beige couch.
“No please, these aren’t heavy. I don’t need help,” I deadpanned as I dropped the bags to the floor with a loud thud.
The men nodded but remained fixated on the giant flat-screened television hanging on the far wall that separated the family room from the kitchen.
My father was a big man. I meant tall, muscular, but now a little more thick around the middle. The only man I had ever met that matched my father in build was Mr. Payne. I hoped I didn’t have a father complex. I shuddered at the thought.
My dad kept the real loser guys away from me in high school and a bit in college, but once I lived on my own he lost his control. That’s how Trevor got through. I met Trevor once I could afford to move away from my parents in my mid-twenties.
Guys, up until I went to live on my own, treated me fairly well. No one ever cheated on me for fear of my dad and, as my brother got older, of him too. For my brother, Daniel, he not only had my father’s thick dark brown hair but also his height and build.
You would think these big burly men would help a woman struggling with heavy bags, but no, it’s my tiny mom with her thick mass of reddish-gray hair and freckles that came to my rescue.
“Oh, my love, let me help you. Don’t mind the men; you know they turn into zombies when the Cubs play.”
I leaned into my mom and whispered, “Who’s with Daniel?”
“I think her name is Jessie or Janie. Definitely something with a J.”
The poor woman was curled up on my brother’s arm. Her big eyes, round in their innocence, looked lovingly up at Daniel. She had no idea what awaited her. Her time at his side was limited. She had maybe a week, two if she was lucky, with him before he dropped her like old cheese. Stinky old cheese.
My mom insisted on putting the groceries away. Which I knew was code for she didn’t want me to see inside the refrigerator.
&
nbsp; I loved my mom and enjoyed my time with my family. But what is in that refrigerator was one of the main reasons I came over.
Perhaps my mom believed her children would never visit if she didn’t make the best cake in the world. Maybe she believed she could show her love for us through her cake. Whatever the reason, I didn’t care. I just wanted that sweet confection, and I would tolerate a fake birthday to get it.
Trust me, that cake was like crack with extra crack sprinkled on top and then baked in crack.
Looking around the brown kitchen that hadn’t changed since the eighties, I grabbed a seat on a stool by the tall honey colored table in the corner.
“So, love, what has been going on in—”
My mom was interrupted by someone coming down the stairs.
“How long am I to hide upstairs? I’m bored.” My grandma’s voice came barreling down the stairs.
I hopped up from the stool and ran out to the hallway to give her a hug. Orly came bounding down the steps from behind, ignoring everyone as usual and curling up by the fireplace near the dining room
“Grandma. You’re here. I thought you and Orly were in Yellowstone?”
Her arms encircled my waist as she gave a tight squeeze. The woman had quite a grip for someone so petite. Her shoulder length cobalt blue hair tickled my chin as I leaned into her.
“That was just to trick you, sweets! Your mom wanted to surprise you for your birthday. Did you bring that Internet man of yours or that other one? Payne was it, the one you told me about a few months ago? Maybe you got lucky and brought a lady instead?”
I shook my head. My grandma competed with the women in her knitting group. Not for who knitted the best, but who had the most modern family.
Since no one in our family was adopted, fostered, a different ethnicity, or anyone who identifies as LGBTQ she decided to pretend I was. She tells all her friends that me and my roommate Aria are more than just girlfriends.
Rules of Payne (Cake Love Book 1) Page 9