by M. K. Moore
For Daryl. Thank you for loving me, curves and all. I love you forever.
Prologue
Fancy
Four years ago, I had a momentary lapse in judgement and let other people dictate my life. Trust me, I do know that I have an unhealthy obsession with food and I don’t need anyone else telling me it. I realize, I am not a small girl in any way shape or form. But I still do not want people talking about me as if I have no feelings.
One night, I overhear a conversation between my supposed best friend, Bridget, and my boyfriend, Rod. It turns out, those two fucks have been carrying on behind my back fucking each other senseless, while trying to get at my money at the same time. My grandparents left me with a trust fund and I wisely took it and invested the funds, only using the interest for my expenses. I am not a billionaire, yet, but with the way the investments have been accumulating, I am set for life.
I had known Bridget for less than a year and I am not sure I even know what I was thinking. Growing up, I didn’t have many friends, except for my sister and brother. We considered ourselves to be the three musketeers. My sister would kick anyone's ass in high school, who even thought of bullying me. You could say that it was not a good time for me. When I left to college, the people there didn’t have time to bully me.
Thank God. I forged my own path, instead of letting others run my life. Choosing ink tattoos and piercings to hide the real me behind. I have taken out all the piercing except for the ones in my ears that I love. I love my ink and do not care what anyone thinks or has to say.
When I met Bridget in our freshman year, I stupidly latched on to her. Now I know she was using me from the very beginning. I was helping her with her homework and paying for every meal we ate. There were times that I even made her car payment on the months she said she did not have the funds. God, I was such as sucker, because I was so desperate to be noticed. I let this situation happen to me.
Rod and I dated for only about two weeks, therefore I didn’t have much invested in him at all. Thank God, I didn’t and wouldn’t sleep with him. Deep down I think I knew he was a dick and I vowed to save my virginity for a man who is worthy to take it, which he definitely was not. So naturally, my cherry is still intact.
I am quickly approaching twenty-five and have decided it might be time to lower my standards and finally sleep with someone. Is there anyone out there in the market for a twenty-four-year-old fat chick’s virginity? I think not. But, surely out of all the people on this planet someone must want to take it. Right?
Because of that soul crushing moment, I decided to go to a support group for weight loss in the first fucking place. I know now it isn’t what I needed. The moment I walked in it became clear it wasn’t for me. Arriving six minutes early and a little anxious to be out of there. I ended up spending my time looking for ways to slip out but missed my opportunity and before I knew it there is a super pretty woman sitting down next to me.
“First time here?” I ask.
“How can you tell?” She says, while turning to look at me.
“You seem nervous, kind of like you’re not sure if you should be here, kind of like how I feel.”
“I didn’t even want to come. My mom found the place for me and made this big production of me coming. I promised I’d go at least once just so she’d leave me alone about it.” She said after letting out a huge breath.
“And here you are.” I smiled.
“Here are am.” She laughed. “I’m Lanie.” She held her hand out for me to shake, so I did.
“I’m Fancy. Don’t you work at the Ice Dream Shop on the boardwalk?”
“I’m managing it for my nana.”
“Oh, my fucking God, I love that place!” Another woman said, sitting down beside Lanie. “Must be why I’m in this place.” She mutters under her breath and we laugh.
“Thanks. I’m Lanie, this is Fancy.”
“Avery. But seriously, that place is sin in a bowl. I go by sometimes after work. I’m a server at Sean’s Crab Shack.”
All three of us sit and talk until the meeting begins. While I did enjoy talking to the girls; I desperately wanted to leave, because I cannot believe I let a man and a stupid cunt dictate my feelings.
Squirming in my seat as I try to figure out a graceful exit was only making the time seem longer. I couldn’t leave because my mama raised me better than that.
A few minutes later a gorgeous woman dressed to the nines walks into the meeting and sits on the other side of me.
“Sorry I’m late. I had a client that took a while.” She said.
“Oh, that’s okay Stella dear-” The leader started to say, but she was interrupted by another woman.
“The meeting started fifteen minutes ago.” The rude woman says.
This woman looks like she doesn’t need to be here. I understand, she could be in another stage of her weight loss journey. Just because she is thin now doesn’t mean she has always been. Overeating is a struggle and an addiction on par with alcoholism. What bothers me is that she looks salty as fuck, with the way she is throwing her attitude towards us.
“I said I was sorry, I’m not going to say it again.” The new woman spit out.
“Preach it sister.” Avery said causing me to chuckle.
“That’s the problem with you people.” Salty bitch says.
“She did not just say, you people. Tell me I’m hearing things and this bitch isn’t starting something she can’t finish.”
Crossing her arms, the woman walks towards us. “You want to know why you’ll never look like me?”
“Not really.” I throw out. She is really pissing me off.
“It’s people like you who sit on your fat ass every day, binge eating carbs, complaining about your bodies and never doing anything about it that prove my point. Fat people are lazy and gross. You make me sick.” Her unrequested opinion had me clenching my fists.
Seconds later, Avery punched her, and salty ass is flat on her back, holding her face, screaming.
“Listen up cunt bag. I’m proud of my “fat ass.” You have no idea who I am or what you’re dealing with, so watch yourself.”
A few minutes after the meeting, the four of us Avery, Stella, Lanie and myself are out in the parking lot laughing about what had happened.
“I can’t believe you hit her.” Stella said.
“I can’t believe you called her a cunt bag.” Lanie snorts. She is laughing so hard she is crying.
“I hate bitches like that. How’s your hand doing?” I ask.
“I need a taco and a margarita. Who’s in?” Avery says, while ignoring my question.
“What about your hand? You need to get it looked at.” Stella says.
“I’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time I’ve hit somebody, probably won’t be the last.”
We do go to get tacos and margaritas and decide to never go back to the meetings. Lanie decides we are like the girls from the movie “The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.” Only in our case we share margarita’s instead of jeans. It always makes me smile when she says that.
I’d say that it all worked out for the best. I will never again give a fuck what anyone thinks about me. The Curvy Girls of Clearwater helped me to realize that I am enough. It is amazing what can happen to your self-esteem when you surround yourself with like-minded people, who actually care about you.
Chapter One
Fancy
Hangovers, fucking suck. My head is pounding, and I am nauseous. Yesterday, my girl Lanie got married to the love of her life, Wyatt. I am not at all jealous. I just drank A LOT yesterday.
Have you ever had one of those days where you know you are going to snap? Today is the
day Fancy Smith losing her shit. With the 4th of July falling on a Wednesday, it has completely fucked my whole week up. A wedding in the middle of the week is also weird, but Lanie wanted to have it that way, so I dressed up. I still had to get up at 5:30 as if it was a work day, but I also did a day drink. Which is always a mistake, unless it is Saturday and you can recover on Sunday.
I did get to see one of my best friends, get her happily ever after. Although I did have a great time, the pendulum is swinging the other way and I must face my boss with a hangover for the first time. It seems as if I don’t get a day away from him. For some crazy reason, Wyatt works for Travers from home. He, being the good guy, he is, invites the boss to the wedding.
As the PA to the CEO of Travers, Inc, I am used to long hours and a challenging workload. I usually do it with a smile, but today I have no fucking smiles to give.
My boss, the Clark Travers is a former professional football player who is now a sports agent. He is also the world's worst boss and I bought him a coffee mug that says so. Maybe, one of these days I will give it to him. It will have to be when I grow the lady balls to quit or he fires me. He is obviously not happy with my work. I have gotten ZERO feedback from him and cannot figure out why he hasn’t let me go.
Ugh! I just know as soon as I set this hot ass coffee down on his desk, he is going to ignore me like he always does. Unless, he wants something and even then, he sends me an email or a text. I do not think I’ve heard his voice since the day of my interview, over a year ago.
I have dreams about his voice. He has a bit of a southern twang and I almost think it is a figment of my imagination. When you add his sexy ass voice and pair it with the grey pinstripe suit, he is rocking! Damn. I have lost it as he stares at me from across the room. There are not many people here, but he stands out wherever he goes.
I would love to throw the coffee on him. It is made to the exact emailed specifications every single time. Two days a week, which he doesn’t drink. He is a douche rocket to say the least. To be fair, he is nice to everyone except me. His mother, my mother, and my perfect ‘ten’ sister. No surprise there. Everyone is nice to Reba, I am thinking as I shake my head. She is one lucky bitch, but I love her.
Back to my broody boss, Clark. He boggles my mind. On one hand, I think I should quit and walk away from his shoddy treatment of me. On the other hand, I am glutton for punishment and need to be in his presence, even without his words. Why do I do this to myself? Every day, I come in here and try not stare at him. But it is no use. My eyes find him even in a crowded room. I know everything about him, even though we have barely spoken in all the time I have been working here.
I knock on his office door. When he grunts, “come in,” I turn the knob and there he is. His 6’2 frame is folded into his office chair. He is staring at his computer like it can look back at him. He is furiously typing something, and his face is stuck in a sexy ass scowl.
“Good morning, Sir. Here is your coffee and today’s Tampa Tribune.” I say with more cheer than I am feeling as I smooth out the paper for him. When I set the coffee on his desk and before I can pull my hand back, he reaches for it the same time and our hands connect. Static electricity races through my body at that moment and I can feel the heat from his fingertips. I jerk my hand back, while Clark looks at his hand before pulling it away slowly. He surprises me, when he takes a sip of the coffee I made for him. I am a little shocked. The cup is always full when I go into his office to clean up after he leaves for the day.
“Thank you, Fancy.” Words. Actual words are coming out of his mouth.
“Uhm. You’re welcome, Sir. Do you need anything else?” I ask.
“Not now. I have a lunch meeting I didn’t add to the calendar and need you to attend to take diction.”
This is new. Also, don’t get me started on diction. Why does he have to be so cold towards me? I know he will never feel the same way about me, but we could at least be friends.
“Certainly, Sir. Where is it and what time?” I ask, getting my phone out of my pocket.
“DeLorenzo’s on Westshore. We need to leave here by 11:30.”
That place is ritzy as fuck. Thank God I wore a skirt today.
“No problem. I’ll be out in the kitchen if you need me.” I say.
Since we are working at his beach house on Clearwater Beach, instead of his high-rise office in Downtown Tampa, I don’t have an actual office. His email said he needed a change of scenery and it works great for me, because I live just down the street on Lantana.
My parents are never home anymore. In fact, they are in Italy right now. My mother is an internationally bestselling romance author and she had a book signing last Saturday. They decided to make a vacation out of it. It might seem weird to other to be still living with my parents in their home, but I hate being alone. Plus, being three blocks from the water has its advantages.
When I get to the kitchen, I notice I have a missed call and a text from Stella.
Fancy, I need advice. Call me, biatch. I laugh. Her needing advice is weird. She is usually the advice giver.
I call her back and she answers right away.
“What’s up? You needing advice? Like on what?” I say.
“I met the owner of the special art collection. He’s fine as hell and essentially tried to claim me. He was rude, growly, and sexy as hell with his perfect suit and rich Italian accent. I mean the ‘drenched panties’ type of voice. The shit that makes women stupid.”
“Get it together. Breathe.” I say, trying not laugh.
“I’m trying. I played it cool until he almost kissed me.”
“What happened?” This is good.
“Turned into a puddle of goo. I knew immediately that he didn’t buy my resistance. Damn bastard gave me a sexy smirk, demanding I wait for him to return for a kiss and much more.”
“Girl get it! Life’s too short waiting for a man to give it up to. You’ve got to lose it someday. Might as well be with a panty-melter.” I say. I wonder if should heed my advice.
“You are no help.” She says.
“Yeah, I love you, too. Bye.” I say, out and out laughing.
“Bye, freaking heifer.”
It was nice talking to her on the phone. It provided a momentary reprieve from my own conundrum.
I need to figure out why he is suddenly being nice and talking to me.
Chapter Two
Clark
Seeing her outside of work yesterday, made my convictions that much stronger. The tight in all the right places dress she had on made her tits look obscene. She looked gorgeous and I wanted her on my arm. Instead, I had to watch her dance with guy after guy. It is getting harder and harder to see her and I am not just talking about my cock.
I want to touch her soft skin and run my fingers in her lush dark hair. Her tattoos are a stark contrast to her mannerisms. She is polite to a tee and when I know I’ve pissed her off, she never tells me so. I keep doing things to get a rise out of her. So far, nothing.
I am determined that she will be mine, because I’ve wanted her since the first time I laid eyes on her. A year ago, I was not in a good place. My father had died, and his secretary retired the week before. I was at my wits end with my father’s office a mess.
Prior to then, I was the VP of marketing. Most of my day consisted of the social media accounts of our clients. My ball career was over six years ago when a defensive lineman tackled me and my knee never recovered. Five surgeries later, they are finally talking about an artificial knee.
When I first took over as CEO, I admit to being lost. Then she walks into my office for an interview and I was floored. She looked all business with her hair tightly pulled back in a long pony tail down her back. She wore a long flowing skirt and a light blue Oxford shirt. Her large breasts were straining to get out and I had never prayed for a button to pop off so hard in my life. Her outfit was completed with brown strappy sandals and her bright pink toes peeking through. Damn. Even her feet are cute.
Over the last year, I have taken the time and gotten to know her. I know she thinks I don’t notice her but honestly, it’s all I do. There are the little things I have noticed about her, like the fact that she only drinks Dr Pepper, coffee, water, and margarita’s.
She hates shoes and since we’ve been working out of my house she leaves them at the door. At the office they are tucked under her desk unless she has to walk somewhere. But, I want to know everything. I want to know what turns her on. Although, the jealousy I feel when I think about her having past lovers is like nothing I have ever experienced.
A month ago, there was some office gossip about Craig Jeffords from accounting wanting to ask my girl out. There is no way I would let that happen. I don’t know what she does outside the office, but I haven’t been with anyone in years and certainly none since I met her. I may have overreacted a little by starting to work from home and dragging her along with me.
At 11:30, she knocks on my door. I notice she has added a blazer to her outfit, because she thinks she must cover her tattoos to go to a business lunch. It is July in Florida. 90 degrees, humid, and hot as hell with being so close to the water. I am wearing shorts, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and flip flops. As we head down the circular drive, I notice she starts making her way down the street.
“Where the hell are you going?” I ask.
“To get my car.” She says as if it should be obvious. I was too busy watching her ass sway in front of me to notice she didn’t drive in.