Monday
I’m CEO of one of the largest erotic romance publishing companies yet I haven't gotten laid in eighteen months and counting. While this is not the true definition of irony, it feels close enough to call it.
As I push another printed photo out of my vision that I approve, I comment, “Love that one. Another gorgeous fresh face. Where'd he come from?”
My assistant Hope leans on my desk beside me. “Kayla.”
“That girl is good,” I compliment, pushing my chocolate brown hair that's a similar shade to my skin out of my face. “She sure knows how to spot them.”
“I couldn't agree more. Did you see the abs on him?”
“Obviously you did.” Continuing to search through the remaining proofs on my desk – all highly less impressive than the first one she showed me – I ask, “What's his name?”
“Who?”
“The one Kayla found.”
“Elijah,” Hope hums her answer, while collecting the proofs I am pushing in the not approved pile.
“I like him. I wanna see him at the company event.”
“Got it.” Hope, who looks like a baby doll with her round cheeks, long eyelashes, and bright blue eyes, takes out her cell phone to immediately make a note. She learned early on in her career it was the simplest way to remember all the crazy things that get thrown out during the day.
“Kayla too.”
“Yes ma'am.”
With only two in the approval pile, I look up sharply displeased. “Explain to me why I just looked through twenty five photos and only two are being passed on to the cover stage.” When Hope merely pushes her thin lips together and cradles the file containing the rejects, I drop down onto the corner of my desk and add, “Not an acceptable answer.”
Shyly she fidgets with her hair. “Would you like my opinion?”
“Isn't that what I just asked for?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I think you like Kayla and her work and her choice because she shakes the industry. She's about change and forward movement. New things! The others are still dragging their feet with what's hot right now . They aren't concerned with where we are headed.”
She's right. This is why she's my right hand. Behind that adorable, innocent looking exterior, she's very bright. Very independent. Complements my own independence quite nicely – most days anyway.
I rub the back of my neck where the strain of the never-ending stress settles like it can't find a home anywhere else on my body. Under-touched pussy aside. There's plenty of ache there.
“You know what you need?”
“Vodka?”
“It's not even noon yet.”
“So, vodka and orange juice?”
On a heavy sigh, she shakes her head. “A massage.”
“You offering?”
“For you to take the appointment I booked? Yes.”
Baffled, I stop rubbing my own shoulder and raise my eyebrows. “Wait. What?”
“Before you start with the speech of how you barely have time to brush your teeth in the morning–”
“Or floss–”
“This is gonna be good for you.”
“Like salad's good for me? I hate salad.”
“Boss, this is something you need . You're overworked, overstressed, and don't do many things to take care of yourself.”
“Vodka would disagree.”
Ignoring me, she pushes on, “I've arranged for you to get a massage three times a week for the next month. Monday, Wednesdays, and one day on the weekend. This week it's Friday.”
“Three times a week?” I shriek popping up. “What are you? Crazy? I don't even have time to shave my legs three times a week! Why do you think I get them waxed?”
Hope holds back a snicker. “Look, Ashtin, you're a great boss–”
“Fantastic.”
“A great friend–”
“Again, fantastic–”
“But you suck when it comes to taking care of yourself.”
Suck? Did she really say suck? “I–”
“Just try this for me. I have booked
I’m CEO of one of the largest erotic romance publishing companies yet I haven't gotten laid in eighteen months and counting. While this is not the true definition of irony, it feels close enough to call it.
As I push another printed photo out of my vision that I approve, I comment, “Love that one. Another gorgeous fresh face. Where'd he come from?”
My assistant Hope leans on my desk beside me. “Kayla.”
“That girl is good,” I compliment, pushing my chocolate brown hair that's a similar shade to my skin out of my face. “She sure knows how to spot them.”
“I couldn't agree more. Did you see the abs on him?”
“Obviously you did.” Continuing to search through the remaining proofs on my desk – all highly less impressive than the first one she showed me – I ask, “What's his name?”
“Who?”
“The one Kayla found.”
“Elijah,” Hope hums her answer, while collecting the proofs I am pushing in the not approved pile.
“I like him. I wanna see him at the company event.”
“Got it.” Hope, who looks like a baby doll with her round cheeks, long eyelashes, and bright blue eyes, takes out her cell phone to immediately make a note. She learned early on in her career it was the simplest way to remember all the crazy things that get thrown out during the day.
“Kayla too.”
“Yes ma'am.”
With only two in the approval pile, I look up sharply displeased. “Explain to me why I just looked through twenty five photos and only two are being passed on to the cover stage.” When Hope merely pushes her thin lips together and cradles the file containing the rejects, I drop down onto the corner of my desk and add, “Not an acceptable answer.”
Shyly she fidgets with her hair. “Would you like my opinion?”
“Isn't that what I just asked for?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I think you like Kayla and her work and her choice because she shakes the industry. She's about change and forward movement. New things! The others are still dragging their feet with what's hot right now . They aren't concerned with where we are headed.”
She's right. This is why she's my right hand. Behind that adorable, innocent looking exterior, she's very bright. Very independent. Complements my own independence quite nicely – most days anyway.
I rub the back of my neck where the strain of the never-ending stress settles like it can't find a home anywhere else on my body. Under-touched pussy aside. There's plenty of ache there.
“You know what you need?”
“Vodka?”
“It's not even noon yet.”
“So, vodka and orange juice?”
On a heavy sigh, she shakes her head. “A massage.”
“You offering?”
“For you to take the appointment I booked? Yes.”
Baffled, I stop rubbing my own shoulder and raise my eyebrows. “Wait. What?”
“Before you start with the speech of how you barely have time to brush your teeth in the morning–”
“Or floss–”
“This is gonna be good for you.”
“Like salad's good for me? I hate salad.”
“Boss, this is something you need . You're overworked, overstressed, and don't do many things to take care of yourself.”
“Vodka would disagree.”
Ignoring me, she pushes on, “I've arranged for you to get a massage three times a week for the next month. Monday, Wednesdays, and one day on the weekend. This week it's Friday.”
“Three times a week?” I shriek popping up. “What are you? Crazy? I don't even have time to shave my legs three times a week! Why do you think I get them waxed?”
Hope holds back a snicker. “Look, Ashtin, you're a great boss–”
“Fantastic.”
“A great friend–”
“Again, fantastic–”
“But you suck when it comes to taking care of yourself.”
Suck? Did she really say suck? “I–”
“Just try this for me. I have booked
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