INKITT READERS WHO ARE NOT FAMILIAR WITH MY WORK:
-I do not write dramatic, emotional rollercoasters with twists, drama and death. There might not be enough drama for you, so just leave when you want to.
-I write about sex. A lot. Do not complain there is too much sex, just leave.
-There is never any mention of contraception and STIs.
-I make grammatical errors, I’m human. I would really appreciate you pointing them out so I can correct them!
Sequel to Daddy. Please read Daddy first! L x
“Congratulations on bagging the Luxembourg account,” Marta tells me. She bumps my hip with hers and winks at me.
“Thank you,” I reply dramatically and flip my hair over my shoulder.
“If you weren’t my best friend, I would hate you for being so good at your job,” she says slyly.
I roll my eyes at her. “Good thing I’m your best friend, then,” I retort, and she chuckles.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, and don’t forget we’re taking on two newbies!” She calls out.
I wave back at her and grimace.
I hate it when new people start at work. It’s not them, it’s the constant questions. While I’m trying to get on with my job, they’re asking twenty questions about every little thing.
Where’s the toilets?
What time is our break?
How do I put a phone call on park?
What’s the boss’s name again?
I can’t be arsed with it. I grab my handbag and sling it over my shoulder. I retrieve my phone from it and see that I’ve got a text from my boyfriend, Mark.
Hey, won’t be able to see you tonight. Working late on the Lennox estate. I’ll cook dinner tomorrow to make it up to you. Love u.
I sigh and quickly type a response. In some ways, I’m kind of relieved he has bailed on tonight. I’ve had a long day, trying to get the Luxembourg account to go through. Now that the clients have finally signed the contract, I can relax. If I saw Mark, I’d feel the need to keep my make-up on and wear something nice.
I walk fifteen minutes to my flat. The moment I get in, I strip out of my clothes and change into comfy sweats and a hoodie. I take off my make-up and make myself a decaf coffee.
Sitting down on the sofa, I treat myself to an hour of trashy TV.
I work as a Senior Sales Executive for a brand called Pro-me. We supply companies with protein bars, powders, treats, pancakes mixes etc. Everything a gym-bunny could want in their diet.
I’ve always been into exercise. I go to the gym five times a week (it’s in my building, I don’t have much of an excuse not to go). Since I take care of my body, I’m confident in myself. But I wasn’t always this confident.
When I met Mark, I was eighteen and in my first year of university. I was chunky, unhappy, and incredibly shy. After doing a course on nutrition, I learned what I should and shouldn’t be eating. I improved my diet and increased my exercise. I found that I loved working out and decided to find a career path related to it.
With my new, slimmer, toned figure, came new-found confidence. I got a sales job to pay for my rent and I turned out to be really good at it. I was quickly promoted, and it all went from there. I started working for Pro-me a year ago and now, at twenty-three, I’m one of their leading sales execs.
After giving myself an hour of treat-time, I change into my gym clothes. I go down to my building’s gym and do an hour’s cardio.
When I come back upstairs, I’m a hot mess. I take an even hotter shower and emerge feeling like a whole different woman. I give my mother a call, she always likes me to check in, and then start to make my dinner.
Mark calls me after I’ve finished eating. “Hey,” I reply as I’m putting my dishes in the sink.
“Hey. How was your day?” He asks.
He asks this every day. Either over text or phone. Without fail, it’s his first question at the end of every day.
“It was good. I got the Luxembourg account.”
“Great! Well done. I’m sorry I couldn’t see you tonight, I’ve just finished up now,” he says, and I hear the rollers on his van door as he closes it.
“No problem. We can have dinner tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I’ll cook something.”
“Okay, but no chips or fries, yeah?” I remind him.
He sighs. “I know. Something healthy. Ugh.”
I roll my eyes at him. Mark and I are very different people.
“I’m gonna go home now. I’ll text you later.”
“Alright. Speak to you later,” I reply and hang up.
I turn on the TV and find something to watch.
Mark and I have been going out for almost five years. Our anniversary is in about three months’ time, neither of us can ever remember the exact date. While it’s on my mind, I get out my phone and look at some potential anniversary presents. We don’t usually do anything special, just a meal out, but I feel like I should at least get him something.
As I scroll through my phone, I realise that I have no idea what he would want. Other than a Chinese takeaway and a new toolbox, I don’t know what to get him. I groan and throw my phone down on my sofa.
Like I said before; Mark and I are very different people.
I arrive at work by eight AM. Dressed in a light blue, silk blouse and a pencil skirt, I sit down at my desk. I clip my waist-length, blonde hair up and log into my computer.
Ten minutes later, a cup of coffee is placed on my desk. I look up and see Marta smirking down at me.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” she greets me and sits herself down on my desk.
I subtly move the coffee away from her. Knowing Marta, she’ll knock it over the desk within seconds.
“Morning, beautiful,” I reply and take a sip from my mug. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome. Newbies are already here and are in Brad’s office. I got a look at them. One is ancient, probably about fifty, and the other is sex on a fucking stick,” she gossips excitedly.
I roll my eyes at her. “Ancient? Fifty is not ancient.”
She stares at me blankly. “Did you not hear the other part? Sex on a stick?”
“Yes, I heard,” I reply with amusement.
“Seriously girl, I’m tied down,” she says and holds up her hand, showing off her wedding and engagement bands. “But you’re not! I have to live vicariously through you.”
I sigh heavily. “I’m in a relationship, remember? Have been for almost five years now,” I remind her.
Although sometimes I wonder if I’m reminding myself, too.
Marta scoffs derisively. “Please, do not talk about that wet mop of a boyfriend to me. You can do so much better than Mark Robinson.”
I frown and take another sip of coffee. “You shouldn’t talk about Mark like that,” I say eventually.
“Oh shush, you took way too long to defend him. You think that he is a wet mop, too. Don’t deny it, girl, I know you,” she states and stands up. She smooths down her tight dress and flicks her cherry-red curls over her shoulders. “Anyways, brace yourself. We’re being assigned newbies and I told Brad that I thought you’d be a better match with the sex on a stick.”
My mouth drops open in shock. “You did what?”
Marta giggles. “You’ll thank me in a minute! The man’s fucking gorgeous. I can understand why he’s in sales. He could pitch a dead carcass to me, and I’d buy it.”
I stand up and pin her with my best disapproving glare. “I can’t believe you got us paired up together!” I say exasperatedly.
Marta shrugs me off. “Oh, relax, it’s only training. He’ll be ready to branch out on his own tomorrow. It’s one day of your life, chill.”
“If he’s a pain in my ass, I’m going to make you wish you had never-” I’m cut off in the middle of threatening my friend, when my boss calls my name.
I look over my shoulder and see Brad, our boss, poking his head out of his doorway. He gestures me over with a curl of his finger. Marta grabs the clip from my hair, making the straight strands fall down my back.
“Hey, what the hell?” I ask, turning around to her.
She straightens my blouse and tugs on it, revealing a little cleavage. I bat her hands away.
“The fuck are you doing?” I snap at her.
“Trying to make you as desirable as possible!” She retorts and smooths down my skirt.
I step away from her and point my finger at her. “You are crazy. Back off, woman.”
I turn on my heel and stride over to the office.
Jesus, what a bloody morning. I’ve only been here fifteen minutes.
I knock on the slightly-ajar door.
“Come in,” my boss calls.
I push it open and step into the office. Brad is stood up behind his desk. He’s only twenty-five, but he started up this company with his parent’s funding. I like him, he’s a pretty cool boss, to be honest.
“Melia, thank you for coming in. I would like you to meet one of our new recruits, you will be training him today,” Brad announces and gestures to the guy in front of his desk.
The man has his back to me and is sat down. At Brad’s statement, he stands up and turns to face me. I’m not ready for his height, his looks and dear Lord above, his smell.
He smells like primal masculinity and sex. It’s fucking orgasmic.
He looks a few years older than Brad and me, but younger than thirty. He has chocolate-coloured hair. The top strands are tousled and unruly, they fall over his eyes.
Pale blue and matching my blouse. He’s wearing a tailored suit that hugs his muscular physique. Most salespeople at this company are gym-bunnies and work out. This gentleman is no different, he’s in incredible physical shape.
He smiles and my heart forgets to beat. It falters slightly and I part my lips, gasping for air.
His perfect teeth are revealed by his charming smile. It draws attention to his plump lips.
Oh, dear Lord. I’m in trouble.
“Lovely to meet you, Melia,” he says smoothly. He holds out his hand to me.
“I’m Braxton King.”