Fool Like You (5 page)

6

Alice
Lively

The
next morning, I arrive precise on time, but Mr Dyer isn
’
t
present.

I ride
the elevator with a bunch of other men dressed to kill in Armani suits and
fancy shoes, wearing black ties with silver linen. Their cologne is expensive,
their bodies are probably waxed, and most of them are almost six feet tall. It
happens that by the 15
^th
floor, I am the only woman standing, almost
squeezed in between them. Everything about them is perfect, but none of them
does it for me. They don
’
t have that
something
that I don
’
t know what it is but know what it feels like.
That something that if I ever find a descriptive word for it, I am sure it won
’
t be in
English. I
’
d imagine it to be in French maybe, or Italian,
or in some ancient Greek text, or in a book written by Aphrodite. It
’
s that
something that makes me miss the billionaire bastard. With all those staring
eyes of men in suits, probably checking out my ass fitting excellently in my
tight skirt, I don
’
t feel that something. Where
the hell is my billionaire bastard the one I despise and hate so much?

Yesterday
he was out of office all day. He called in sick, which he never, ever, did
before. If he doesn
’
t show up today, I swear I am
going to his house. I have a surprise for him.

I was
fucked in his office yesterday and left on a whim without saying a word. Today,
I have a surprise for him. I pull my skirt down as I feel my new expensive
under panties on my body. I
’
ve always had a knack for
expensive lingerie, but I couldn
’
t bring
myself to spend money on it. Lately, I
’
ve
found a way to pay for it. And baby, it feels so good good wearing them
underneath. I feel like a power ranger, a feisty girl who can take down Mr
Bastard today.

When I
enter the office, he is talking to a fellow business man. I pull my chin up
once he gets a glimpse of me and ignore him, walking toward my office, making
sure he see my photogenic side. I am dying to see the look on his eyes, staring
at my knee length trench coat that only showed my legs. Men always tell me I
have merciless beautiful legs. With the trench coat on, it gives men the
fantasy that I am naked underneath it, only wearing my strap heels which look
super sexy on me.

Before
I enter my office, I stand for a moment talking to a co-worker and take my coat
off, showing my new dress underneath, which is bit shorter. Bit by bit,
asshole! I am going to tease you until you go to hell.

I get
into my office, hang my coat and check some files then get out again. There I
see his piercing eyes looking at me. I smirk, chin up again, flap my hair back
and head for his office in front of him. I am one of the few who are allowed
inside his office when he is out. I place an envelope on his desk, right above
all piles of paper.
Here is my surprise Fucker!

On my
way out, he is still staring at me, probably wondering why I entered his office
in front of his eyes. It isn
’
t unusual, but we both
understand that since yesterday work is the last thing on our minds.

I see
him squint at me, stripping me naked with his angry eyes, and I love it. What
if he yells in the middle of the office now and tells the others that he just
fucked me in the office yesterday? Silly thought. I will lose my job, and I
need my job. Since yesterday, I am worried if someone knew about the incident.
I don
’
t think
someone did. At least as long as I express my hatred for him
–
like I
always do. I am, by far, the last woman in the office that anyone suspects
sleeping with the bastard. Even I don
’
t know
how this happened. I promised myself this will never happen again. I will make
his life miserable for what he has done yesterday. Just wait and see.

I stop
in the middle of the office space, right behind a cubicle, where he can only
see my eyes, and text him.

‘
You
’
ve got
mail on your desk!
’
I message him.

Without
lifting his eyes off me he feels his phones
’
vibration and picks up and reads the message. He writes back instantly with a
smirk on his face. My phone buzzes.

‘
I
imagine it
’
s an official request for having the company
compensate you on the damaged I caused with your panties from yesterday.
’
He
writes.

What.
A.  Jerk.

But
that
’
s good.
I have this flirting message from him on my phone. I can blackmail him. But
wait. He didn
’
t send it from his phone. What
’
s this
number? Ah, so he has another secret number for stuff like that. No problem. I
will get him anyway.

‘
Nah. It
’
s an
even better surprise. Also don
’
t worry about my panties. I
have been compensated already.
’
I write back.

He
reads my message and feels a little uncomfortable, not knowing what I mean. I
leave him and walk away while glimpsing him trot toward his office.

Stretching
my arms inside my room and staring at the sun outside, I have a feeling today
will be a beautiful day. Revenge feels so good.

I lock
my room and sit on my chair with a smug on my face, waiting for his next move,
wondering what his reaction will be while holding onto my phone. I don
’
t
imagine he will lose temper and come right to my room, screaming and pulling
hair. But maybe he will send for me, which I have to be really careful about. I
don
’
t want
to be alone in a room with him these days. Especially in that conference room.
I don
’
t want
to sink week to my knees again because of his silly beauty or assertiveness.

My
phone buzzes. It
’
s him. I wonder if I can
blackmail him in the future with these messages he is sending me, if I tack the
number and prove that it
’
s his. They will be surely
amusing to the rest of the office. Hell, to the whole city of New York.

“
You let
Mr. Donovan, the director of the company we
’
re
about to sign a very important deal with, buy you $4000 lingerie from Paris on
his company
’
s credit card and you want me to sign that
receipt you sent me?
”
he writes, and I smirk. Here
is my surprise, bastard. I gotcha by your balls. The lingerie feels so good on
my skin. Even better after reading this message. I am only curious how he looks
like mad now, gritting his teeth, beads of sweat on his forehead from anger,
and his hair dancing crazily on his head. I would really love to see the look
of a madman on him right now. But I am too afraid to get into his office. How I
wish they had invented emotions in message texting so I can really feel the
words on his beautiful lips.

“
Some
one tore my cloths and stole my panties, asshole!
”
I write,
pushing the game up a notch by calling him asshole, and sending the message to
his other secret number. I am quite aware that my career might end right now. I
am not in control of my emotions, right now. I guess I have to blame it on my
stifled high school days; rough memories I haven't gotten over yet.

“
How did
you do that?
”
He texts me.
“
How did
you convince the Mr Donovan to buy you such things?
”

“
I
flipped through the files and saw that most rich businessmen you make deals
with, buy you expensive presents of lingerie and sex toys, since you
’
re
known to like to gift those to your mistresses,
”
I
write back.
“
I told him you asked me to ask him and buy those
for your the next model you want to sleep with, and he agreed. Your reputation
precedes you. Now, you won
’
t to be able to deny that, will
you? I took a copy of the receipt and sent it to you. If you don
’
t want
to sign the deal with Mr. Donovan for any reason, you might want to refund his
payment and pay it yourself.
”

There
is a big smile on my face now. I know. I am so mean and irresponsible.

To my
surprise, he doesn
’
t text me back, nor does he
come bursting into my office. I spend the next nine hours fidgeting and waiting
for him to even call for me, but he doesn
’
t. When
I walk out in the hall they say he has announced being busy while alone and
stopped all calls today. When I am about to leave and call it a day, I get a
memo from the financial department. They want me to run over a project they
will present tomorrow. It
’
s urgent and I have to work after
regular working hours. I have done it before, and I don
’
t mind.
It
’
s my
job and I get my bonus. It
’
s just that today I am so
distracted , having to work with only other two workers in the office until
almost nine o
’
clock in the evening.

And
where the hell are you, bastard?

7

Sebastian Dyer

After
reading her last message, I feel like my head is going to explode. I hate that
bitch. She so gets on my nerves, but I can
’
t seem
to resist her. Instead of committing suicide, jumping offa my own building in New
York city, I grit my teeth, run my hand through my hair, lean back in my chair,
and breath out slowly.

Calm
down, Dyer. You had enough pussy than anyone in this city could dream of. Good
pussy. Sexy women. Intelligent women. Charming women. Alice is just one more on
the list. Don
’
t let her get to you. You already fucked her
yesterday. You
’
re her boss. Get her out of your system. You
’
re the
winner here.

Even
though my mind process calms me down, I know it
’
s all
lies. There is something about this woman that makes me lose control. Something
so different from all others. Something that I love and hate at the same time.
I fucked her to forget about her. Just another girl bagged in my sack of one
night stands and crazy sexual adventures. But she
’
s still
running in my veins as if fucking her was injecting myself with an addictive
drug that I can
’
t get enough of. It
’
s bad
for me, but I have to taste her one more time. I have to feel that euphoric
ecstasy that she sends through my manhood. I want to cup those breast. I want
to caress those sighs, and I want to slap that ass. I want to fuck the shit out
of her until she can
’
t stand on her knees. I want it
and I need it. Those lips. Oh god. Those lips. The way she kisses me back and
bites on my lower lips. I want o suck on her tongue, and I want her to suck my
cock and come on her face all day long. But not before I give her shivers, not
before I rock her word, not before I send her to the moon and back on an orgasm
rocket. And then, after I see her throb to the intensity of the orgasm, I want
to gift her with another one, and another. Never have I enjoyed making a woman
come like I enjoyed her.

Shit!
Who am I fooling?

Calm
down, Dyer.

I
loosen my tie and stare at the door of my office.
Just be calm. You
’
re the
man. You get the girls. They can
’
t get
enough of you. You
’
ve got everything a woman
needs. It was a good move not to reply to her message. She is going crazy now,
not knowing what you think of her move, or what your next move is. Let her burn
slowly as you
’
re absent and silent. Soon
enough she will come through that door. You
’
ve
already stopped incoming calls and ordered no one to bother you but you know
what she is made of. She is made of a chocolate bar full of stubbornness. Her
determination is her weakness. This is where you push her buttons. She has
pride, she is smart, and believes in herself. That
’
s her
weakness. She will not stand you not answering her back.

I wait
for hours, staring at that closed door, cigarette ashes piling up in my
ashtray. I stopped smoking last year. It is time to get back to it, waiting for
her to burst into that door. And then, I swear to God I am going to fuck her
like she has never been fucked in her life. The things I am going to do to her,
she
’
ll
remember for the rest of her life.

But
time passes and she doesn
’
t show up.

The
working day ends, and still she didn
’
t come.

Knocked
out and furious, I sneak out of the back door of my office, defeat showing in
my eyes. I take the stairs instead of the elevator so no one sees me or asks me
where I have been all day, or even worse, what the hell is wrong with me. I don
’
t feel
I am myself when she
’
s away. It
’
s a
fucking joke. No one does this to Sebastian Dyer. I can
’
t
believe I am walking down the stairs that no one ever uses like a thief because
I am embarrassed of myself. How come that bitch didn
’
t
message me back or ask for me. The stairs feel like the road down to hell.
Before I fucked her, I lived in my optimum heaven. Fucking her was purgatory.
And now I am all the way down to the empty garage after working hours.

I open
the door to my Lexus and sit inside, helplessly staring at the empty garage.
There are about ten other cars still parked in here. One of them is a huge van,
parked right next to me. I slam my hand on the wheel, letting out a painful
breath.
Am I really going to turn the keys into my car and drive home now?
My
 inner self asks.
You can always bed the hottest and most intelligent
and riches woman in New York right now. How about Frida Jennsen, the daughter
of multi billionaire Grecko Jennsen. She is young, Swedish, hot, and she wants
you so bad. You have seen how she was looking at you in the charity party a
months ago. She took your phone playfully and plugged her number inside and bit
her lips in the middle of the party. She is a million times sexier and hotter
than Alice. What
’
s wrong with you, man?

I find
my eyes lowering down to my crotch. My cock isn
’
t happy
about Frida Jenssen. It
’
s not hardening on its own and
there isn
’
t that tingling of pain and pleasure in it when
I say her name my lips. Instead, it
’
s Alice
’
s name
that sends this son of a bitch to a throbbing then hardening journey before it
’
s so
hard it
’
s start
killing me.

As I
turn my head, I see a car parked. It
’
s Alice
’
s. She
is still in the building. Of course, she is. I sent an order to the financial
department to occupy her with revising their offer for tomorrow
’
s
meeting. I thought the longer she stays in the building the better chance she
would finally contact me. Still, she didn
’
t. The
poor girl is working her ass off right without needing to.

Speaking
of her beautiful ass, an idea suddenly strikes me. An evil idea. A heavenly
evil idea.