Made in America (5 page)

“But,” he adds, “that doesn’t mean I want to actually do that, Raven. It’s a fantasy. You do have nice breasts.”

“Uh-huh, and how about your last assistant? Did you fuck her?”

“April? Repeatedly,” he says, “but only because she wanted me to. I didn’t make April do anything she didn’t want to do.”

“Well, that’s reassuring. I’m sure she was just an innocent in it all, right? Like you didn’t charm your way into her pants. She just threw herself onto your cock and you were all like,
oh no, what should I do?
”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. Women like her, all they see is money.”

“And I don’t?”

“Obviously not. I think you’ve made that fact abundantly clear.”

He’s right. I don’t just see his money. I see his face, his body, his power, but beneath all that, I see something else. Maybe a man who’s been conflicted his whole life. Someone who wishes to be taken one way and is taken another. I can’t put my finger on it, but something tells me this is the most honest conversation he’s had with anyone in a decade. Maybe longer.

“So how about it? Do you want the job or not? There’s a learning curve, but I’m sure someone like you can handle it.”

“Someone like me?”

“Hardheaded, determined, full of spunk.”

I’d like to be full of your spunk.

I blink that last thought away, hating and loving how he’s making me feel all in one go. With a job that pays this well, I won’t have to bother looking for a new apartment. Tito can be on his way and I can rest comfortably in the little brownstone all by myself and not have to worry about where next month’s rent is going to come from, or how the bills are going to get paid.

I know I said I didn’t care about his money, but $75,000 a year is nothing to scoff at, no matter where it’s coming from. And it’s not like he’s just giving it to me. I’d be working for it. Probably long hours, and stress-filled days, too.

“As long as you know I’m not going to fuck you, then it’s a deal. I’ll take the job.”

A sly grin crosses Grant’s lips, sending yet another shiver down my spine. His head nods yes, but his eyes tell me that he’s going to try whatever it takes to get me bent over that desk of his. This might actually turn out to be a lot more fun than I realized. I’ve teased men before, but teasing one of the richest men in the country?

That’s a challenge I’ll gladly accept.

“Okay. I’ll have the paperwork done up and you can sign it when you come in to start on Monday. You’ll have the weekend to tie up loose ends at the sports bar, and trust me when I say you better be ready to work, Raven. This isn’t going to be some cushy office job where you can kick back and file your nails all day.”

“Don’t worry,” I say, rising from my posh leather chair. “I’m no stranger to hard work. Just allow me some time to adjust and I’m sure before the week’s through I’ll have the hang of it no problem.”

“Deal.”

Grant extends his hand and I stare at it. The thought of touching him is a little unnerving. I know it’s just a handshake, but I can’t deny the physical attraction my body feels toward him, and I’m afraid if I shake his hand, he might be able to tell just how hot I feel in his presence.

Get a grip, sissy. It’s a fucking handshake, not a hand job.

I clear my throat and grasp his hand. He firmly takes me in his grip and we shake on it, staring one another in the eye. I take a deep breath and hold it in until he releases me and I’m free to go.

On my way out of the office he calls after me.

“Say, I’m just curious. When you saw me sitting in your sports bar, what was going through your mind?”

I turn and lean up against the doorjamb. I curl my lips together and flash him a look of mischief I can visibly see has an effect on him by the way he places a hand on his desk to steady himself.

Then I say, “I was thinking how much I’d like for you to fuck my tits.”

I laugh on my way out the door, leaving him slack-jawed and horny.

Serves him right, if you ask me.

- 5 -

Raven

I spend the better part of my afternoon heading over to Drake’s to quit my job. Chase, my boss, isn’t very pleased I’m giving him no notice, but he understands the position I’m in being left without a roommate, and needing more money.

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” he says, his thick, Brooklyn accent shining through. “It’s gonna be a shame to lose you.”

“Thanks, Chase. I really appreciate it.”

We hug, and I say goodbye to my fellow co-workers, looking around the place with a contemplative sadness. I’m going to miss it. Spending the last year working here has brought me good friends, good fun, and shown me that even though school may have not been for me, I was still able to cut it in the big city all on my own.

No, I
am
able to cut it, and now with a $75,000 a year job it’ll make cutting it that much easier.

By the time I get back to my apartment, it’s just after six. Frankie and Tito are on the couch watching Netflix. Thankfully I didn’t walk in on the chill part of the deal. I’ve caught them making out before, but that’s about as much of that as I want to see.

“Hey, there’s my English Enigma,” Tito says as he gets off the couch to greet me. There’s stacks of boxes piled everywhere, and he steps around a few to meet me in the kitchen.

“Hey, Rave,” Frankie waves from the couch.

“Hey guys,” I drop into a chair, exhausted from being out and about all day.

Tito sits expectantly across from me with his lips pursed and his eyebrows raised. I know what he’s waiting for, but he’s just going to have to wait a little while longer. I need a drink.

“I’ll get it,” he says, going to the fridge for a Jack Daniel’s cooler before I can budge an inch from my chair.

He hands it to me and I say, “I’m really going to miss you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Kisses and hugs to you, too. So spill it. What happened with Huffy?”

“Huffy? You’re calling him Huffy?”

“Huffy, Huffinator, Huffleupagus. Whatever. Just tell me.”

I burst out laughing at that last one. Huffleupagus, a play on the famous Sesame Street character, Snuffleupagus. I really am going to miss Tito when he’s gone. No matter what kind of day I’m having, he can always make me laugh.

“Did you go all British bulldog on him? Put him in his place? I bet you put him in his place, right? Yelling, screaming. God, I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that.”

“Actually,” I sip my cooler a little longer than normal, bracing myself for Tito’s reaction. “He offered me a job.”

“Excuse me?” Frankie shouts from the couch.

“A job?” Tito asks. “Okay, now I’m confused. I thought you went there for an apology.”

“I did, and he gave me one. Then afterwards we got to talking, and it turns out he needs a new assistant.” I leave out the part about Grant firing the one he had directly on the spot. With me sitting right there.

“An assistant? You’re not an assistant, you’re a waitress.” Tito says.

“Hey, for seventy-five grand a year, I’ll be nearly whatever he wants me to be.”

Frankie whistles, as does Tito. Those two were made for each other.

“Seventy-five G’s? You’re shitting me, right?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I already went to Drake’s and quit. Come Monday, I’ll be assistant to Mr. Grant Huffman. Financial mogul, and billionaire.”

“Damn, girl. The Jefferson’s ain’t got nothing on you.”

“You’sa movin’ on up!” Frankie shouts.

Another laugh escapes me as I polish off my drink and set the bottle down. I guess I am moving on up. From waitress to assistant all in one day. If I didn’t know any better it sounds like something straight out of
Pretty Woman
, minus the hooking.

But I’m no Julia Roberts, and Grant is certainly no Richard Gere. He’s about a thousand times more attractive, to be honest.

“What’s the catch?” Tito asks, raising a cautious eyebrow. “You know there’s always a catch, right?”

“No catch,” I proclaim. “It’s all business. I even told him as much.”

“You did?”

I nod. “Told him straight to his face that I wasn’t going to fuck him, so if that’s all he was hiring me for than he could forget it.”

“Daaamn girl, that’s awesome, but you totally want to fuck him, you know that, right?”

“Tito!” I reach over and slap him on the arm as hard as I can. He flinches away and shakes his head.

“Mmmhmm, see, you’re already going on the defensive. That means you wanna fuck him.”

“No, it doesn’t. It just means I don’t appreciate you crystal-balling my future. I know what’s best for me, and I’m telling you, I am not gonna fuck Grant Huffman.”

“But you want to, right?”

I reach over to slap him once more but he jerks away before I make contact.

“I’m not saying you’re
going
to, I’m just saying you
want
to. Big difference. It’s okay. Hell, I want to fuck him.”

“Hey!” Frankie shouts from the living room.

“You shut it,” Tito chides. “You wanna fuck Idris Elba, so I get to wanna fuck someone too.”

I bury my face in my hands, admitting defeat. Groaning, I tell him, “Yes, okay. I want to fuck him, but I’m not going to. I can’t. I’m going to be his assistant for crying out loud, how weird would that make it at work?”

“Depending on how good you are at your job, it might make it better. Hell, you might even get a raise.”

“I’m not a whore, Tito.”

He places his hand overtop mine. “Honey,” he says. “Deep down, we’re all whores.”

He stares at me for a moment before we both burst out laughing. Tears stream down my face and I hold my stomach, nearly collapsing to the floor. By the time I’m done, I feel about a million times better and proceed to relay to him the comments Grant told me about what he was thinking the first time he saw me, and how I told him what I was thinking the first time I saw him. Tito has a few choice words for that whole exchange, making me laugh about a dozen more times. By the time I’m ready to head to my room and leave these two love birds alone, my cheeks hurt and my stomach feels like it’s going to split open.

Heading down the hall, Tito shouts, “You’re coming to our engagement party next Saturday, right?”

“Coming? I’m your best man, Tito. I’ll be there with bells on.”

I close the door and barricade myself in my room. Sitting at my desk, I let a deep, calming breath escape my lungs before popping open my ancient Acer laptop. Firing up Chrome, I hit Google and type in: Grant Huffman.

Article after article flashes by before I head on over to the Images tab, and before long, I’m loosing myself in those damn, hooded eyes of his.

In one image in particular from
GQ Magazine,
he’s standing before the camera with his hands in his pockets, lips slightly parted, and his gelled hair looking somewhat disheveled. His white dress shirt is rolled up his forearms, and he’s dressed in a pair of black slacks, black suspenders, and black tie. He looks absolutely ravishing in that image, so I right-click and save it to my desktop, continuing to stare dreamily at it, imaging those eyes looking back at me while his cock works its way deep inside.

Before I know it, I’m sitting with my legs spread, skirt hiked up around my hips, and my panties pulled to the side for easy access to my pussy, while my fingers work overtime to bring to me to orgasm. It doesn’t take long, and when I’m done I can’t help but feel a little ashamed for doing what I just did.

Mostly because I know that when I’m around him, I’m not so sure I’m going to be able to stick to my no fucking rule.

Not after knowing what he wants to do to my tits.

“God,” I groan. “What have I gotten myself in to?”

- 6 -

Grant

I’ve never jerked off as much in my life as I did this weekend. After hearing what Raven said to me right before she left on Friday, it sent my mind into a tailspin. Forget about work. I spent all of Saturday and Sunday unsuccessfully trying to get it out of my head so that come this morning, I wouldn’t be thinking about fucking her tits so much.

I’m still thinking about it, of course, but if I want this to be a successful partnership and continue to keep Raven around, I have to reel those thoughts in or else I won’t be able to contain myself.

7:35 am. I told her to be here a little before eight, so we’ll see how that goes. She doesn’t seem like the type who’d be late to a job, but I’ve been surprised by lesser things than punctuality.

Standing, I face my window overlooking New York. I love this city. I’ve been to the West Coast countless times on business—even have a house in Malibu—but as far as I’m concerned I could never make that residence permanent. People in Los Angeles, they’re too fake. New Yorkers give it to you straight. Not counting for the people in my company who always tell me what I want to hear. I’m talking about the common man. They’ll tell you exactly what’s on their mind, and never bat an eyelash giving it a second thought.

People like Raven, even though she’s not American. Hell, her being British probably makes her more honest than most.

She’s going to be good for my business. I just hope I’m ready for the type of attitude she’s going to bring to the job, because something tells me it’s going to be filled with piss and vinegar.

A knock on my office door makes me spin, and I know it’s her. I’m anxious to see what she’s wearing to her first day on the job.

“Come in.”

The door swings open and in walks Raven, wearing exactly the same thing she was wearing on Friday. Cream colored blouse, black pencil skirt, and pumps.

“Hey, boss,” she beams.

“Good morning,” I croak.

Her smiling face falters for a moment and she stands there, looking at me looking at her. She dips her chin and admires the outfit along with me, then she crinkles her face and asks, “What?”

“I’ve already seen you in that. Don’t you have anything else to wear?”