The Big O (An OTT Insta-love STANDALONE) (17 page)

Like the sun, she rose with me and set with me. Every day, my princess went to work with me, making a daily stop at the original Donut King to pick up some donuts and coffee from Marge and Nathan, and in the evening, she came home with me. She gave my house, which used to be as still and quiet as a morgue, life, filling it with flowers, music, and her positive energy. Making it a home. Each night, she cooked me a wonderful dinner, and I, in turn, feasted on her luscious body. We fucked till we could fuck no more, and she fell asleep in my arms. I loved having her nestled against me, blanketing her supple curves with my hardness. Breathing in her sweet scent, I dreamt about her and babies. Occasionally, that recurring nightmare of her evaporating woke me up; it was the only time my euphoria was interrupted by my unfounded fear of losing her.

Things at work were good. Sales at the flagship Donut King continued to soar and they seemed to have a domino effect on other shops. While we far from being out of murky water, things seemed to be improving. I was more and more confident that our sexy new marketing strategy was going to totally turn things around, and that next year at this time, I’d be telling shareholders about significant profits, not losses.

The commercial starring Olive was moving along quickly. Jaime had decided to shoot it on location rather than building a set. He said the original Donut King was ideal and would give “a realness” to the commercial. Marge and Nathan were going to co-star as the counter folks. Jaime and his casting director thought they were naturals.

Other than keeping my creditors at bay, there was only one problem at work. My Olive. There was nothing wrong with the way she did her job; in fact, it was utter perfection. She was both passionate and meticulous, keeping me organized and always one step ahead. My staff furthermore really liked her. She was sweet and accommodating to everyone, from my top executives to janitors. I saw a noticeable change in myself. My normal belligerence, which often bordered on bitterness, gave way to gentility. Nice, a four-letter word that wasn’t part of my vocabulary, had crept into my bloodstream. I smiled a lot more, said good morning and good night to those I passed in the halls, and employees seemed less afraid of me. I was no longer the tyrannical king of my company, but rather a benevolent one. I knew wherever she was my mother would be proud of me.

Though we were too busy to escape the office and secretly fuck our brains out, lunch was my favorite part of the day. Ordering in or grabbing something from our commissary, Olive and I spent time in my office or the conference room reviewing storyboards for the upcoming Donut King commercial. Olive was still in shock that she was cast as The Big O Girl. I had negotiated an excellent deal for her, and if the commercial was successful, she would make a lot of money and become a household name. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that sometimes this possibility disturbed me. The thought that she might become America’s Sweetheart and be loved by every Tom, Dick, and Harry drove me insane with jealousy. Olive could only be loved by one man. And that man was me.

Okay. Let’s stop with the bullshit. The real problem wasn’t Olive. It was me. I kept my word and refrained from having sex with her in the office. All day long I suffered from a disease, which I dubbed boneritis. I had a constant hard-on from fantasizing about all the ways I could fuck my princess. Once I even fantasized her slipping a donut over my cock and eating it off me though in reality my fat cock wouldn’t fit through the hole. My manhood throbbed all day long, and there were times I thought it might burst right through the fabric of my slacks. There was no cure for this malady except jerking off, but I couldn’t be doing that all day long. I had work to do. Plus, I was getting callouses on my fingers as it was. I tried to stay seated at my desk as much as possible so as not to display my condition to my staff.

There was something else on my mind besides sex. Something bigger. I’d found the time to go to my safety deposit box at the bank and take out my mother’s wedding ring. It was now sitting in a small vault at my house. I was dying to pop the question to Olive, but wanted to wait till after the shoot. Even though I suspected that Jaime Zander knew that Olive was something more to me than my assistant, there was no need to arouse any kind of suspicions as to why Olive had been cast as The Big O Girl—either with his staff or mine. Though she won the coveted role fair and square all on her own, people liked to talk and jealousies abounded. Most of all, I didn’t want to incense Clint, who was surprisingly behaving like a good soldier. I didn’t trust her. Not one bit. She was like the calm before a storm. A cobra ready to strike. I had to be on guard and protect my princess from her fangs.

I did, however, have my proposal scenario all laid out. I was going to take her out dancing. While the haunts my parents frequented were long gone, I’d done some research and discovered that every Saturday night at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel—the one where they filmed
Pretty Woman
—there was dancing to a big band. The posh hotel would be ideal. I’d make her wear one of my mother’s prettiest dresses, take her for a fine multi-course meal with champagne, dance with her to all the greats, and then pop the question over dessert. I was still thinking of some creative way to surprise her with the ring. Hopefully, an idea would come to me soon.

The days leading up to the shoot were busy ones. Production meetings with Jaime and his team abounded. There were read-throughs and run-throughs as well as discussions about wardrobe, hair, and makeup. It was amazing how much work went into producing one little thirty-second spot. Something you could miss if you had to leave the TV to get a beer. Jaime wanted to preserve the Donut King’s retro spirit. Retro was hot right now. While his Director of Photography’s primary concern was having enough donuts around in case any melted from the hot lighting, mine was my princess. I didn’t want anything to happen to her.

The day of the shoot, we arrived on location at six in the morning. The place was hopping. Jaime’s production manager had managed to secure the strip mall parking lot exclusively for our use. And already double-parked inside it were dozens of cars along with a food truck just outside on the street. I parked my Hummer in my reserved spot right next to what must be Jaime’s Porsche as the vanity license plate read ZAP!, the name of his agency. Already a crowd of people was gathered around the mall, hoping to get a peek of some Hollywood action. Security guards were holding them back.

“Oh my!” exclaimed my wide-eyed Olive as I helped her out of the car. I took her hand. It felt clammy. Through she was well-prepared for the shoot, clearly she was nervous. I couldn’t blame her. Anticipation was pulsing through my bloodstream. I had a lot riding on my Big O Girl. And on this commercial. It was going to make us or break us. But whatever the outcome, it wouldn’t come between my princess and me.

We were greeted by total insanity as we set foot inside the shop. Production personnel were skittering about prepping for the shoot, adjusting lights, cameras, and mikes as well as making sure that trays of colorful, mouthwatering donuts were lined up perfectly on the shelves. Jaime, dressed casually in a T-shirt and jeans, took note of us immediately and jogged our way. Holding a chocolate frosted donut in one hand, he gave me a man hug.

“How you doing, man?”

“Good. How’s it going?”

“Great.” His eyes darted to Olive, who was soaking in everything.

“You ready for your close-up, Olive?”

“I-I hope so,” my princess stammered, her voice small and uncertain. I could feel her grip my hand tighter as Jaime took a big bite of his donut and grinned.

“Super! Let’s get you into hair and makeup.” He shouted out to two production guys, Trent and Gray, to come our way. They were both skinny with spiky black hair and clad in black jeans and T-shirts. One sported a sleeve of tattoos on his right arm.

“Hi, beautiful!” he gushed as he fluffed Olive’s blond hair. “I can’t wait to work on you.”

Though he was probably gay, I cringed at having another man call my Olive beautiful and touch her intimately. I swear I wanted to punch him out for even coming near what was mine. Only mine. I clenched my fists by my sides so I wouldn’t do anything rash.
Stop it, Owen
, I willed myself.

“Where are Marge and Nathan?” I asked Jaime, trying to relax.

“They’re already in hair and makeup.”

“Can I watch them do up Olive?” I asked, thinking that would be a way to keep my eye on her and make sure no one touched her in places they had no right to be. The thought of someone undressing and dressing her made every nerve in my body light up like sticks of dynamite.

“It would be better if you didn’t. We’re doing hair and makeup as well as wardrobe in the room next to the kitchen, and the space is really tight, plus we’ve got the extras in there too. Just grab a cup of coffee and a donut and relax until it’s your turn. Olive’s in great hands.”

Though he didn’t mean it literally, the vision of other hands touching my Olive made my nerves ignite. Another familiar voice turned my head.

“Hello, Owen. I’m sorry I’m late. I stopped off at a twenty-four hour liquor store to pick up a couple of cases of champagne. I thought we’d all celebrate after the shoot.”

It was Clint. Standing behind her were two production assistants, each struggling with heavy boxes filled with champagne bottles. She flashed a smug smile as her gaze shifted to Olive.

“Break a leg.”

I don’t know if she meant it literally or figuratively, but coming from Clint I’d bet on the former. I now had a reason not to accompany Olive. I had to keep my eye on Clint. While she’d been very cooperative over the last week, I still didn’t trust her. And to add insult to injury, she was holding a cup of Starbeans coffee in her hand. I bet just to piss me off. Before I could say a word to either her or Olive, my princess was whisked away by the hair and makeup guys.

Thirty-five long minutes later Olive re-emerged. Holy fucking cow! She looked ravishing. Dressed in a hot pink full-skirted dress that belonged to my mother, the sweetheart neckline scooped low to show off her enviable cleavage and nipped at the waist to show off her luscious curves. My princess was a natural beauty, but the cherry-red lipstick and smoky eyeliner made her even more beautiful as did her glossy blond hair, which fell over her shoulders in soft waves. She was a fucking knock out! A total pinup girl. My cock rose in my jeans, giving her a standing ovation. I knew I shouldn’t have worn tight jeans, but that’s what Jaime wanted me to wear for the shoot along with a Donut King T-shirt. A big mistake. I was going to fucking ache in them all day, longing to take off her dress and eat her up alive.

“Okay, quiet, everyone!” shouted the director through a megaphone after I returned from hair and makeup. “Take your places. We’re going to do a dress rehearsal and then we’re going to shoot this baby.”

Everyone got into their places…the extras in the booths, Marge and Nathan behind the counter. But Olive, she just stood there as still as a statue. All the color drained from her face and she began to shake. Fuck. She looked like she was about to pass out.

As her legs began to buckle, I ran up to her and caught her in my arms just in time.

“Everyone, take a break. Take a walk down the block. And give us some time.”

“A
aah-love.” A deep, tender voice hummed in my ears as soft fingertips dusted along the side of my face, bringing awareness into my body. My eyes fluttered open. Owen King was sitting beside me on the edge of a couch, a smile curling on his lips as I regained consciousness.

“Hey.”

“What happened?”

“You fainted,” he replied, helping me into a sitting position. “Not so fast. Take it easy.”

I took in my surroundings. I was back in the small room where I had my makeup and hair done and was transformed into The Big O Girl. My pulse quickening, I could feel sweat clustering behind my knees.

“Owen, I don’t think I can do this. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I definitely wasn’t expecting such a big production. I’m totally freaked out.”

Owen chortled, curling a ringlet of my hair around one of his long deft fingers. “Princess, there’s no reason to be intimidated. You’ve just got to relax.”

The door to the room swung open and another warm familiar voice sounded in my ears. Marge.

“Hun, are you all right? I’ve brought you some water.” She headed our way.

Taking the plastic cup from her, Owen answered for me. “Thanks, Marge. She’s going to be fine. Just a little case of stage fright.”

That was an understatement. I was a basket case.

“Drink,” he commanded, holding the cup to my lips. I took a few sips, but the cool liquid did little to quell the butterflies swarming my stomach.

“Is there anything else you need?” Marge asked Owen.

“Just let everyone know that Olive will be back in a few minutes ready to kick some butt.”

Thoughtful Marge smiled. I could see the adoration she had for Owen in her eyes. “You’ve got it,” she said and then left us alone.

I took another sip of the water. “Owen, seriously, I don’t think I can do this.”