And he’s staring right at me.
And … oh god, it dawns on me … he's the Wolf of New York.
I
am
so
fucked.
2
Apollo
“…Apollo Kane is going to continue this tradition of treating each and every employee as if they matter, because you do, of course, and so right now, you should give him a big round of applause!”
My eyes shoot back to Mr. Isaouk, the utter banality of his speech managing to tear my attention away from the hot brunette in the crowd who’d stolen my cab this morning and caused me to be ten minutes late to this farce of an announcement.
The random smattering of applause at Mr. Isaouk’s final sentence makes it clear that my future employees don't believe his bullshit any more than I do. I stride up onto the dais and face the crowd of mostly hostile employees.
And one extremely fuckable brunette.
Who is also one of your employees now, I tell myself.
I ignore that thought and dive into my speech about how much I admire Blush magazine for being a leader and a trendsetter in the magazine world, which was true 15 years ago but isn’t now, and how things will stay mostly the same, which is only a partial lie, really and focus on keeping my eyes away from that girl because if I let my eyes drift back to her, I might begin to remember the shape of her ass as she climbed into the cab this morning.
She’s just some hottie who knows it and flaunts it. I don’t need that bullshit in my life.
I have enough women who come when I snap my fingers. I don’t need someone who expects me to come when she snaps hers. Oh hell no. Girls crawl all over each other to get a piece of me and my bank account, and my cock. I don’t bend to them.
She tosses her hair and leans over to whisper something in the ear of the woman standing next to her, and then they both smirk and laugh quietly.
Now, I want to be her boss, just so I can give her the nastiest job in the joint. I’m sure someone here has to scrub the floorboards with a toothbrush, right? Might as well be her.
I finally wind down my rehearsed speech, only having to refer to my cards occasionally as I talk. I can talk convincingly and plan strategies to take down my enemies at the same time.
And that brunette? She has it coming. She won’t know what hit her.
The employees applaud as unconvincingly for my speech as they did for Mr. Isaouk’s but I don’t care. Fuck ‘em. I own their asses now. I signed the paperwork last night, and then celebrated with three gorgeous women in my private Jacuzzi.
Which is why I was late waking up this morning—fucking three women and bringing them all to orgasm takes a lot of skill and stamina, you know, and so when my private limo got a fucking flat tire on the way to Blush, I had no choice. I had to jump out and try to flag a taxi cab. I mean, I’ve been in a taxi before, sure. It’s been a while; I don’t slum it just to try to keep some street cred or something. I’ve worked hard to be worth billions and I don’t have to justify my lifestyle to anyone, but I’ve been in one before.
I can’t say that I’ve had one stolen from me before, though. Not many people dare to stand up to me, and they sure as fuck don’t laugh at me and hang their heads out of the window of a cab, waving gleefully at me as they do it.
Mr. Isaouk walks me to my temporary office—just this small, piece of shit office with only two windows in it and not a decent stick of furniture to be found—and apologizes for the humbleness of the office as he backs out, bowing as he goes, promising I’ll be able to move into my real office tomorrow.
Fucking right I will, whether its current occupant wants me to or not.
I stride over to the floor-to-ceiling window by the cheap oak desk and stare out over the city.
I need to get myself under control. I can’t have that little slip of a girl fucking me around like this. I spent the last hour thinking-not-thinking about how much I’d like to spank that round ass of hers and really, I can’t let her control that much of my focus. I should probably call up Tiffani tonight and see if she’d be wiling to do a round—or three—of some nasty BDSM games. Tying her up and—
The knocking on the door interrupts my thoughts. Cursing under my breath, I turn and call out, “Come.”
I don’t want to sit on that nasty leatherette chair at that piece of shit oak desk, so I stay standing instead, arms folded across my chest. Whoever it is, they damn well better have a good reason for ruining my daydream about spanking Tiffani like the slut she is.
The door slowly opens and around the corner, in peeks her.