Executive Engagement

It glistens so nicely on her flat belly, and I take a second to just watch as she scoops my essence off her chest and licks her fingers clean.

Good fucking girl.

I let her pull herself together and make my way to the bar. It’s nighttime already, and I need a fucking drink.

To say I’m a workaholic is an understatement. I work all the goddamn time, and that’s why Lydia’s so convenient to have around.

“Mmm, Paul, that was so good,” she says, getting back into her tight bondage-style dress. “Hey, you wanna get a drink somewhere?”

“Hmm, baby I’d like to, but you know how much work I have to do. You go out, have fun.”

She pouts, and I go over to her kiss her softly to remind her that it’ll be this way same time tomorrow.

“Okay,” she says cheerily as she walks to the door. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Fine,” I say absentmindedly over my shoulder.

I’m already burying my head in a stack of new reports.

I work too much, and I know it, but let’s just say it’s more important to me to get ahead then it is to go out on the town for some mediocre fun.

I work late into the night, and then I hit the gym that’s close to the apartment. I love to work out late, when no one’s there, when normal people have gone to bed.

That’s when I come alive. I’m a night owl and survive on very little sleep.

I work out hard, to the very max, then I shower up and go home. I have a black Porsche that I drive when I want to give my limousine driver the night off. He deserves it.

He has a family and everything, not like me. I have no one to answer to and I like it that way.

Tonight is no different, and as I click on the lights of my darkened apartment, I can’t help but think of her.

She doesn’t have a name. She’s barely even a neighbor. But she lives next door in The Bradford, and she’s so fucking beautiful that I find myself staring from my place into her apartment often.

I just like to get a glimpse of her, to know that she’s okay.

And I vow to meet her one day soon.

It just has to look like an accident.

Naomi

My heels click on the pavement.

Blisters threaten to have me walk barefoot.

It’s been another long day working on-location. They sectioned off an entire Manhattan street just for this photo shoot, and I have to say I did a stunning job. The theme is “Midnight in Manhattan.”

I swathed the model in black lace, dark blues, and tons of fucking diamonds. She looked ethereal, set against the backdrop of the gritty street—which was kind of the point: midnight in the city.

It’s late as I walk the last few blocks home. I like to walk in the city when it’s dark and the tourists and the people have faded a bit into the background.

I’m a creative, after all. I find inspiration after hours when normal people sleep. I like to do things the abnormal way—or at least a little differently. You’d never find me at a nine-to-five job.

And that’s why I’m walking home to The Bradford, anxious for my bed and a long, hot bath.

Every night, I take a sea salt bath, and I listen to Reiki music and just try to calm down after a day of being surrounded by swarms of people.