Yeah, quieter. Except for the fisherman and the joggers and the drunks waking up.
None of that mattered, though. Once the cool breeze started stroking me in the dawn light, and I realized I was naked—fucking bare-assed!—out on a cliff getting pictures taken of my gorgeous pussy, I was fucking thrilled.
Hence the current boredom. Haven’t had a fix in a while.
I decide to wander down and check my mail. Might be a few magazines or offers.
I don’t bother changing. Instead, I just throw a cardigan over my grey singlet and slacks. I don’t give a fuck what any of these dicks think of me.
I’m still on that thought, lingering over the mail, thinking about ignoring the others hard enough. Maybe then they won’t actually say hi to me.
Who does that anyway? I don’t get people walking around saying hi to people they don’t know.
From the corner of my eye, I see a flash of dark blue, and my head turns before I can stop it. I get a nice quick look of the tall form, toned butt sliding under the expensive fabric as he goes through the door. He’s on the phone, briefcase in hand, trying to ignore the other occupants as I do.
Derek. Oh, my fucking god. Derek!
The only guy I have ever seen tall enough to look me in the eye. Not that we have—I mean, we’ve seen each other, but since we ignore every other creature in the building, it’s not like we say hi.
He’s got a really hectic schedule. Works for some advertising agency. Hell, he has probably seen my centerfolds.
I frown, clutching my mail and heading upstairs. Wish I hadn’t thought of that.
I’m confident as hell, and I love my job. I don’t bow to anybody, and I don’t accept judgments from society about an
ything I do.
But that Derek. He’s hot. I heard he does four hours a day at the gym, as well as twelve-hour work days.
He will more than likely marry some picture-perfect princess who wears elegant flowery dresses and big, wide-brimmed hats, someone who smiles sweetly when random people say hi.
A guy like that doesn’t need a modeling reject. Why would he? He can see it all for free in one of my centerfolds.
Just thinking about his deep blue eyes roving over the pages of my centerfolds gets me wet.
Where does he look first? What does he want to touch the most? Even if he wouldn’t marry me, would he still fuck me?
Derek
I’m late for fucking work again.
This shits me seriously. I must have slept through my alarm. I know I’ve been working too hard.
I’m so fucking pissed off with myself. So much so that I consider not going in.
I closed a sixty million dollar deal yesterday. Imagine what the commission is on that.
I made a deal with myself, though. Work like a dog for five years. Then buy that yacht and sail…and sail fucking anywhere.
No more city, no more stress.
I have more than enough money now. That’s not what’s pushing me out the door. The drive is the kill, the close.
Knowing my ideas are better. My mouth is quicker. My instincts are spot on, at all times.
There’s nothing like utterly slaughtering the competition in the board room.
So I hurry. I’m on the phone as I hit the bottom of the stairs, but I’m distracted from my conversation for a few seconds when I see Allana at the mail boxes.