“Good morning, Mr. King,” an English voice calls to me from the bedroom. I lean back and look out the bathroom door, probably with a what-the-fuck look on my face. A butler in full livery stands there. He even has a tailed jacket and everything.
“Good morning,” I offer in confusion.
“It is a very fine jacuzzi, I’m told. I can run it for you now if you wish. However, you are wanted in the conference room in half an hour, so it would have to be used quickly, because the other members of the board do not like to be kept waiting.” He glides effortlessly to the wardrobe and pulls out a pristinely ironed suit and shirt for me. He turns and assesses me for a second. I’m standing there in only a pair of tatty track pants I’ve had for a couple of years now. Hey, they are my favorite and are not restricting in the place I need the most comfort. A man’s junk needs it’s breathing space.
“I do not think you are a tie man. It wouldn’t be the right image for you. No, just the suit.” He purses his lips together in deep thought.
“Just the suit?” I repeat. “Board meeting?”
“Come on. In the shower. I’ll have breakfast brought up, ready for when you get out.”
“Breakfast. Shower.” I sound like a complete idiot. But seriously, why am I in this room? Did I trip out last night on the marijuana and rob a bank or something?
“Come on, Mr. King, chop-chop.” The butler claps his hands together. “You must not be late for your first meeting.”
“Ok.” I fold my arms in front of me and make no effort to move until I get some explanations. “What the fuck is going on?”
The butler loudly tuts. “I thought the doctors would have at least told you.”
“Told me what?” I interrupt.
“About your promotion.”
“Promotion,” I spit out incredulously.
“Yes. You are now on the board of The Factory. One of the bosses. Congratulations.”
My mouth drops open wide enough that a steam train could fit in it.
The words that I’m now on the board of The Factory keep resonating in my head the entire time I shower, dress, and eat a delicious meal of smoked salmon and eggs on toast. They pound further as I walk through the opulent corridors of an area of the compound I’ve never seen before. It’s like a palace in here. How did I not know what was here?
However, when I take my allotted space — a name written and placed on the big, round table before me in the boardroom — I’m pretty sure the words have caused a migraine. The door bangs, and a well-dressed woman walks in. Her tailored, pencil-skirt suit is designer. You can tell it by the cut of the material. Mind you, so is mine. Gucci or something like that. Brand names have never been my thing, although I must admit the suit is pretty comfortable. The woman must be in her late thirties. Her hair is cut to a shoulder-length bob and obviously dyed a deep crimson. No woman can have such vibrant-colored hair. It isn’t possible. But fuck, if it didn’t look good on her. With a purposeful stride, she comes to the head of the table, and a hurried assistant pulls a chair out for her. She sits, and a hush falls over the room. Whoever this chick is, she’s obviously important.
“Welcome everyone, and welcome to the newest member of our team, Mr. King.” She smiles my way, and I offer one back. “My name is Rebekah Ward. I’m the chairman of the company. I’m sure this is a surprise to you, but I’ve always been a fan of your work. When Mr. Holland left, I knew you would make the perfect replacement. You will ensure that our profitable business continues for the foreseeable future. I have no doubt of that.”
Something clicks inside me. I don’t know what it is, but I want to continue the business. I want to make it a success. I’ve been a part of this place since I first came to the orphanage as a child. I’ve worked my way up, so to speak. I’ve done the hard graft. I’ve been hungry. I’ve been beaten. It’s my turn to reap the benefits of the life I suffered through. The thought turns my stomach. I get the feeling rejoicing at my situation is not me. I should be sad, like I’m leaving something or someone behind, but I can’t remember what it is. A girl? No. Maybe? My head is really hurting now, and I rub it.
“Are you all right, Mr. King?” the big boss lady asks me.
“Yes. Just a bit of a headache,” I respond.
“I think we’ve all been there. Part of the treatment, I’m afraid. You’ll be fine once you get started on the job. It’s ingrained into you now, what you have to do. You will be the perfect replacement, I’m sure.” She hums to herself. A little congratulations perhaps on a job well done. “If you need any personal help, just ask Jemina, my assistant, to bring you to me, and I’ll support you in any way I can.” She purses her lips together in a pout of hidden meanings. The air in the room turns thick with sexual tension. She wants me. I’m pretty certain of that. She may be an older woman, but hell yeah. She looks damn good, so why not? I’ve got a cock that likes to be sucked.