Thoroughly Whipped

Theo laughed. “The perfect combination,” he said, just as the elevator doors opened to the tenth and top floor. The floor of the bosses or, as I liked to refer to it, Dante’s fourth level of Hell. Theo led me to the office that King had previously occupied. I’d never been there before, but we’d all heard about the famed Sinclair office with the black door. That asshole ruled with an iron fist and had reduced many a journalist to a weeping baby simply with one look.

Theo opened the infamous black door. “There you go, Faith.” I smiled at Theo as I passed him. “Good luck,” he whispered ominously as he shut the door, trapping me inside.

“In here, Miss Parisi. Sometime today would be good.” The sound of Harry’s deep voice cut through the room. I winced at his shitty attitude. Forcing my feet to move, I rounded the corner and found the bastard sitting behind his large mahogany desk. His hands were steepled as he sat back on his plush leather desk chair, which may as well have been a damn throne. His dark eyebrows were pulled down as he watched me approach. I held my chin high, refusing to be intimidated by him. Harry didn’t break his stare; he just gestured to the seat opposite him. “If you don’t mind, Miss Parisi. I have a day full of appointments that will now all run late because of you.” I exhaled a long, controlled breath, trying to calm my hot Italian blood.

“I didn’t see the memo. Sorry. I was working on my column.” Harry’s face didn’t change. He reached for a piece of paper on his desk.

“Yes. ‘Ask Miss Bliss.’ Your very…interesting page, correct?”

“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth.

Harry read something on the page. I lowered my gaze to his clothes. I wanted to roll my eyes but managed to refrain. He wore his usual ridiculously expensive suit, jacket off, tie tightly in place. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing his muscled forearms, sprinkled with a dusting of dark hair. And then there was his handkerchief. The fucking stupid handkerchief that sat in his shirt pocket in a perfect little triangle. I wanted to pull it out and toss it out the window, preferably with Mr. Sinclair III following closely behind. I couldn’t help the tiny smirk that pulled on my mouth at that happy visual. Harry looked over the page he was reading. His eyes momentarily narrowed on me; then he resumed his reading.

“And this is what seventy percent of our Visage readership want the magazine for?” he said in disbelief and flicked the paper with his hand. “Your column?”

Pride swelled in my veins. “Yes. Or so the surveys tell us.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Well, you certainly have a way with words, Miss Parisi.” He leaned forward, reading, “I want my wife to do anal, but she's reluctant. Any advice on how I can convince her? Sincerely, Mr. Smith.” I fought back the laughter bubbling up my throat at the question coming so politely and eloquently from Harry’s mouth. “Are the questions usually of this…nature?”

“You mean sexual, Mr. Sinclair?” I said innocently, dying inside at how hard it apparently was for him to say anything referring to sex.

He didn’t even flinch at my veiled attitude. “Well?”

“Yes. They are all of that nature. I now offer only sex advice. It was an organic shift. Started off encompassing any advice, but quickly became more carnally themed. It’s what the readers seem to want from me. It’s the advice I give best.”

“And advice you do give.” There was no hint of amusement in his expression or tone. “Let us see what you said to this Mr. Smith. Ah,” he said dryly. “Dear Mr. Smith. If you want to introduce your wife to the wonderful world of anal sex, I say lead by example. Buy the biggest strap-on you can find, gift it to your beloved, and encourage her to let loose and rip the shit out of your rim for the better part of the night. If you can show her the delights of such backdoor ventures, I'm sure she'll comply with your wants. Sincerely, Miss Bliss."

I fought back my smile. That was one of my personal favorites. Harry placed the piece of paper on his desk and regarded me with shrewd and assessing eyes. “You most certainly have a way with words, don’t you, Miss Parisi?” I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, knowing what he was hinting at. He obviously remembered our summer together as clearly as I did. “And you most certainly enjoy sharing your advice, yes? Freely and without filter.” His fingers drummed on the desk. “And it’s award-winning too, so you must be truly gifted.” Henry Sinclair the Third is an overprivileged cockface who needs nothing but a good spanking and a thorough fucking. My advice for him ran through my mind like an annoying song you can’t remove from your head.