Blake

After making the dinner and limo arrangements for Sage and Cory, I pull up my Blade app and request a chopper flight to the Hamptons. I pay a premium for a private charter so we can depart within minutes of landing at JFK. The idea of a quick pivot out of the concrete jungle has become more and more appealing as we near the city.

“I’m sorry for ruining the weekend,” Sage says, sitting down in the recliner adjacent to mine. “I really wanted to spend this time with you, and I knew you wouldn’t go through with it if you knew I was in a relationship. Cory and I were totally casual until recently.”

“Well, I definitely enjoyed your company,” I reply with a solemn glance. “It seemed like you were having a good time too.”

“It was the most amazing sex of my life, Mr. Taylor,” she gasps. “I just hope that Cory isn’t looking for anything tonight. I think you wore me out for a while. At least he doesn’t last very long, so I guess that might be an upside in this case.”

“I don’t know if I would be more pissed if some rich guy fucked the daylights out of my girlfriend for a weekend or if I heard her telling him that I was a lousy lay,” I reply, shaking my head from side to side in wonderment.

“Well, let’s just say you won’t ever have to worry about it. Cory, on the other hand, spends a little too much time focusing on the Xs and Os, if you know what I mean.” She laughs and a bright red color flushes into her cheeks.

“Yeah, I grew up with guys like that.” I think back to my high school days. “The cheerleaders would be all over them, but they couldn’t stop talking about how great they thought they had played. That’s why I normally ended up taking the girls home, even back then.”

“So you’ve always been this good?” she asks with widening eyes.

“Not always, but I was always better than average. Honestly, I’ve spent more than my fair share of time thinking about different ways to please a woman.” I chuckle at the feeling of my cock rustling once again in my pants. “One of my favorite things in life is giving a woman a great orgasm.”

“Well, I can attest to that,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “I’ve never come so hard and so many times. Not even close.” She looks at the slight bulge in my crotch. “I would fuck you again right now, if you want to.”

“One for the road?” I laugh, reaching over and squeezing her firm thigh. “It wouldn’t be the same now that I know you’ve got someone waiting for you. That’s just not my style, you know?”

“I know. That’s what the other girls told me,” she adds slyly. “That’s why I didn’t mention Cory until we were done.” She cocks her head and flutters her eyelashes.

“So . . . who was the girl who told you that?” I ask, a little annoyed that someone else has violated the confidentiality agreement she signed during the exit interview.

“I don’t remember all of their names. It’s a private Facebook group,” she says with a shrug. “Just search for Blake’s girls. One of the other girls has to approve your membership though, before you can get in there.”

“How do they determine if you legitimately belong in the group?” I ask, growing even more puzzled.

“I had to give them my name, as well as the start date of my internship and the date of my exit interview,” she divulges with a guarded look on her face. “They also ask about your most impressive feature,” she adds, blushing even more than earlier.

“And that would be?” I lower my head and lock eyes with her.

“That ten-inch cock, of course. Not that I knew firsthand at the time, but I had heard enough office talk to know the answer.” She giggles before breaking eye contact to look out the side window. “Oh, look, there’s the Statue of Liberty.”

A private Facebook group where girls have to know the length of my cock to join. I don’t know whether to be pissed or flattered. I find myself feeling a little of both.

* * *

After landing, the ground crew moves my stuff from the plane to the helicopter and helps Sage collect her things and transfer them to the limousine. I grab my briefcase and a fresh bottle of Glengoyne eighteen-year-old scotch from the overhead compartment. It’s the same scotch my old man drinks, and for the longest time, I searched for something better. Unfortunately, he has impeccable taste when it comes to scotch whiskey. My father is Judge James Douglas Taylor III, the son of my famous grandfather, James Douglas Taylor Jr. My grandfather was the one who founded the firm Taylor, Hastings & Reed. He set up the firm to help immigrant business owners who needed legal advice and corporate legal work. Back then, they were working face to face with the actual business owners. Now, we just deal with an endless stream of corporate attorneys, depositions, and appeals—in general, a blizzard of paperwork known as due process.

On March 3, 2010, President Barack Obama nominated my father to the federal court of appeals for the second circuit. He was confirmed by the U.S. Senate five months later and suddenly, I was the only Taylor working full-time at the firm. Seeking continuity, high-profile corporate clients were looking to me for answers despite the fact that I had only been practicing for about five years. Just because my last name is Taylor, it doesn’t mean I have the same skill set as my father and grandfather. Being the youngest senior partner also makes me the sounding board for many of the junior partners who are intimidated by the other senior partners. The pressure of being in the middle of everything is sometimes more than I can handle. Thus, my reliance on the intern program. It has been my personal oasis in an otherwise stressful, high-pressure environment.

It works most of the time, but I’ve really been dreading the shit storm that is headed my way. This week is my last chance to get away for a few quiet days before we go into a battle that will leave us bloodied and utterly exhausted. God, I hate my job.