Elijah
I can't fucking focus.
There's a reason I come into the office on Saturdays.
The weekends are the only days I ever actually get any work done. I want my employees to work hard, so it only makes sense to lead by example. But during the week, between press conferences, potential investors, journalists, and our shareholders, I'm usually getting pulled in a million different ways all at once.
Right now, all my focus is being pulled in just one direction. Unfortunately, it's not what I came into the office for.
Sofie.
Beautiful, charming, witty Sofie.
I sigh, pushing the briefing on our new fuel system specs across the desk. I need to be brainstorming ways we can actually sell our investors on actually producing this thing.
Oliver and his team have designed it to last essentially forever. Minimum maintenance. Easily serviceable. Affordable replacement parts.
And its output is so clean, even a renegade environmentalist wouldn't find anything about it to complain over. Good for our customers. Good for the planet. Exactly the kind of thing Luke, Oliver, and I started this company to accomplish.
But our investors are old school. They made their money on coal and oil. Shit like this scares them, and maybe it should. Producing clean, renewable energy is the future, but it means they need to learn to leave the past behind.
And I don't know how the hell I'm going to convince them to do that when I can't even get my mind off of the girl I slept with last night.
I spin my desk chair around and push myself out of it. My feet take me to the office bar I keep hidden away in the antique globe in front of my bookshelf. I pour myself a bourbon, neat. It's breaking one of my personal rules—don't think while you drink—but Sofie has put me in a difficult predicament, and it's going to require a creative solution.
The bourbon ought to set me right, but it doesn't. Now, the taste of it just reminds me of the way my drink from last night tasted mixed with the sweetness of Sofie's lips.
Fuck me sideways. If my father's campaign managers could come up with a slogan half as catchy as Sofie Carson, the next election would be a piece of cake. I'm half tempted to introduce her to BioKin’s ad department just so they can take notes. Because try as I might, I can't get this girl out of my head.
And maybe I don't want to.
If I close my eyes, I can still feel her. Her lips on my cock, sucking like she couldn't get enough of it. Couldn't possibly swallow it deep enough. Lick it fast enough.
The weight of her breasts in my hands, so full and firm and fucking delicious.
The tightness of her pussy. The way she clenched around me when I made her come.
I've been with my fair share of beautiful women. Pleased every one of them the way a beautiful woman deserves.
But I've never felt a single one of them orgasm so hard like that. So fast. So easily.
Or anywhere near so fucking beautifully as the way Sofie came around my throbbing fucking cock.
I can't see her again. I know I can't. I'm a PR man, for chrissakes.
I know what happens when corporate fat cats start fucking the interns. It's a public relations nightmare in the making. Oliver, Lucas, and I are just begging for a lawsuit for taking it as far as we did.
An innocent dinner date for charity is one thing.
Triple-teaming said date on a fur rug in Oliver's penthouse is another entirely.
I toss back the bourbon in a single gulp and let it burn all the way down my throat. That ought to do it. Wash the taste of Sofie's sweet cunt right out of my mouth.
I lick a stray bead of alcohol off my lips.
It doesn't even come close.
I ditch the rocks glass, letting my gaze slide over the titles on my bookshelf instead. Half the stuff on here looks like the kind of shit corporate men put on display to make themselves look cultured.
Tolstoy. Orwell. Churchill. Big literary names that carry a certain weight, even if you've never actually read them before.
Reading them is what's gotten me this far in my career. They were masters of words, and in the PR world, words are the best weapons I’ve got.
I flip open my copy of Marcus Aurelius' Meditations, seeking advice.
But Aurelius apparently never had the express pleasure of a one night stand. Let alone one between him, his two best friends, and the woman of his dreams. And if he did, he didn't seem to find it particularly noteworthy.
It's a shame. I wouldn't mind having his opinion on this, but frankly, the guy writes like he needs to get laid.
The book goes back on the shelf.
The rest of the books on my bookcase are of the professional self-help variety. I've read them all.
Most are dribble. How to Win Friends and Influence People. The Power of Habit. Catchy. Interesting. Sometimes even insightful.
But I've been in the business for long enough to know that there are no seven easy steps to anything, let alone to something so complex as figuring out another human being.
That takes practice, pure and simple. Charm. And maybe, if I'm being humble, a little luck.
Not that it matters. Whatever I'm feeling for Sofie Carson right now isn't something so simple that I can charm my way around it. No such luck available.
I've finally met a woman with enough power over me that not even an entire bookshelf filled with the greatest minds in the history of the human race can help me on this one.
She's got her pretty, slender fingers wrapped around my heart right now.
I might even like them there.
Although, if they were wrapped around something else right now, I can't say I'd complain.
Dad once told me that when you meet the right woman, you'll just know.
Christ. I'm getting hard just thinking about her.
In the end, I guess that's how I know.
Sofie, Sofie, Sofie. You're the one story I can't put a spin on. You should have been a one-time-only kind of deal...
But one time just isn't enough for me.
I want what I want. And what do I want?
Her.
She didn't give me her number. Maybe Oliver or Lucas scored it, but I'm not about to go calling them up just to beg it off of them.
Hell. Maybe I don't even want them to know.
Maybe right now, I just want Sofie to myself.
Resourcefulness is my bread and butter. Apparently, so is a little bit of underhanded activity.
What can I say? My family is in politics. Underhanded is practically in my blood.
I hit up my laptop and search the employee directory. Her name pops up immediately, along with her cell number in her contact info.
The phone is ringing before I can even stop to wonder if what I'm doing might be a little wrong.
Marcus Aurelius might not be proud of me right now, but hey. My dick sure is happy at the thought of hearing Sofie's voice again.
“Hello?”
Sofie's voice is smooth as chocolate frosting. Sweet as caramel. All it takes is that single syllable to make my cock throb.
I'm about to do it. Bite the bullet. Ask her out, consequences be damned. But before I can—
“Mmmmm,” Sofie moans gorgeously. “Oh my god—that's so good—”
Oh my god is fucking right. Sofie's moans bring back a barrage of flashbacks from last night, so hot and sensual that my next call is going to have to be to my tailor. My hard-on is threatening to rip right through my suit pants.
“Morning, Sofie,” I say into the receiver. Let me make this clear: speaking charmingly and intelligently is my entire job description, and this girl leaves me practically fucking speechless. “Sounds like you're enjoying yourself.”
“Oh! Eli! I'm not—” Sofie stammers. It's fucking cute. You can practically hear her blushing over the phone. “I'm, uh, eating a cupcake. A really good cupcake. It's not what it sounds like.” She pauses and we both chuckle. “Okay, maybe it's exactly what it sounds like. But it's a really good cupcake.”
“I can tell. Save room for dinner, though,” I tell her. “I want to see you again. Tonight. Say yes.”
“Really?” I can hear her licking frosting off her fingers. Does she even realize what that does to me? “I mean—yes! Obviously. I'd love to.”
“Pick you up at eight. Wear something flashy. I want to see you shine.”
I know exactly where I'm taking her. It's a bit of a gamble, of course…
But that’s what people do in Vegas, anyway.