Mia

“Please call Cynthia and tell her I’ll be a little late for dinner because of the late meetings and then call Barbara and tell her I’ll see her tomorrow.”

I curl my lip only when Ben stalks into the elevator and mutter a curse of distaste beneath my breath, hating that I’m in this position and hating even more that I got myself into a six-month contract working for a piece of garbage wrapped in a sweet, aging man package.

Goddammit! Did I ever think I disliked Lucas’s whoring ways? At least the man isn’t married and at least he never ever pretended to be decent about the way he saw women.

Ben, on the other hand, keeps a mistress as well as his wife of thirty years and plays fast and loose with them both because the old reprobate also seems to enjoy flirting with women half his age and sleeping with them, too.

I’ve worked here two whole weeks now and it’s been constant gifts, flowers and indecent messages, all falling under my sphere as far as Ben is concerned.

The fourth day I worked here, I stalked into his office after opening a package which contained someone’s very used panties and a message that made my eye balls bleed, telling him I quit.

The bastard then pointed to the contract I signed, smiled and asked me for the panties. It sickened me so much I had to run to the rest room to throw up, followed by twenty full minutes of hand scrubbing and retching when I remembered what was on those panties.

It sickens me! I now know exactly why the old asshole wanted me to work for him and I have to admit that in the greater scope of things I did seriously downgrade in the boss department.

Lucas would never have behaved this way. Sure he’s a whore who will probably die from syphilis but he’d never have a wife, a mistress and one night stands with strangers who send him gross gifts.

According to him, he never sleeps with more than one woman at a time because it would devalue the pleasure he can give and receive. Old Ben seems to spread himself thin to the point of transparency and still makes me buy gifts and lie to his wife.

Who I like! I adore Cynthia, the aging matron with the short grey hair, twinkling smile and a habit of sending me cookies. I also like Gena his mistress, a flamboyant redhead who laughs loudly and sends me jokes via text, raunchy jokes that make my belly hurt with humor.

I’m already conflicted about liking both the wife and mistress and then factor in the flipping sex toys on top of it and I have to tell ya, I’m a nervous wreck at this point.

Just about the only thing grounding me is the continual texts that ogre keeps sending me. Venting to Ben isn’t possible, so whenever I can, I let Lucas know what a slimy, unconscionable toad he is and make sure to also tell him how glad I am that I never have to see his face again.

 

That’s all true. Mostly. Well, some days I really do believe that, especially on a day like today when my phone dings and I read with a huff.

What do you think?

Attached is a photo of his latest fling wearing the exact watch I’d been pining after a year ago. A watch he knew I wanted and now apparently bought for some trivial tart. Why I oughta-

Nice payment. Hookers would be cheaper.

He’ll lose his shit when he reads that, I think, smiling brightly as I hit send and imagine the scowl that will line his face.

For the last two weeks, it’s been nonstop banter, me telling him what an asshole he is and Lucas, in his customary, charming way, telling me I looked horrid at the Hoskins dinner.

I know I did but, Jesus, can you blame me? I had to do something extra special in the looks department or that slimy Alec, Ben’s son would have tried getting in my pants again.

The man is seriously good looking but gives me the heebie-jeebies to the point I actually shudder whenever his name’s mentioned.

My dates aren’t hookers.

That looked like payment to me. Hope you use protection. Swollen parts make the running hard.

I giggle at that last one, loving the insult and also loving the image of him swollen and oozing. Would serve him right to get dick sores from those trolls.

Not a minute later my phone actually rings and I groan when the caller ID shows his smirking face, the result of a photo he took a year ago when we were in the UK to acquire a tech company that was floundering.

Why exactly he took the damn picture of himself on my phone is beyond me but I haven’t been able to erase it since, no matter how much I wanted to.

“What?” I snarl on answering, glaring at the spread sheet in front of me while plotting to throw myself from the seventeenth floor.

“So tense, Mia, and here I thought it being a Friday you’d be out of the office already. That boss of yours working you hard?” he drawls making me breathe in a breath for patience.

“It’s only three in the afternoon, I leave at five,” I say stiltedly because I hate freaking lying.

“Pull the other one, Mia. I know about the Cranston bid, got hold of a copy and that thing has you written all over it. What’s going on, you doing your boss’s job for him now so he has more time for his mistresses?” he asks smugly.

Bastard.

“No, and for your information he only has one!”

Lucas laughs at that and I swear to God, I don’t even know why I answered the phone. The man is infuriating.

“Two as far as Cam knows and a chippy on the string even as we speak, or do you still believe he’s going for a late meeting?”

God! Could this get any worse?

“Fine, so he’s a pig what about it? It’s not as if you’re any better, you walking advert for disease,” I taunt, grinning smugly at the indrawn breath I hear.

“I have no diseases, cara, you should know this since you have always been in receipt of my test results.”

Ugh!

“I haven’t seen you in months, for all I know you dipped that thing in a well of disease.”

That makes him laugh and I hate that I enjoy the sound, scowling when the phone rings. I answer it with my other ear automatically just as I would have done in the days I slaved for Lucas.

Taking down the message of yet another woman I don’t even want to think about I slam the phone with a muffled shriek and take a second to ask myself exactly why, oh why I didn’t throw myself in front of that bus this morning.

I really should have, just to save myself from having to take the thing, and no it’s not because I am a spoilt brat but come on, I’m not used to public transport since I always only travelled with Lucas, and there was something on the seat that smelled suspiciously like urine!

“I’m still here you know.”

“Great, that makes me so happy,” I snipe, scrubbing at my forehead.

“Don’t frown, I can feel you frowning and you don’t need more wrinkles.”

“Jesus, I really hate you.”

“No you don’t. You miss me.”

“Like a hole in the head.”

“Admit it, you miss me. Is that fool feeding you coffee?”

“I can drink coffee! It’s not the coffee that makes me react badly, it’s you,” I mutter, sternly ignoring the fact that after three cups before seven this morning I added a little something extra to the coffee I made for Ben.

Serves him right for tricking me the way he did and I can safely say that I don’t feel an ounce of guilt for any of the extras he’s received.

“Come now, cara, what about Switzerland?” he teases getting a blush and snarl from me.

“I told you that guy tried to touch me.”

“Mia, he was reaching for the milk and you thought he was trying to take your coffee cup.” He laughs, the sound so familiar I feel my heart lurch.

No, don’t get all soft just because he’s being nice today. Remember when he asked if you still wear those old lady shoes or if you still wore harnesses for bras?

“Shut up! What the hell do you want anyway? Isn’t it just about time for you to leave your secretary at work so you can go out with one of your floozies?”

“Now, now, Mia, you know that’s not true. I do my own work,” he says, making me smirk.

“She’s a flake, isn’t she?!”

Oh God, I know she is but now that he’s on the phone with me I want to hear him say it so that-

“Have a nice weekend, Mia, my sweet.”

He ends the call just like that and I am left scowling as I phone Cynthia and lie through my teeth before calling his mistress to do the same.

Fuck my life.

I leave just after six, telling myself that I should just stop working and doing what Ben wants so that he can fire me. Since I’ve been at work since six, I’m dragging ass and it doesn’t get any better by the time I get off at the bus stop and trudge home. In a freak rain shower.

By the time I get the key in the door, I am fuming so much I’m panting with rage. I am so angry at Ben, Lucas and mostly at myself for the way my life has turned out. Not only does my job suck worse than watching and slaving over Lucas but now I have to work for and play pimp to an aging idiot and to top it all off I think I am having my idea of phone sex with a man I should be leaving in the dust. Because I like it! And I look forward to his texts and-it just sucks.

Kicking off my shoes, I take a quick shower, change into the pajamas I’ve had since high school, a pair of faded shorts with bunnies printed on the fabric, and a tight white vest I got at the boutique of a hotel when my luggage went missing at the airport once.

Deciding that tonight is just a sucky night, I open a bottle of wine Santiago sent with me and proceed to drink half, feeling happier the drunker I get. Mostly because I’m planning to do some really nasty things with Ben’s dry cleaning after I pick it up tomorrow morning. Old ass.

You should have stayed in Italy and gone to that island and called it good. Where did rebelling get you, Mia? Four months of sucky vacation during which you cried half the time from loneliness, a crappy ass last resort job and here you sit, the nest empty and no friends to talk to.

That’s all true I think, tearing up with a sniff while pouring myself another glass and half watching Dancing with the Stars. I love this show.

I should have stayed with Lucas and ignored whatever the heck I was feeling and just slogged through. What the heck did I think was gonna happen if I left?

I had one holiday romance that didn’t even get to second base because I am a pathetic loser who needs meaning with sex, I spent almost all of my money trying to convince myself I was happy and doing things I wanted to do and I lost not only my friend but the family he’d given me in his mama and papa.

I ran, and I ran hard, because I couldn’t face the thought of going to that island with him alone, having some sort of time with him only for the inevitable to happen when he got bored days later and invited some bimbo I’d have to wait on while they fucked like rabbits.

The truth is that I was in love with him, way in love with him and I did the stupidest thing in the world because I was too weak to move on and sort out my life.

So, I gave everything up and now here I am, left with nothing but regret and possibly a hangover tomorrow, I think ruefully, glugging some more wine just because I can.

Oh, screw it! What the hell is this? Am I really sitting here feeling sorry for myself and drinking because of men!

The thought makes my lips curl and I scrunch my nose distastefully, glaring at the stupid family photo I still have up because it’s the last one we took of mom before she succumbed and she looks so happy in it, smiling beside that snake I call a father.

I didn’t let a man break me then, no matter how it hurt the day he walked out and left me holding the bag. And I won’t let them break me now, no matter how tempting it is to just give up.

If there is one thing my daddy taught me it’s that I have only myself to count on and that love is fickle. Why I ever thought I could be what someone like Lucas wanted is beyond me, even if that hope was so small as to be non-existent.

I remember the day Daddy left as if it happened just hours ago, the pain of it still as sharp as it was then. I’d been struggling not to cry, battling with the grief while trying to calm Shaun and Justin, who went to pieces.

It hadn’t been easy sitting at Mama’s bedside for those months, for any of us, but they’d been there with us all the way through, their irascible charm persevering even when I knew that it must have hurt for them to keep up the happy front for Mama.

God, she loved those two, would spend hours telling me how proud she was of them and how much she had wanted them, never thinking that she’d have another child after the difficult birth she had with me.

Those last days of talking and trying to stay strong through her pain are all I remember sometimes. Eventually, her pain became unmanageable and I’d had to insist on giving her the morphine despite her protests, knowing that she’d keep soldiering on as long as she could for me and the boys.

I hated it, losing her so quickly because the drugs took her away into a fuzzy place where she slurred through speech and often just stared blankly at nothing, but it was all I could do for her, my helplessness smothering me.

The night she died was the worst night of my life. Daddy who had, up till then, been somewhat present, when he wasn’t working, had sat with her just that night, holding her hand, kissing her and talking softly about when they’d met and how much he loved her.

It was bittersweet and something I will never forget, watching her smile dazedly and mumble her love back, her bony hand stroking his cheeks as he kissed her hand.

For those moments of happiness, I will always love him. He gave her what she needed just when she needed it. Until the next morning when I lifted my head from her bed where I’d fallen asleep in my chair and realized she was gone.

To say it hurt me is a gross understatement, I was devastated but determined to keep myself together the way she’d have wanted me to. It was horrendous calling out the EMT services and even worse having to watch Justin and Shaun shake with sobs of grief.

Daddy didn’t react in any way, just stood at the foot of her bed watching them take her. From there it was a blur of trying to keep the boys together up to the very day Daddy came home early from work, looked me straight in the eye and told me he couldn’t do this anymore.

I cried then. My chest had already been aching so much I prayed it would just bust open to relieve some of the pressure inside me. And yet not even tears or my pleas made him stay.

I watched him pack, ignoring everything in the room he’d shared with Mama and then he kissed my head and walked out, never to be heard from again.

In those days, I almost fell apart and I don’t think anyone would have blamed me if I had. The boys were bereft, but I’d sent them to school to escape the house where Mama took her last breath. It was all I could do, believing that at least surrounded by friends they’d have some sort of support system while I raced around in a tizzy trying to arrange the funeral.

It was a mess from the start and I quickly discovered that my daddy had left me to make sense of chaos. The insurance didn’t nearly cover the costs of laying Mama to rest. The funeral home was very understanding but the facts were that they wouldn’t do a thing without payment.

So I had to find a way to make up the shortfall which turned out to be me cashing in the tiny bequeathment Mama had left for me to start college.

After that, it was about paying the mortgage, which I just managed on what money I’d been squirreling away. Justin and Shaun weren’t in their right minds for months, leaving me to carry it all, not that I blame them, they were just boys after all and struggling with the loss of Mama to boot.

Eventually, we lost the house, our home, the place that made me feel safe because it was the home Mama made for us and we were forced to move into a tiny, shitty apartment with only two rooms and not much else.

It was a losing battle at that stage and I knew it. I had to do something, anything to keep the boys who I only had on condition from the social worker that they be looked after properly and stayed in school.

All that added stress, coupled with the constant phone calls of people demanding money for Mama’s medical expenses…

I was desperate, so desperate that I applied for any and every single job I could, never once thinking that anyone would give me a chance. I worked two jobs and prayed, the only thing I could do, though God knows, I was losing faith fast when I went to that interview with Lucas.

I was a ball of nerves the day I walked into that building, my mama’s tweed suit, three sizes too big for me, scratching the shit out of my sweating skin.

To say I felt out of my depth would be like saying the queen would ever water ski in a bikini. I was ridiculously terrified and so aware of my shortcomings I still don’t know how I sat through that interview with him when all the while I had to clench my jaw to stop my mouth from gaping.

I may have been an eighteen-year-old, almost nineteen-year-old, girl with no experience but I had eyes and Lucas Fabrizio was male perfection from the top of his glossy black head down to the handcrafted leather shoes he was wearing.

He was formidable, sitting there looking over my hopelessly empty resume, his dark brows beetled when he looked at me. I knew for a certainty this leap of faith was a miss, that he would never hire me but the one thing I can say for myself back then is that I was too desperate to be a coward.

You can imagine my surprise when I got a call telling me to come in and re-interview and you can understand my stupefied response when he told me I was hired.

Not that he was kind about it or anything, oh no, Lucas Fabrizio, I would soon learn, didn’t do kind, just facts. The only reason he was hiring me despite my appalling lack of education was because he needed someone who looked even semi-capable and wouldn’t get any ridiculous ideas in my head about flirting with him.

Tactfully put, he believed I knew my shortcomings in the looks department and wouldn’t for a minute entertain the thought of flirting with him.

He also made it clear from the get go that I would be his personal slave from that point forward, that he demanded my sole attention at any and all times, no matter what.

I agreed because I had to, because I had nothing else and needing to pay rent at that point was making me develop an ulcer. So that was how it all started, but no matter that first interview, despite everything he told me, I was hopeless for the man.

From the start. And how pathetic is that because from the start he was an ass. I worked twelve-hour days, went home to the boys for what felt like no time at all only to have Lucas call me to handle the most frivolous things like fetching some super model from the airport because he was tied up with a call he couldn’t miss because of the time zone difference.

Whatever. That was how it started and all through the next six years, no matter how much I wanted to hate him, I think I loved him more. He fucked anything that looked semi-easy and I kept my mouth shut and pretended it was just a phase-snort.

He ignored me unless I was needed to carry out yet another task and I convinced myself he needed me. Only me.

I was a fool and yet I’d give anything to be that fool again if only to see him and not have to live without-

Stop it!

Laughing harshly, I drain the glass, sneer at the TV and just generally stew while trying to force myself not to think about Lucas. It all boils down to him in the end.

I want him and yet I don’t want to want him.

My phone goes off, blaring Lady Gaga’s Judas and I snarl, snatching it up with all the anger I’ve been feeling for the last hour.

“Cara.”

“Oh God, what?”

“It’s Lucas, I don’t think God would be calling you at half seven on a Friday night.” He laughs, getting a reluctant grin from me.

“True, not that I would be receptive since he hasn’t listen to a prayer of mine in six years,” I lament, apologizing the minute those words leave my lips.

Why should he listen when I haven’t exactly lived up to sweet and charitable?

“I disagree, Mia, my sweet, he sent you my way, didn’t he?”

“That would be Satan,” I argue, loving the chance to throw that in his face.

Been storing that gem for six whole years now.

He laughs, as if the insult doesn’t bother him at all and I hear him sigh loudly, the squeak that follows is no doubt his office chair as he leans back in a way I’ve seen him do a million times.

“You wound me, cara, and here I thought I’d call and invite you to dinner,” he muses, making me blink stupidly for long seconds before my eyes narrow.

“I am not standing in for whatever bimbo you hired just because you need a second for another business meeting.”

“Tsk, tsk, that is very unfair to poor Candy. I will have you know she has a degree in business management.”

“Oh, pull the other one! Can she ever spell her name?” I sneer, hating the slight slur in my voice when the wine hits me fully.

“You sound strange, are you well, Mia?” he asks suddenly, the teasing tone of his voice becoming a whip of command.

I giggle, suppressing the need to roll my eyes because I feel so floaty I’m afraid they’d go all the way back and not come back again. That had me imagining myself walking around with the whites of my eyes on display, scaring children and little old ladies and I giggle harder, snorting like a pig.

“Mia!”

“I’m fine. Just a little tipsy off Santiago’s famous wine.”

“You’re drunk?”

The disapproving tone is so unlike him that I laugh outright and listen to him curse on the other end of the phone, his language so colorfully muttered I can’t control a prick of delight that I’m pissing him off.

God, it feels good to be an equal in the banter stakes.

“Nope, just deliciously mellow.”

“You sound as if someone chopped off a good portion of your tongue.”

“That would be a shame sine I have a date tomorrow night and I intend to use it.” I giggle.

Not that I was looking forward to the blind date my friend Fran had set up for me, not after she told me that he was a starter guy, just someone to cut my teeth on before plunging back into dating. Back! Like I was ever there, I think blearily, curling my lip. But maybe going out with a stodgy accountant who could turn out to be a freak in bed would be good. A girl can hope.

“Date! What date? You just got back to the States and started a new job. When the hell did you have time to start dating?” he snarls, the anger in his voice confusing.

“I didn’t, Fran set me up with some wildly handsome guy who works in her firm. We think he’s a closet dom, what with all that control he’s got going. What do you think?”

“Well, as I haven’t met the asshole, how the fuck would I know?” he barks, his accent strengthening a little.

“Calm down, I was just asking.”

“Well, don’t. It sickens me that you would even consider going out with a man like that.”

Well, that’s a bit hypocritical since the man once dated a closet dominatrix and was not shy about sharing some of her more ‘exotic’ practices. Gross. I have no issue with other people’s sexual needs but I can’t imagine having someone tie me up and use whips on me.

I literally peed my pants once when I stubbed my toe, so any sort of pain would just end badly for a man who thinks he can hit me. Besides, I was just kidding about the whole dom thing. I secretly think Neil is just a stuck-up guy who doesn’t know he has a penis. According to what Fran’s told me.

“Like you can talk. Remember that Finnish super model who liked your feet?”

“That was unfortunate-”

“Who the hell likes feet? And yours? Dude, you wear a size thirteen, for God sakes, it would take a week to lick the expanse,” I mutter, hating it when my sex clenches at the thought of licking any of his parts.

I haven’t allowed myself to dream or think of his body for weeks now but damn, as the words leave my mouth, all I can think of is those muscles and running my tongue from his pecs to his-

“Stop changing the subject! Who is this man and what do you know about him? Never mind, just give me his name and I’ll have Barry run a check on him,” he barks.

“No!”

“Yes. What are you thinking going out with a man you don’t know a thing about?”

“It’s called dating, Lucas! You know, that thing women do when they want companionship and sex,” I say in a strangled hiss.

“Sex! Why would you want sex?” he sneers, making me snort and roll my eyes.

Oh, thank God, they went back into place.

And then I get mad because how dare he make it seem as if a woman like me wouldn’t want what any normal woman would. I am just like everyone else, dammit, and I have needs. I think. I mean I haven’t wanted sex with anyone but Lucas, but I think that’s just my broken brain talking and now that I have the chance to actually do all these things, why shouldn’t I?

“Why? Because I am a grown woman, Lucas, and we tend to want more than just working sixteen hours a day and falling into bed in a coma. I’m not a fucking lump of tweed with no feelings.”

“I know this but-”

“And besides, now that I’m not all crushing on you I can actually think about moving on and finally, finally, getting rid of my freaking virginity. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be twenty-four and be the only woman I know not to have done the whole sex thing? Pathetic. But I promised myself after Spain and the way Santiago boosted my confidence, that I would totally stop hiding and get out there. God, I am so grateful I don’t like you anymore,” I slur, my eyelids drooping with every minute.

The shocked gasp I hear doesn’t really even penetrate and I smile as my eyes close, imagining tomorrow night and hoping that I can live up to this new me.