I didn’t know her just a couple of days ago but when I realize Mia is not here in the office, I get upset. She should be here. She’s part of the team and I need her here working. I had articles to share with her and was prepared to guide her on starting her new assignments. When I realized she’d disappeared, I felt the loss, which sort of pisses me off.

I don’t know that any of the girls in the office know anything but if anyone gives me shit, they know they’ll be fired faster than the express elevator can make its way up to my floor.

It’s a busy day with meetings about the new state of operations. I hardly have a moment to think about anything but the task at hand. Still, Mia wiggles her way into my mind at odd moments that have nothing to do with anything remotely related to her.

I’m pretty sure she has zero idea how sexy she is. Her pussy is the softest, sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. Throughout the day, when I least expect it, her face flashes through my mind, or her lips or neck or legs. I have a hard time concentrating over spreadsheets and profit and loss statements as I think about her—I’m shifting in my chair trying to delicately smooth down my pants. I don’t get a total hard-on in the meetings, but my dick is well aware of my dirty thoughts.

“Is that agreeable to you, Weston?” Alistair Brockton from the London office asks me. I look at him for a moment, trying to formulate a thought. “Merging departments? I really think it’ll help streamline things.”

“Yes, of course, Alistair,” I say. “Whatever you think. Just make sure you run it by Margery before notifying staff.”

By the end of the day, I’m fried. My brain can hardly take in another statistic, pitch, recommendation or financial projection. I want a stiff drink and something more to relax my mind.

I’m standing at the window of my office, taking in the view. The buildings all glitter below me, and I feel the weight of all I’ve achieved in such a short amount of time. Not bad for a corn-fed farm boy from the Midwest. I’m sure if Dad could see me now he’d be so proud, and Mom would pat my cheek and tell me she knew all along I’d do big things. My heart aches at the thought of them, and the flames that took them down, along with my sweet Samantha... She came to us because she needed protection from her own father who took pleasure in smacking her around. I didn’t intend to fall in love with her. I also didn’t intend to let her and my entire family die in that fire.

I should have been home that awful night, but I’d gotten in a fight with my parents about dating Samantha. They didn’t think it was a good idea but I was already falling in love with her—they chided my feelings, calling it puppy love. I stormed out alone to go to a buddy’s and drink some beers. By the time I got back to the farm it was ablaze, and everyone inside was dead.

I’ve always known, deep down, that it was Samantha’s scum father who did it. He was never charged, though. He had money, and I’d bet this company that he paid off the Podunk sheriff’s department.

I force memories of how they died out of my mind, focusing only on the good people they were. They taught me hard work, and after that terrible night I had to learn resilience and sheer determination. That’s how I got here, standing high above Manhattan with an empire all my own. I have power. Everyone who doubted me, who said I was too young or arrogant, or didn’t have enough experience, they can all look at me now and suck on my dick. I did it, everything I set out to do and years sooner than I planned. I have everything I want.

“Mr. Bridges?”

I turn to see Rachel at the door. She’s a good executive assistant as far as I can see so far, professional with not a lot of bullshit. There are pictures of young kids on her desk, and I assume they’re hers. “Yes?”

“Just wanted to know if you need anything else this evening.”

“No, that’s all,” I say, keeping my eyes on the stunning view.

“Okay, I’m heading out then.” She pauses at the door. “Any plans for the evening? Big celebration or…?”

I turn to look at her. I know what the papers say about me, especially the ones I don’t own. And I know what I did in the office this morning—I’ve hardly been able to stop thinking about it. But I don’t discuss personal plans or affairs with anyone in business. Not ever. That’s one way I’ve gotten as far as I have as quickly as I have. My adventures from the Hamptons to the South of France may be splashed across the tabloids, but I don’t like anyone in the office even asking how my weekend was. Because it’s none of their business.

“Have a nice weekend, Rachel,” I say.

Her face falters for a moment, and she says, “You too.” She shuts the door on the way out.

I go back to my desk and sit down, staring at my cell phone. I do hope Mia is okay. She was clearly upset. I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of me but I suppose she doesn’t have the same thick skin. I don’t want her to feel worry or angst. And Rachel, nosey as she may have been, may also have a point—I haven’t yet celebrated my enormous success.

I pick up my phone. “Gerald? Get the car. I’ll be down in ten.”

Gerald tells me he’ll be waiting when I’m ready. I put my phone in my pocket and go back to the window. It’s all for me, everything down there. I can do or see whatever or whoever I want. For tonight, I know exactly who that is.

* * *

Frankly, her place is basically what I expected it to be—a dingy little walkup with terrible lighting, a narrow stairway, and decades of paint thickening the walls.

I knock on the heavy door, the echoes filling the hall. When the door swings open, I’m stunned. Mia looks amazing. Her face is practically glowing, her hair pulled back to show it off all the better, and she’s wrapped in a short robe. I take a moment to look her over, her legs and waist and cleavage peeking out. She’s gorgeous.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asks. “And how do you know where I live?”

I look in her eyes, feisty and glaring up at me.

“You look beautiful,” I say. Corny maybe, but true.

She tightens her robe around her neck, closing off the view. Her eyes flick across my body but she recovers quickly. “What are you doing here?” she asks again.

“I’m here to take you out,” I say, as if we’d planned this all along.

“Excuse me? How do you even know where I live?”

“Funny thing about owning a company,” I say. “Access to files and records and such. Wasn’t hard. So. Is that what you’re wearing? Not that I mind—you look exceptional but I wonder if the maître d might have a problem with sleepwear in the dining room.”

“Maître d? What are you talking about?”

“At the restaurant,” I say. “Of course, we’ll have the private dining room so it’s not like many people will see you. We still have to walk across the restaurant and I guarantee all eyes will be on you. Mine certainly will be.”

“Would you stop it already,” she says, and I can tell she’s softening up to my shtick.

“Can I come in?” I ask.

She considers me for a moment before relenting. “Sure. Come on. But no judgment on my place.”

“I think I got a sense of it walking up the stairs. Seems like you have a neighbor who has an affinity for overcooked vegetables?”

She swings the door open. “Ugh, that woman. She’s really skinny and wears plastic flip-flops. Her feet are always black. It’s disgusting.”

“Charming,” I say, as I step inside her tiny apartment. She shuts the door and squeezes past me, and it takes all I have not to take her by the waist, undo that tie that’s keeping her clothed, and ravish her body.

She walks across the room and turns to look at me, as if she’s trying to keep a safe distance from me. Which is fine, because it gives me a great view of her entire body, even if it is mostly covered up.

“Seriously, what are you doing here?” she asks.

“I want to take you out,” I say. “I know you had a rough morning once you left the office. I thought a little fun and good meal would perk you up.”

“Yeah, that’s just what I need,” she says. “Considering I have to start again tomorrow looking for a job.”

“Let’s not worry about that now,” I say. “Come on. I want to take you out for a good meal. Don’t turn me down. Besides, I already saw the stale muffin on the counter. That’s not your dinner, is it?”

She sighs, looking so cute as she crosses her arms over her beautiful chest. “Fine. I’ll go to dinner with you. But only because I’m hungry and don't feel like making anything.”

“Good,” I say.

“Just give me a second to get dressed.”

“Too bad,” I say.