“What can I say?” I laugh as I speak into the microphone at the podium, “Traffic.” I’m getting pretty agitated with the reporter in the front row with the purple stripe in her hair. She keeps asking some pretty obnoxious and kind of personal questions. I’m kind of a businessman-celebrity type, and she is clearly trying to pin me as a flake after being an hour late for my own event.

“Mr. Caldwin,” the same woman asks, “Would you care to comment on last week’s incident at El Ranchero Grill?”

Well, isn’t she just lovely? Last week I got into a bar fight, and it made the local news. She’s nailing me hard. “Tell you what, sweetheart, you and I can talk privately about that later. Let’s get this show on the road –how about it, everyone?”

The group of patrons who have been waiting to check out the gym cheer excitedly. I cut the ribbon and everyone heads inside. It’s a pretty impressive gym. Rock-climbing walls, pools, sauna’s, a smoothie joint, and a hell of a lot more make up the unique perks our memberships allow. People are going to really dig this place. There are fliers promoting our supplements all over the place. I smile somewhat vainly at one flier that is pretty much just a shot of my chest that reads Get Shattered.

“Prideful little asshole, aren’t you?” it’s the petite reporter with the purple stripe in her black hair.

She snuck up on me. I frown, “What can I say? I suppose you hit the nail on the head. Who are you, exactly?”

“Call me Tiff Lovely.” She says.

Lovely? Well, that’s an interesting last name. “Well, Ms. Lovely, tell me, who exactly do you work for?”

“I’m a blogger.” She says, and I laugh –loudly.

“You must be joking.” I say, “And here I thought you were a real reporter with the way you were grinding me.”

“Cute.” She says, clearly not at all pleased with the real reporter jab. “I make good money doing what I do, Mr. Caldwin.”

“What blog?” I ask curiously, “Maybe I heard of it.”

“LA Unbound.” She says, and I’m impressed. I have heard of it. I think Eddie reads it or something.

“That’s your blog?” I ask.

“That’s my blog.” She says, “You promised a private interview.”

“I suppose I did.” I say with a wink, “I suppose you want to grind me some more.”

“Are you coming with me?” she asks.

“Look who’s acting prideful now.” I say and then offer her my arm, “We can talk in my office upstairs.”

She nods, and we take an elevator to the second floor. I make a half-hearted joke about taking the rock climbing wall to the second floor, and she actually finds it funny. She’s like a little doll; she only comes up to the middle of my chest, but there is definitely an attractiveness about her. I like the subtle oriental look about her; my guess is she has some sort of Asian in her up the family tree. She dresses a lot younger than she looks; she has a sort of punk rocker look going on.

We head down a hall and enter into my secondary office; I have an office at all of my buildings –not just the factory. As soon as we close the door, I instantly put on the charm. I’ve always been excellent at flirtation, and I can tell I have her frazzled as she attempts to proceed with an interview. I can tell she wants to nab me with something for her blog, but I'm too charming for her. She stutters, and I laugh and tell her it’s cute which embarrasses her. I manage to get things turned around on her, and I take control of the conversation –asking her about her blog and various other things I could not possibly care less about. She’s swooning; I can tell.

Suddenly, Ms. Lovely becomes fully aware of her own behavior and decides it’s time for her to leave. She stands, and I stand as well to get the door for her. “It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Lovely,” I say as I just barely open the door, not opening it all the way just yet.

“Yes, a pleasure.” She says, and I can see her cheeks turning bright red. There is a hesitation as we both wait to see what the other is going to do, and I’m honestly surprised that she acts on her temptation. I thought I was just screwing with her, but she is apparently interested. She closes the door with her foot and then lunges for me.

She’s so small that I feel like I could crush her when I wrap my arms around her. There is a small love seat on one side of the room, and we are there in an instant. I sit down, and she sits in my lap facing me and pulls me out of my t-shirt with our new gym logo. She sees my chest, and I swear it takes her breath away. “Oh my…” she blushes. We kiss for several minutes before she starts to wiggle her skirt and fishnet stockings down; they don’t make it far down before I am turning her around. I pull my own pants down just enough so that she can sit on my cock, and I bounce her in my lap and slide myself in and out of her. Her feet come off the ground each time I press my hips up into her, and she cries out pleasurably.

I reach around front and work my hands under her shirt, pleased to discover she’s not wearing a bra. I rub her stomach and her breast she pulls her back as I slouch down into the love seat. I keep one hand under her shirt, and I work my other hand at her clit while my cock does the rest. “Still think I’m an asshole?” I ask, panting slightly.

She just groans. She leaned backward and reached around to touch my neck; with her other hand, she grips the arm of the chair. “Say my name,” she says erotically.

“Um…” Shit, I forgot.

“It’s Tiffany, stupid.” She says.

I freeze, “Wait, what?”