“The initial marketing efforts will be through broad-based Internet advertising as well as direct television advertising,” Cheryl is speaking on the line and her voice is coming through on speakerphone.

It’s the afternoon and I’m sitting with my feet up on my desk listening to the people on the call. There’s probably about forty people all told who dialed in to the final two weeks before go-live. We got people from all different areas of the fucking company: Operations, Finance, Marketing, Legal, and R&D are on this call.

And tying it all together and holding us in check is none other than Cheryl —Personal Assistant to the fucking stars. My fucking personal assistant.

“What channels on the television spectrum are we targeting?” someone from Marketing asks Cheryl over the conference line.

There’s a pause. I know Cheryl is prepared for this question. It’s not like someone tripped her up or anything.

“We’re targeting prime time spots on all broadcast networks as well as contemporary movie channels that target the 18-44 demographic,” Cheryl says, reading off her list. I nod to myself. That sounds like a pretty good lineup.

What?

Oh come on, don’t look so fucking shocked. I’m sure prime time television has no fucking problem running ads for a virtual reality porn player. I mean, have you looked at what they put on television recently? Fuck, this shit is exactly what the audiences are waiting for.

“We also have cross-promo licensing deals with all major fast food chains across the country as well as—” Cheryl would say more but all of a sudden my head jerks toward the door as it flings open.

I immediately put the call on mute. Then I put it on hold. Whatever is about to fucking go down does not need to be interrupting this important fucking call that's going to make me billions of dollars.

Jesus. I don’t know why I’m so fucking jumpy all of a sudden.

I realize how silly I’m being when Brittney walks in.

Instead of armed thugs being led by Simon Conners, it's the most beautiful girl in the fucking world walking in wearing a tight dark blue wraparound dress.

I know what you’re wondering right now, and fuck you for wondering, but yes, my cock does twitch a little bit seeing the fabric of Brittney’s dress cling to her fucking perky and full breasts and the rest of her slender body.

“Brittney?” I ask her. I mean, despite wanting to fuck her, I’m a bit surprised. She’s never surprised me at work like this before. “What’s going on, babe?” I ask.

She takes several steps toward me, her face determined.

“I need to withdraw from the project and end my association with Illicit Entertainment,” she says, as if she’s rehearsed this on the way over. “I need off the team.”

If she had stood there and told me she was growing a third fucking tit I wouldn't have been more shocked than I am at that moment.

I stand up, more because this moment is too important to be fucking sitting down.

“What do you mean?” I manage to ask her, not even sure I heard her right.

She shakes her head, and it looks like she might burst into tears at any point.

“You heard me, Ethan,” she says to me. “I need off the IE team. I’m sorry, but I can't be involved any more.”

I walk around the desk. This isn't a fucking employee problem anymore. This isn't a Human Resources case at this point.

No.

This is something wrong with my girlfriend.

There, I don't care if she has trouble realizing that. Or doesn't want to admit it or whatever.

I fucking love this woman, and right now there is something that's bothering her.

“Babe, what the fuck is wrong?” I ask her and she’s about to answer when I realize she’s probably just going to say the same thing she has already. I stop her. “Wait,” I say and take a step toward her.

She looks up at me and there's the briefest flash of hope in her eyes. As if there's some way that maybe I can sort this out for her.

“I don't want to hear what the problem is if you can’t tell me, but know this babe,” I tell her and wrap my arms around her, bringing her close. “I will be with you no matter what the problem is. Hell, if you fucking killed someone I’ll be there with you to bury the fucking body.”

Brittney trembles and I pull back from her so I can look her in the eyes.

“Fuck the world, babe,” I tell her, my eyes piercing into her. “It’s you and me fucking forever,” I say with finality.

Brittney stares at me for a long, long time. Her eyes widen as if she’s realizing something for the first time. She uses her hand to wipe away some tears before they can form.

“Listen, I know you did fucking porn back in Los Angeles, but guess what? We’re a company that sells porn, so it’s fucking okay!” I exclaim and she laughs for a second. Bingo. I’m on the right track.

“I know there was probably some other shit that you’re not telling me, but listen to me, okay?” I say, and Brittney nods as she looks at me.

I take a deep breath. Fuck. Sure, I’ve told her I love her. But I’ve never put it in this way before like I’m about to do.

“I really don't care what the fuck you did, are doing, or will do, as long as you let me be around you,” I tell her and she gasps.

“I know I sound like a fucking pussy for saying that and don’t worry, you won't fucking walk all over me or something, but Brit, whatever it is, I’m always next to you because I fucking love you,” I finish.

Another fucking long pregnant pause.

She takes a step over and gets on her tiptoes. Her mouth comes to mine and she kisses me.

Long and fucking hard.

The kind that sends blood to your cock.

When she pulls back, she’s smiling.

“I love you too, you big romantic bear, you,” she says with a smirk and twinkling eyes.

Fuck. She’s back.

“So no more talk of leaving?” I ask her, trying to hide my smile.

“Uh-uh,” she says shaking her head.

“Good,” I tell her, turning away, trying to not look like a fool. “Then scram. I got work to do.”

Brittney kisses me one last time and turns around to walk away. I go to my desk and unmute the call.

But the line is silent. I wonder if they’re already done? They can’t be. The call was supposed to be for another half hour at least.

“If you’re wondering what happened to the call, I told everyone we’d reconvene when we never heard you answer any of our questions,” Cheryl says from the door to my office.

I turn around. She’s standing there holding her tablet and looking at me.

“When you didn’t answer even me, I decided you had probably jumped off without telling me,” she says as she walks in, her eyes looking around. “Which is a very odd thing to do, even for you, considering the importance of what we’re planning here Ethan,” she finishes with.

She’s looking at me closely and I know what's fucking coming.

“I got caught up, Cheryl…” I start to say but she fucking cuts me off.

“Yes, I saw her heading to the elevator when I started coming this way. She looked happy,” Cheryl says and raises her eyebrows at me. “Quite different from the way she looked from my office when she came up.”

“She wanted off the project,” I tell Cheryl, not knowing why I’m fucking explaining myself to her. “But I talked her into staying.”

“I see,” Cheryl says with a deep breath as if smelling the room. “I’m glad you didn’t sleep with her to make the point.”

“Are you smelling for fucking sex smells, Cheryl?” I ask, not sure where this conversation is headed. “Is that in your bag of tricks nowadays too?”

“I’m sighing, Ethan,” Cheryl says rolling her eyes and walking to the window. “Because I don’t think you realize what you’re falling into here.”

“What?” I ask, walking to the window too. “You still think she’s the one who's going to steal the prototype for Simon?”

“No, Ethan,” Cheryl says turning to me. “It doesn't matter if she’s the one who's stealing the prototype, but at least you need to be honest with her.”

I pause. That stops me short.

“You need to tell her the truth about what you’re doing,” Cheryl says to me. “Because you’re in love with that girl, and regardless of what she’s up to, she’s in love with you.”

I still have nothing to fucking say. It’s not like I have the high ground anymore.

“And if you really love her, the least you can do is be honest about yourself and what you’re doing. At least to her,” Cheryl finishes.

I’m silent as she looks at me for another second.

“I’ll be with Marketing if you need me,” she says by way of goodbye.

I stand there for a long minute as Cheryl leaves.

I mean, just answer me one fucking question, if you will, and don’t skip to the end, okay?

Since when did porn get to become so fucking complicated?