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There’s that girl. In my arms. Staring up at me like some damn teenager drooling over someone from One Direction.
Shit, I hope she’s not a teenager.
Ah, fuck, did Vivienne see this? Well, she must have; she’s my fucking employee who’s supposed to clean this mess up. But why hasn’t she already?
“Charles!” I scream. “Oww…fuck.” I punch the desk. The piercing pain has not eased up in the slightest.
“Yeah, David. What can I do for you?” he asks. “Oh, shit. You reek, man.” He waves his hands in front of his nose.
“Yeah…ugh. Whatever. Have you seen Vivienne around at all?”
“So, you did go out last night? And no, I haven’t. But she isn’t in her bedroom; the maids have already cleaned that.”
“And in her office? That’s where she is most of the time.” I point out the obvious.
“No, well, not since an hour ago when I walked past it.” He sighs. “What did you do last night, David?” he scolds me, folding his arms across his chest. “Why’d you fuck this up?”
He knows me too well.
“I’ll tell you later. I just need to talk to Vivienne about it first.”
“Well, it sounded like something went down last night. You two weren’t quiet.” He turns around, heading to the hallway, but then he stops and swivels his head back to me. “I’ll let you know as soon as I see her, though. But I’m afraid you might’ve really fucked up this time, David.” And then he leaves.
I sigh and run my hands over my face and through my hair. The pressure feels good.
I talked to her last night?
I lean back, twirling my phone in my hands, and I jolt forward when a memory pops in my head.
Did I accuse her…of loving me? I fucking said that to her?
No, no, no, no…I ended it. Last night, I fucking ended this…whatever this fucking thing is.
I spring up and pace towards her bedroom and then her office, hoping I’d find her so we can talk about last night. Maybe I can fix this? This is my one and only mishap, so it’ll be like a first free pass or some shit like that, right?
She’ll have to forgive me. She can’t be that ruthless.
She’s not in her bedroom, which looks eerily empty. Shit.
I knock on her office door and hear silence.
“Vivienne!” I scream, pounding on her door.
I take my phone out of my pocket and dial her number—no answer. I lean my back against her door and slide down to the floor.
This is bullshit. I’m her client—and I’m the fucking King. She should be answering my call.
Yeah…that’s right. She should be answering me, calling me, I repeat, trying to reassure myself. And fuck, isn’t a guy allowed one mistake?
Sure, this looks pretty shitty. And I probably ruined our arrangement, but…I’m sure it’s nothing she can’t fix. She’s the best in the business, right?
“Fuck!” I yell out in frustration.
No, you know what? If she doesn’t want to fix this, then fuck her. Annoyance and worry quickly boil over into anger, and my breathing becomes erratic.
Whatever. It’s better this way.
I get up and walk away from her office—from her.
