Chapter 3: Michael's Troubles

Michael

Michael blamed his faulty Porsche for ruining his day. He could have driven any other car in his garage, but he had an inherent habit of driving only designated cars each day. Mondays were Porsche days. He drove it arrogantly to wherever his intellect or manhood was needed.

However, the twenty-million-dollar sports car decided to ditch him that morning. He had no choice but to walk a long distance to the roadside to hitch a ride. His new look made it difficult for passersby to recognize him. Otherwise, he'd have been stranded on the busy streets of Empire City, signing autographs all day.

As if his faulty car was not tragedy enough, he was forced to share his ride with a feisty female who was hell-bent on sending him to hell. The scary bitch had promised to be his worst nightmare.

Michael would give anything to sign autographs all year round rather than endure a ride with the hell-hound.

A pretty hell-hound, if he was being honest.

God! He still had the impression of her voluptuous breasts against his chest. He was caught unawares, and his hard member beneath his suit pants testified to his instant arousal.

He'd had more than a fair share of women to last the average man, but this female was different. She was dangerously breathtaking and perfect in all places.

He took the elevator to the last floor, where his office was. A warm cup of coffee on a cool day would repair his damaged morning. On getting into the commodious space, he reached for the intercom on his desk. "Trudy."

"Yes sir!" The receptionist squeaked delightedly from the other end of the line. "How may I be of service?"

Michael was aware of Trudy's attempt at playing ignorance. She knew exactly why he called.

"Bring me a cup of coffee. You know how I want it."

"I've got it covered, sir!" She ended the call, excitement lacing her tone.

Trudy was a cheap flirt. Yes, she's pretty enough, but Michael had a penchant for model ladies. Her clothes were always revealing, leaving little to the imagination.

Michael would never say no to a free fuck. Right in his office, on his work desk, he'd bend Trudy over, thrusting into her from behind. All thanks to the soundproof compartment, the entire staff would have heard how loud she screamed.

He dialed Mr. Brown's desk afterward. "Bring me the files of all the applicants you interviewed today. Don't waste my time. I don't have the whole day."

"Yes sir." The older man responded from the other end of the line.

Michael released the button on the intercom and snorted into his chair, waiting for Trudy to arrive with his order. The door slid open, but someone else walked in instead, holding the takeout coffee cup.

"Nicki?" He sat upright, narrowing his eyes at her. "What are you doing here? Do we have an appointment today that might have skipped my mind?"

She sashayed to his desk and placed the foil cup gingerly on the desk. She was dressed in a skin-tight maroon-colored silky gown with glitter on the bodice. The gown was parted on the left from the helm to the middle of her thigh, punctuating her creamy, flawless skin.

She's the only daughter and child of Brandon Sandalwood, a billionaire oil tycoon. They'd come way back from high school and college. To date, their friendship has remained intact...for some reason.

"Do I need to schedule an appointment before dropping by to say hello to an old friend?" She arched her brows, pursing her red lips. She had a knack for red lipsticks.

"That's not how I meant it, and you know that." Michael reached for the cup, watching her from the corner of his eyes as she made her way to the back of his chair. "Today's Monday, Nicki. I've got projects to work on and several meetings with top clients."

He took a sip of the steaming liquid and dragged it down his throat. For some reason, the coffee didn't taste right that morning.

"Sssh!" She stood behind him, massaging the top of his shoulders and down to his chest. He'd be a liar to say he wasn't aware of Nicki's real intentions. "Work, work, work, all the time. Don't you ever get tired of living a boring life? Get some air into your lungs, Michael. You need a sabbatical for Christ's sake!"

"It pays the bills. Besides, my competitors want me to falter. I can't give them a chance to step ahead of me," he said, rummaging through a stack of old documents to distract himself.

"C'mon, Michael," she whirled the chair around and lodged between his lap, tracing circles on his bulky chest. "KFH has been the leading fashion enterprise for ten solid years. You've won countless awards with a whopping ten billion dollars in net worth to your name, according to Forbes. A little break won't shoot you off the scale. Just...relax." She leaned forward and brushed her lips over Michaela's, sliding his hand over her parted thighs.

Michael reciprocated the gesture, taking her lips in equal stride. He didn't know what transpired between Nicki and Trudy, but since KFH's top model was here, who cares?

Her hand traveled down to his pants, caressing his strained member beneath his pants. Suddenly, the face of the female in the taxi flashed into his head. He broke away from the kiss, haunted by the lady's face.

"Are you okay?" Nicki inquired with a concerned tone, cupping his face.

"You need to leave, Nicki," he said, helping her to her feet and whipping his head. He reached for a file on the table and punched the butt of a pen to distract himself. "I have a lot of work to do."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Are you doing this because of that bitch you called a receptionist, throwing herself at you at any chance she gets?!"

He sighed, massaging his temples. It's not noon yet, and he already had a lot to deal with. The taxi lady almost had him in a chokehold. Now, Nicki, too. He might end up going on a sabbatical to preserve what is left of his sanity.

"She's not the reason, okay?" He kept his cool. "I'm not just in the mood for this right now."

Her expression softened. "But I'm in the mood, and I want you, Michael." She attempted another chance at seducing him. "What does she have that I don't have? Is it because of her big boobs? If you want, I can travel to Germany for a boob job to suit your taste."

"Jesus, Nicki!" Michael exclaimed. "I'm half bothered about the shape of your boobs than your personal vendetta with Trudy. I don't care about some fucking boobs."

"I'm not blind, Michael. I see the way you look at her boobs whenever she's within range. Don't think I'm a fool for keeping quiet all this time!"

"And so what!" Nicki was riling him up with her tantrums. "Times without number, I've told you we cannot be more than friends, why will you be jealous of a common receptionist like you're my girlfriend?" He stood to his feet, livid at her.

Tears pooled in her eyes. "What do you ever want that I've never done for you?" she said, taking a step closer. "I gave you my support, my time, and every inch of my body. I was there when you had nothing, and I clung to your side through the thick and thin. What else do you want from me, Michael?"

Plain guilt washed over Michael. She's right. No one wanted an orphaned boy from the slums to join their circle. He grew up in an orphanage with nothing and was malnourished and disadvantaged.

Through the help of Nicki's father's scholarship scheme, Michael was fortunate to see the four walls of one of the high-brow schools in Empire City.

Nicki was his one and only friend. They attended classes together, had lunch together, and majored in the same discipline in college. When Steve Burns and his rich friends bullied him, Nicki was always there to stand up for him. If he remembered quite well, he took her virginity at the back of her father's car after prom in high school.

But he couldn't love her the way she wanted.

In a more reserved tone, Michael took her hands in his, thumbing her tears away. "I can't thank you and your father enough for giving a nobody like me a shot at life. I'll forever be indebted to you. All I have is yours, take whatever you want. But I can't give you what you seek. I'm so sorry, Nicki."

The hot glare from Nicki's emerald eyes bore holes into Michael's soul. "We're not done, Michael. If I can't have you, no one else can. I'll skin anybody alive who tries to take you away from me, including that busty, slutty receptionist!" With that, she stormed out of his office.

Mr. Brown stumbled into the office with the files. "Is Ms. Nicki all right? She seemed to be upset."

"Put them on the desk," Michael ordered, choosing rather to avoid his question. Mr. Brown got the memo. He swept his observation under the carpet. Being one of the oldest members of the staff didn't earn him the right to waltz into his boss' private matters. He stood with his hands behind him, awaiting his next instruction.

Michael flipped through each document absent-mindedly until his eyes settled on the face of the lady in the taxi.

"Hell-hound." He heard himself croak. "What can you say about this applicant?" He asked Mr. Brown.

The raunchy man narrowed his eyes at the paper and said, "Bad choice, sir. She doesn't have a working experience, and she has one hell of a temper."

Michael didn't give a damn about the former, but he could resonate with the latter. She ruined his Monday. And he'd ruin her life too.

He grinned wickedly at her file in his hand, relaxing into his chair. "Give her the job. She's well qualified to be my personal assistant."