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“I don’t think I caught your name.”
“I didn’t give it. I’m Elsa,” she said, offering a hand, “and if you even think of singing ‘Let It Go,’ I’ll slug you.”
“Never even occurred to me,” I told her.
But I wouldn’t confess that I had the urge to ask if she wanted to build a snowman.
“Good. You’re going to need friends around here. The publishing world can be a shark eat shark world.”
What did she mean by that?
Was she saying she was my friend or could be?
Or was it just a more general statement?
That I would require allies if I was going to survive?
I sat in the little office as requested, waiting for my boss to summon me, and wondering what the future might hold. Though nothing that flitted through my naive mind even approached what would shortly come to pass.Chapter 2 - MaxThe alarm sprang to life, unleashing the metal songs I had set up to blare at the correct time the night before. Darkest Black Metal from deepest Norway blasted from the speakers like demonic voices through a medium.
Lifting my head from my many-feathered pillows, I silenced the device and let out a pensive sigh. There was nothing wrong with the day in particular. It was life in general.
My thoughts turned as dark as the music. If the government didn’t get the virus under control and find a workable vaccine, the economy, and society as we knew it, would fall apart.
The music continued to reverberate around the room, and my thoughts continued to whirl. After a few moments, I shook my head. There was too much important work ahead of me. I didn’t have time to get caught in an existential stupor.
Stiff-legged and stiff-cocked, I made my way to the bathroom, shedding my boxer shorts on the way. Basking in the freedom of my morning wood standing at full attention, I started my morning routine—showering and jerking off.
After drying, I sauntered back into my bedroom and pulled on a pair of shorts. The door to the closet that held all my toys caught my attention. It’d been way too long since I’d had someone to play with.
No one came close to catching my attention these days. None of the women I’d met or dated recently were true subs. They thought they were, but to them, following my orders only went as far as the bedroom. That and they saw the lifestyle as a fun role-playing game for one-night-only.
I ached for someone who would follow my orders 24/7. Someone I could mold and train for life. But I doubted a woman like that existed.
In all areas of my life, I demanded organization and control—there was a place for everything, and everything had its place. The clothes in my wardrobe were labeled and organized by season and color.
Taking down a suit, an Italian, charcoal gray three-piece, I dressed, going slowly to make sure I looked immaculate. I’d learned early on that in my industry, appearances were vital.
I wasn’t born into money. I’d worked for every cent I earned. Growing up, we weren’t rich, but we didn’t struggle either.
My parents did okay financially. My father was a sanitation worker, and my mother a teacher before she died when I was eight. A few years later, he married Elsa’s mom, who had stayed at home to raise us.
My stepsister Elsa was one of the few women in my immediate circle I didn’t have carnal knowledge of. Not that she wasn’t my type. Truth be told, thanks to her curvy figure and petite stature, she was, but she just wasn’t into me that way and vice versa, considering that we were step siblings, of course.
In many ways, she was my backbone. She was the highest-paid office manager in Manhattan, and for the past few months, she’d taken over as my personal assistant—something she detested. I wasn’t an easy man to work for. I demanded perfection in all areas.
Finding an assistant who didn’t run screaming after a few weeks was proving difficult. I had been through six in the past year. Most had fine experience and references, but they’d all quit. They served their two weeks’ notice like it was a prison sentence before disappearing without a trace.
It was hard not to feel rejected, especially after the third or fourth time. Something about me always scared them away, but I was hard-pressed to imagine what it could be. After the fifth one resigned, I had asked Elsa, but she just suggested that I “tone it down a bit.”
After breakfast, I lifted my custom-made bike from its rack in the hallway, threw my backpack on, and pushed off in the general direction of downtown. Cycling to work gave me time to clear my head and let me start the day off on the right foot—or, well, pedals, anyway.
