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“Can I give you a ride, baby?”
I can feel the blessedly cool air pouring from the open window of the Tesla, but I still hold my breath until I get in and close the door. I just cannot handle Miami heat. It is inhumane.
“I did it,” I grin excitedly, patting the check from the outside of my bag.
“I’m proud of you,” he smiles, clasping my hand and drawing it to his lips so he can kiss my knuckles. I can feel the beard hairs tickling my fingers.
Do I like the new goatee? I don’t know. People keep asking me that. I don’t hate it. I like the way it feels when he goes down on me. And he looks really nice in the corporate pictures. Diego Martinez, CTO. Right next to Spencer Thompson, CEO. Thompson Security.
“Thank you for being proud of me,” I blush. “I know it’s not a big deal—”
“What? Don’t be crazy!” he interrupts me. “You just beat my yearly salary with one painting. It’s a really big deal. A huge deal.”
“It’s not a competition, Diego.”
“Well, that’s easy for you to say, since you are winning,” he smirks.
But I know he doesn’t really mind. In fact, the only real competition is between Diego and Spencer. That’s why their pictures are next to each other on the corporate website, instead of Spencer at the top. After all, it was Diego’s programming that built the company. His intellectual property, as he is so fond of reminding us all the time.
But I think we all acknowledge what a good team we are. Everybody contributes equally. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to be in a less “complicated” relationship. I mean, just two people? It seems unnatural.
For us, it is like an instant family. Everybody pitches in. We work together. We have a lot of expectations for each other, but that is why we achieve so much.
Diego navigates the nearly silent car onto the highway, and I stare out the window. From behind the glass, Miami looks beautiful. If you do not actually have hellfire being spit directly into your face, it is sort of lovely.
At the airfield, Diego slows down and rolls us right up to the hangar.
“Uggghhhh,” I groan.
“Oh, jeez, it’s just for a second. Do you want me to drive right up to the jet?”
“Can you?” I beg pitifully. “Actually, can you drive us into the jet? I don’t want to be outside, like, at all.”
“Oh my God, you are such a drama queen,” he laughs as he palms the key fob and slides out of the seat.
I wait patiently for him to open my door. I don’t open doors. That is not my job, or so they keep telling me.
Quickly I take a deep breath and hold it, but when he opens my door, he blocks it immediately with his back.
“What are you doing?” I ask, letting my breath out by mistake.
He glances back at me over his shoulder. “Hop on,” he suggests. “I can get you there quicker.”
The pilot laughs into his sleeve as I climb onto Diego’s back and let him run me across the remaining tarmac and up the stairs into the cabin of the Gulfstream. Diego’s body is tight and hard underneath my thighs, and I wonder how long it will be until I can get him on top of me.
“There, now, was that so bad?” he asks as he sets me down.
“I want you to do that every time,” I giggle.
“Consider it done.”
The flight is not a long one, but there is still champagne. There is always champagne.
If I had made a list of things that I wanted when I was a little girl, I could probably have gotten pretty close to the fairytale life that I have right now. Actually, if I had made a list of the kinds of men that I imagined, I probably would’ve listed all four of these. The arrogant one. The thoughtful one. The naughty one. And the sweet one.
Lucky me, I got all four.
Private jet? A fleet of Teslas in all the cities where we have business interests? A private compound in the hills that is totally energy efficient and beautiful, with its own gallery and fertile farmland?
