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9
Chapter Nine
Andreas
My footsteps are slow and steady up the stairs to my office. I flick the light switch and squint against the sudden change. The fluorescent tubes flicker on, casting a harsh light across the stacks of unfinished paperwork that fill my desk. It’s after one in the morning, but I need to comb through payroll and highlight the positions that received their raises first. It was my idea to renegotiate everyone’s pay, but I didn’t realize what a pain in the ass it was going to be. I plop into my chair and open my laptop. I pull up the payroll module and begin reading through the names.
I met with the financial advisor, and we realized we had more money available than I originally thought. Through payroll tiers, every employee who currently works for our franchise, Hometown Wings and Beer, will get a wage increase. The first tier bumped the salary of all of our manager staff, so right now, I’m planning to go through and ensure there aren’t any names missing from the list our payroll guy sent to me this morning.
I’m pulled from the monotony of my work when my phone alerts me to a message. I look up and realize that an hour has passed without me noticing, and I wonder who the hell is texting me at two in the morning.
Phone in hand, I see that it’s the messenger app that my employees use for scheduling and shift coverage. I have an incoming message from Alana Meyer.
ALANA MEYER:
Stacy may not want you to make her come with that delicious mouth, but the three of us are down for an orgasm or twelve. Hope you’re still awake. ??
And there’s a picture attached. The photo shows Alana sandwiched between two equally stunning women. They’re laughing and making an inappropriate gesture with their hands. Behind them, bottles of liquor line the shelves, and neon signs light up the bar. The drinks in front of each woman are nearly empty, with only an inch of pink liquid left at the bottom.
I contemplate my response as I shut my computer down for the night. How should I handle this as Alana’s boss? On one hand, it’s foolish of her to message me through the scheduling app because everyone in higher management has access to the accounts. I can feel my blood pressure rising, knowing she was thinking about my “delicious mouth” while out with her friends. She was feeling the attraction, too.
She’s been thinking about me ever since she heard me talking to Stacy, and that excites me. I walk through my home and toward the bathroom so I can brush my teeth, phone in hand the entire time. Stacy and I have been teasing each other through text ever since I called her from the bar the other day, but the distance between us doesn’t allow for much more than that.
Alana overheard me trying to convince her to come to Indiana for a quickie. In my defense, I was desperate for release outside of jerking off for the millionth time. Thanks, Dad, for passing the torch and making sure I had zero free time to get out of the house and meet women who don’t work for me.
I try to tell myself that’s why I flirted so shamelessly with her when I went in for a beer the other day. I haven’t quite convinced myself, though. It was unprofessional, and I left pissed off at myself.
Aromatic candles fill the space with subtle fragrances and add to its calming atmosphere. Soft music plays through hidden speakers while I brush my teeth and plan my response to Alana. I rinse my toothbrush and grab my phone, careful to keep the message as professional as possible.
I make my way to the bedroom and climb into bed. I haven’t lived here long, and the room still feels foreign compared to the dark, monochromatic bedroom in my old house. The walls are a shade of light blue, and cream-colored sheets the same shade as the furniture covers the bed. A large painting of a beach sunset hangs over the bed, giving off a warm, calming vibe. One corner of the room holds a small desk with my laptop on it, and an old corkboard full of photos hangs from one wall. I lay with my skin against the cool sheets and stare at the lewd message Alana sent me.
My eyes close, and I imagine Alana coming home from her night out and getting ready for bed. Standing in front of a mirror in the bathroom of her home, brushing her hair. I imagine her undressing slowly, stripping down in front of the mirror as she studies her body and inspects her curves. I can almost hear the slight gasp that escapes her lips as she touches her skin, feeling her curves under her delicate fingertips.
My hand slides down the front of my body and slips under the sheets. I have to get some kind of relief if I ever plan on being in the same room as Alana again. Right as my hand reaches the base of my dick, my phone lights up with a phone call from my best friend, Chris.
Jesus, I’m even getting cock blocked when I’m alone. This is insane.
I growl, then slide the button over to answer. “What’s up?” I huff into the phone.
“You sound pleasant, princess. What are you doing?”
“I’m at home. It’s been a long day, and it’s two in the morning. You’re lucky I even answered,” I grunt.
“I’m getting ready to drive to an all-night diner and get some breakfast,” he says, and I can tell he’s been drinking. “Just calling to see if you wanna meet up.” He sounds as cheerful as ever; the man has never been in a bad mood.
I’ve known Chris since I was ten years old. He’s the son of a million-dollar car sales agent, and our dads have been friends for years. He’s a year older than me, and he’s the life of the party. I thought once we hit thirty, he’d calm down. No such luck; the dude still parties like he’s twenty-one.
“Nah, man. I’m already in bed for the night. I’ve been touring some stores for the past few weeks, and I’m exhausted. Thanks for the invite, though. We need to get together soon. It’s been too long,” I answer honestly. The thought of leaving my house this late doesn’t even sound appealing. God, I’m getting old.
“Don’t be fucking lame, dude. You sound like your dad. I’ll come pick you up, it’ll be fine. Get out of bed and get dressed. You sound depressed,” the ever-insistent Chris orders me.
“Seriously, I’m cool staying in. Gotta be up early tomorrow. We’ll go out here in the next few days. I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?” I try to placate him.
Thank God, it works. Chris huffs, “Fine, you geriatric fuck. Call me tomorrow. The next time I call you to go out, though, you’re going. No exceptions,” and he hangs up before I can reply.
I roll my eyes and realize the mood for self-love has passed. The blankets cocoon me as I roll over, turn the lamp off, and plug my phone in. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out how to deal with Alana. I’ll get this infatuation nipped in the bud. I just need a good night of restful sleep so I can handle it with a clear head. Nothing can go wrong.
10
