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“We can discuss the budget tomorrow, but any purchase exceeding our preset limit must receive prior approval before you make any transactions on behalf of the company,” the board president asserts.
I refrain from commenting on his statement.
“This is New York City. Good real estate is hard to come by,” I begin. “We’ll renovate the building, adapting it to our intended purpose. It previously operated as a coffee house until its recent closure.”
“How much do you intend to spend on these renovations?” he interjects, his disapproval palpable.
Perhaps he’s in dire need of a vacation.
I sigh audibly, attempting to maintain composure. “I don't have the exact figures, as I have just acquired the building and need to conduct inspections and assessments. However, as I mentioned earlier, the costs should be within my initial expectations. I’ll provide you with the figures in the next few weeks,” I respond.
Keep it together, Brando. The board already has a bias against you; don't give them any further ammunition to complicate your life.
“Fine. Please elaborate on your plans for the building. We need to be aware of the projects that will occupy that space,” he insists.
“I have several green initiatives in mind for some of our pipeline contracts, and I also plan to establish a charitable foundation, which would be headquartered in that building,” I state, my breath stuck in my throat as I brace myself for potential resistance.
“We will need to approve those projects once you provide us with the details. It doesn't appear that you have a concrete plan in place for any of them,” he responds.
Inwardly, I contemplate the futility of presenting any proposal when everything I suggest is met with rejection.
“The board will convene again in one month to review the plans you come up with,” he adds, preempting any further response from me. “And Brando, don't forget, if you fail to meet the deadlines or the criteria, we won't be able to grant our approval.” With that, the board president concludes the call, leaving me staring at a blank screen.
My hand clenches into a tight fist, the pressure of my nails leaving half-moon imprints on my palm.
It’s time to dissolve this blasted board and gain control of my company.
I rub my hands over my face and run them through my hair before closing the lid of my laptop. A hot shower and a good night's sleep seem like the remedy I desperately need.
I enter my master suite, adorned in shades of gray and black, and twist the faucet, allowing the hot water to flow. Shedding my clothes, I step into the steam-filled shower. Positioning myself beneath the invigorating spray, I lean against the wall, letting the day's frustrations dissolve in the warmth of the water.
Taking hold of the soap, I lather my body, my mind drifting toward tomorrow. Imagining the outline of Ana’s curves, my body responds. My dick is standing up, tall and throbbing. I stroke myself, imagining Ana’s mouth and eyes on me. As I lean back, the water hits my chest, and I continue to fist my cock. I see Ana’s naked breasts with pebbled nipples and imagine pulling her up against me. I lick water off her chest as she continues to rub me. Sliding my hands down her silky skin, I find the other telltale sign she’s aroused. She is wet and slick and ready for me. I imagine turning her to face the wall, sliding into her easily, and grabbing her tits. I’m ready to come, squeezing tighter, stroking faster, imagining it’s Ana’s pussy wrapped tightly around me.
With a grunt, I release into the streaming water while waves of orgasm shudder through me.
I rinse and dry off, then fall into bed naked. I’m asleep instantly, thinking of her.
CHAPTER7
ANA
The alarm blaresat me as I fumble for the snooze button. I'm drowsy, my head weighs twenty pounds, and it's throbbing. Did I dream about a spaceship?
I should drink less when I go out with Race.
Fifteen minutes later, the snooze alarm harshly awakens me, and I squash the offensive sound by turning it off. Finally, I get up and stumble to the bathroom. Raccoon eyes framed by a rat's nest glare at me from the mirror. I’m woozy and barely make it to the toilet in time.
Ugh.
I wash my face and rinse my mouth with Listerine, which makes me feel a little better. After tying up my hair and putting on yoga pants and a tank top, I take my purple mat into the living room, unroll it, and stare down at it, willing myself to do the routine.
My usual morning sequence is rough at first. The room spins, and I lose my balance several times. I gulp down cool water and ultimately make it through without passing out. After taking a shower, I finally feel human again.
When I return to my room, Race is sprawled on my bed, arms akimbo. When did he manage to crawl in here and why? I shake him awake as I walk by. He lets out a groan, and I decide he needs some motivation.
I poke him in the ribs with my finger, and he lets out a high-pitched scream, causing me to double over in laughter.
“Don't make me move too fast, or I'll throw up on your bed,” he warns, rolling over. I continue to laugh at him as I start rummaging in my closet for one of the outfits we bought yesterday.
