The Fantasy (3 page)

“That’s so fuckin’ hot,” he heard her say before she took her hand away.
 

He looked down to watch as she fell to her knees, so caught up in watching his pleasure from what she was doing to him that she didn’t give any thought to the trash she’d knelt down among. Her mouth opened wide for him, gripping the base of his shaft and taking him between her lips.
 

She was rough in her eagerness to please, clipping him with the edges of her teeth—a move that could only mean inexperience—and causing his hips to buck. He welcomed the pain though. He knew he deserved it and didn’t bother moving his hands from the wall to guide her head.

Faster and with bruising intensity, she sucked, and as his hips wrenched back and forth into her mouth, he pictured a blond head bobbing against his thighs instead of the black one currently between them. The visual caused his orgasm to unexpectedly surge out of him.
 

To her credit, her greedy mouth drank every bit of what he gave her, licking him clean until there was nothing else to swallow.
 

***

On the train ride home, he sat in the last car again, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. The high only ever lasted so long before the nausea and self-loathing kicked in. He looked up, forcing himself to watch his reflection in the window across from him as New York’s underground passed by behind it. The man he was observing was nothing like the one he’d seen an hour ago. That guy had been confident, motivated. Nothing like the pathetic air of desperation emanating from the person staring back at him.
 

How long would he do this? This endless fucking cycle he couldn’t seem to stop.
 

He dropped his face in his hands once more, unable to keep looking at that which he hated.

He fucking hated job interviews. They were such a waste of time. No one ever presented their true selves to get a job, and everything said within the allotted time frame was a lie. There was only one thing to accomplish—to be the biggest liar of them all.

As he stood there in his pressed suit and tie, he felt he had that in the bag. He was lying to himself and everyone else if they thought this was who he really was.
No, his true self now was the animal that had fucked the brains out of a third-rate, available
pussy
the night before in an alley of waste and despair.

After stepping off the elevator, he buttoned his suit jacket as he scanned the lobby. Today’s version of Evan James would try to be on his best behavior, and if he could keep his zipper shut and his dick in his pants, he just might pull it off.
But with one glance at the perky, young receptionist sitting behind the front desk, that notion was quickly shut down.

“Good morning,” she greeted. “Can I help you?”

The bright smile she aimed his way made him think of several ways she could help him, none of which were office appropriate.

“Oh, I’m sure you could, but I’m here for a meeting. Evan James. I have a nine o’clock with Mr. Kelman and Ms. Spencer.”

The receptionist’s smile stayed in place but relayed little interest in his suggestive remark. “Of course. One moment.”

She stood up from her desk and walked over to a shut door he assumed led to their offices. As she disappeared through the door, his eyes drifted down to her round ass, which was squeezed into a knee-length skirt.

Stop thinking with your cock.

He looked around the empty lobby before reaching down to adjust his growing erection. He only had to make it through an hour-long, at best, meeting without fucking things up. Even he could do that. Hopefully Ms. Spencer was an old hag with a chicken neck.

“Mr. James?”

He turned to see that the receptionist had reappeared and was waiting until she had his attention.

“They’ll see you now.” She inclined her head back toward the door, indicating that he should follow her.

This time, he kept his eyes off the woman in front of him and focused on his surroundings as he walked behind her through the wide halls of Kelman Corporations.

She led him down a dark-wooded corridor, the walls lined with gilded frames of company achievements, and past an alcove that featured a sitting area with a small table adorned with an elegant arrangement of fresh calla lilies and a high-back leather chair.

“You can wait right here. Ms. Spencer will be out shortly.”

He nodded his thanks and sat down, keeping his eyes on the ground and not on the figure walking away from him.
 

Just one hour. You’ve fucking got this.

It’d be nice to actually have a job again and not worry about having to sell his paid-off Range Rover, which was currently valeted downstairs. That, his condo, and a few business suits were all that remained of his former life, and he’d been holding on to them like a lifeline, needing them to keep up with his playboy façade. He’d royally fucked himself out of a career he loved, and not in the good way. This was his last and
only
chance, and he needed to nail it.

In his head, he ran through his career highlights, ticking them off one by one, getting his mind back on the task at hand. He came from a family of financial managers, and he wanted this job. The irony of being broke while helping others with their investments was not lost on him, but he knew that, when he was switched on and focused, he was one of the best in the business.

The door at the end of the hall opened, and as his gaze drifted up, the first thing he noticed walking towards him in wicked-looking high heels was a pair of long, shapely legs. Legs that did not bring to mind the words ‘old’ and ‘hag.’

Fuck me if this is Ms. Spencer.

As his eyes continued their upward perusal, they took in the figure-hugging red skirt that hit just above the knee and clung to her shapely thighs and hips before cinching at her waist. The black blouse she was wearing looked silky to the touch and made his fingers tingle with the need to—

“Hello again, Mr. James.”

The velvet voice that came out was not what he’d been expecting, nor was the face that greeted him. She was looking at him with a smirk on her face—one that said she wasn’t surprised at all to see him. In fact, Blondie even seemed...proud of herself.

Well I’ll be damned...

Her long hair was pinned up today, leaving no trace of the sex kitten that had left his condo days ago with smudged makeup, just-fucked hair, and covered in his come.

He thought back to that night, and tried to recall her mentioning anything beyond how much she loved fucking his cock, but nothing came to mind. Especially nothing along the lines of what she did for a living.
Hell, he hadn’t even known her name, hadn’t bothered getting her to repeat it when it had gotten lost in the noise on the dance floor the first time she’d said it.

Evan stood, clutching his portfolio, and cleared his throat. “Ms…Spencer, is it?”

Her lips tipped up at the corners, making him think of the way she’d looked at him right before those pouty lips had wrapped around his dick.

“Yes, that’s right. If you’ll follow me, Mr. Kelman is waiting in his office.”

As she walked down the hall ahead of him, he noted the way her hips swayed from side to side and cursed his bad fucking luck. How the hell was he supposed to sit through an interview, one he was determined to nail, across from a woman he
had
nailed. Repeatedly.

He took a fortifying breath and followed behind Ms. Spencer. After pushing through the door she’d come from, she held it open like an invitation. Then she aimed a smile at him that could only be construed as professional if the glint of fucking knowledge in her eyes wasn’t added in.
 

Evan knew she was playing with him.

Steeling himself, he matched her smile as he walked by her and into the room. He could play that game too.

“You must be Evan,” a jovial voice called out.
 

He watched a stocky man with thinning, grey hair come around the massive mahogany desk to greet him. A limp marred his gait but didn’t diminish his enthusiasm as he reached out to shake Evan’s hand. His grip was strong, contradictory to his appearance, and it rubbed against the cuts on his palm from last night’s exploits. He’d probably need a fucking tetanus shot later.

“Mr. Kelman, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
Time to lay it on thick.
“You’re a legendary name in this business.”

With a wink and a hearty chuckle, Mr. Kelman leaned in. “Oh, no need to blow smoke up my ass, son, but thanks anyway. And call me Cledus.”

“Sir?”

He slapped him on the back. “Nah, I’m just kidding. That was my ex-father-in-law’s name, may the bastard rest in peace. The name’s Bill.” He motioned to the casual sitting area in front of him. “Have a seat, would you?”

Evan glanced across at Blon—Ms. Spencer, who was seated in one of the chairs that circled an elaborate stand featuring a wooden globe on top of it. When he saw her looking fondly at the old guy, he moved to take the empty seat on the far side.

Anyone this fucking happy, especially so early in the morning, made him wary.

“So I see you’ve met Reagan.  She’s a real firecracker, so you better watch out.”

Reagan. So that was her name.
Firecracker? Yeah.
So he’d fucking noticed when she had gone off with a bang between his sheets.

“Thank you for the warning, sir.”

“Bah with the ‘sir.’ Call me Bill. Can I get you a drink?” He walked over to the globe and lifted the top half open, revealing a bottle of scotch and assorted glasses.

Oh, what the hell. My nerves are shot to shit as it is.

“Sure.”

If this was a test, he’d just fucking failed.

Bill stopped what he was doing, turned to him, and gave a loud laugh. “Ahh, good man. Good. Reagan?”

“I usually wait until I’ve had my second cup of coffee, but thanks,” she replied.

Bill handed Evan a glass and grabbed his own before closing the globe. “Right, right. Let’s get to it, shall we?” He took a seat beside Reagan, and the amiable expression from earlier was replaced with a thoughtful countenance and intelligent eyes.

Reagan was looking over the file she held in her hands, which Evan presumed was his. As she flipped through, a slight furrow of concentration formed between her brows before she gathered the papers inside and put them neatly back together. When she crossed her legs and returned her attention back to him, the room finally took on the quiet, awkward silence that normally preceded an interview before the round of questioning began.

He took a sip of the scotch.
Let’s get this the fuck over with.

“Mr. James,” she started.

“Evan is fine.”

“Mr. James. You began your career at Smithson Greene, not an easy feat for someone just out of college. Care to tell us how you managed that?”

“I interned there while in school, got my degree, and was offered a permanent position.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite an accomplishment. Smithson Greene doesn’t usually recruit at the college level. You must’ve been pretty impressive.”

“They would’ve been foolish to pass on me. I was the best.”

Nodding her head, she said, “You were, indeed.”

Something in the way she’d looked at him when she’d said that made him think she hadn’t been talking about his job performance.

She cleared her throat and examined his file again. “At least, according to your early letters of recommendation.”

“Thank you,” he acknowledged.

“I see here that, after five years, you left Smithson Greene and worked for Hedge & Company, another highly coveted establishment. It’s listed as your last place of employment until about eight months ago. Why the long period in between?”

None of your damn business.

Evan locked eyes with her and had a feeling that she knew all too well why he’d been terminated. It wasn’t as if it were a secret. He wondered if she was gaining some kind of kick from the position of power she had over him, but as she sat there, she gave no indication of that.

Instead, she played her hand with a beautiful poker face.

He, on the other hand, was beginning to sweat, the shame of his past crawling like vines up his body, choking him in their viselike hold. He could feel the anger at her question festering under the surface.

“Reagan, stop interrogating the poor man,” Bill cut in after an uncomfortable silence. “We all know the whys and hows of Evan’s background, so let’s cut to the chase. Son, you’re a top-notch manager with a keen eye for this business. I could use someone like that on my team, and I know Reagan agrees. Now, I’m gonna be blunt here, ‘cause I figure that’s the only way to be in this situation.” He leaned forward and placed his arms on his knees. “I need to know if you can focus and do the work without bringing your personal life to the office. I guess what I’m asking here is...can you keep that snake locked up in your pants?”

What the shit?

The old man rambled on. “You’ll find there aren’t any distractions here for you, anyway. No wife of mine to screw—though if you want the ex who took half my fortune and ran off to the Hamptons, you’re welcome to her. And Amy, our receptionist, well… She’s a female-lovin’ sort, so cross that one off your list. Even your good looks and boyish charm couldn’t persuade her to take a trip to the petting zoo.”