I'm sad, crying a little even. I'll miss Andre and Clara and all the characters who were created in the course of this journey, including you, whose motivation was the reason I picked up my phone each day, your reviews and comments and the financial contribution... These four months were ethereal for me, and it hurts to end this story or make long speeches. Thank you. My wish is that I see you in a few months' time when the muses speak to me again. Adieu, I do love you, 'all of you.' Special thanks to my editor, Lyra Pinter. Thank you, lovelies.
Ms. Karen Seattle was the Queen of all bitches. "Are you capable of getting anything done at all? Do fifteen copies for each department in this company equal 150? Is this how you work for Mr. Quinn? It's a wonder you haven't been fired yet." Clara stared at her, head bent low and fingers clasped tightly to the pile of documents in her hand which weighed her down. Ms. Seattle's lips moved rapidly in front of her, sprewing insults and complaints as though it were her responsibility to make copies of those documents. Working overtime had already become part of her since she joined the company, but having to keep her fingers busy firing away at the keyboard to record the long conference the day before had been hellish. Coupled with it, she had immediately walked hastily out of the conference hall to keep up with her boss whose strides were so long he was almost invincible. And he sure was. Andre Quinn's reputation for being made of steel and expecting perfection in return wasn't so m
Ear-piercing loud music, Blend of expensive colognes, Wine glasses and champagne flutes clicking together, Sweaty bodies grinding and humping on the floor... Clara stood in the middle, feeling dizzy even as she clogged another glass of champagne down her throat. Choosing a posh strip club which was strictly exclusive to its members wasn't the best decision to make after seeing your boyfriend do another woman, and boy did he do it hard. But there hadn't been anything normal about the day, and so she'd said 'fuck it' and in an impulsive moment, bought a membership card to the last place she would have been in on any other day; a VIP strip club whose one month subscription package was worth more than her five months salary. But she'd done it because it was the damn worst idea; she had needed something worse than Dane's nonchalant attitude, and the audacity with which he had told her that it was she who had pushed him to the brink of cheating. She had wanted to tell him, 'hello mis
Quinn Andre was mad. He wanted to hit something. In his years of experience, there'd definitely been situations when unexpected people from work had walked in through the doors of the strip club as members, watching him and then engaging in the private services which promised debauchery and hot sensual pleasure. But not once had he experienced this kind of shit; having his mask pulled off by not just any worker, but his damn assistant who made his coffee and ran errands... For Pete's sake, this wasn't only unprecedented, but a hell of an unbelievable situation. Was this intentional? Had someone perhaps tipped her and put her to this? "Mr. Qui...nn?" In her voice was innocent confusion, her eyes filled with doubt. Great, even she couldn't believe the sight before her. As though that fucking made anything better. "Why. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do. That?" He asked between gritted teeth, his jaw clenched in rage. His palms were fisted, hot blood rushing through his veins as the urge to s
Her first awakening was that she wasn't in her bed. Or her room. The fragrance of Black Chamomile and Cinnamon wafted through the air, infiltrating through her nostrils and permeating into her senses. Her first instinct was to smile, savouring the sweet smelling aroma of spices which had now blended with a cologne... A masculine cologne that was all so familiar her smile ceased. It was the same cologne she had perceived the night before at the... How the heck had she ended up dreaming of going to a strip club and meeting Andre Quinn of all people? Was it... Memorised calculated footsteps halted her thoughts, pulling her away from that sanctuary of pretense she had attempted to hide in. Those footsteps could only belong to her boss, scratch that, her boss' boss, who happened to be the CEO of the Quinn Corporation which was fast expanding from America to Europe. But despite what reality insisted on, he couldn't damn well be a stripper.... Or could he? She swallowed hard, refus
It was another Monday in New York City, different cars made their way down the streets of Manhattan, hooting in commencement of another busy day. The Quinn Corporation headquarters remained outstanding in its tallness, expansiveness and architectural structure. Nothing had changed in the building, but as Clara stared at it long and hard before walking into it, her neck almost breaking, it was with the realisation that a drastic change had occurred in her life. It had begun with the weekend, but she was yet to see the end of it. Her dressing was the same, blonde hair with streaks of silver in a low bun, features accentuated with light make-up, slender figure clad in grey dress an inch below her knees. Covering her feet was a pair of short-heeled stiletoes which she'd had for a year. There was basically nothing about her that announced a change, but she knew it was coming. Apart from the talk she'd had with Andre, she felt it. That change that might not be as wonderful as she expect
"So how does it feel working for Mr. Hot and Yummy himself?" "You lucky bitch, you get to spend time with him." "Does he really have tight security in his office so he can fuck people there?" "Has he made a move on you yet? Like dragged you into his office and demanded you take all your clothes off?" As Clara sat listening to her friends, her face a mask of happiness, she admitted to herself that they were definitely crazier than she had thought. She didn't have the heart to trample on their fantastical imaginations, to tell them that the Cinderella fairytale in their minds was never going to happen. Not only because Andre was an asshole, douchebag and a jerk; a total son of a bitch, but because she hadn't found life any better since the promotion. If anything, she had jumped from a frying pot of Karen's bitchiness to Andre Quinn's burning fiery flames. First was that she was terrible at the job of supervision, and for the past four days, the urge to ask Mr. Quinn for that tran
"I... Ahem." Clara stopped, giving up on making up a reply since all that was in her head was gibberish. Blah blah blah... She had nothing to say to that, and so she pushed her hair backwards although it was perfectly still in the boring bun she had again knotted it into. It was easier to work without having strands of hair falling all over her face and blocking her view. Andre waited for a response, but seeing as he wasn't getting any verbal one, a conclusion he reached by observing her fiddle with her hair and fingers, he stood, closing the button of his stripe suit jacket he had opened to seat down in a motion as swift as that of a professional. And yeah, he'd gathered enough experience from years of playing dress up in designers' suits. He walked towards her direction, his eyes focused steadily on her; his gaze hot and piercing. This time, he didn't walk fast like he always did, but took his time, prancing casually with the gait of a peacock. A royal, fucking hot peacock. Her
It was seven forty-five, fifteen minutes to the meeting time when Clara pushed the elevator button, her heartbeat unhumanly fast as she waited for the doors to slide open. For some reason, the cab man had driven more slowly than usual and the traffic had been more terrifying. Not to say that she had forgotten the flash drive where the PowerPoint she had prepared for her presentation was, and she'd had to return to Brenda's apartment to pick it up. She'd worked all night, only catching a two-hour sleep which had seemed like a minute. Her feet were wobbly under her heels and her fingers shook, sweat rolling down in beads down her temple. In general, she was beyond exhausted. Clara was beat. The doors slid open again, those familiar doors which still suffocated her as they opened, reminding her of another bad day. It wasn't presumptuous to say that she had always hated her job, more because of her colleagues than the tedious task she had to face. But she had no option but to manage