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 much of a myth. His expectations were fairly impossible at times.
It was the first thing Clara had been briefed of as soon as she'd started working for him; six assistants had after all been fired before her, all within the three years of Andre Quinn's drastic takeover of the corporation.
Well, Clara hadn't only been briefed about his expectations of perfection, but another kind of meticulousness with which he played women.
There were rumours that Karen Seattle not only supervised the Executive team, but had also managed to warm his bed at some point.
Or rather, considering how much of a ruthless bitch she was, and how she matched Andre Quinn's personality, Clara's friends had made a joke about her cooling his bed with the ice she was made of.
"Hey, do I place you under probation and have your salary slashed by a half before you take your job seriously?"
The mention of the last part of her statement had Clara being pulled completely out of her reverie. She wasn't in a good state financially already, considering how Dane hadn't been doing well in his business of late.
She couldn't afford to make any mistakes irrespective of the injustice behind her plight.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Seattle. I will be more careful henceforth." Clara's eyes expressed none of the anger surging within her, revealing only remorse.
It hadn't been her job, and she had been so fucking tired after the long conference meeting to make the proper calculation.
But of course, she wasn't in a position to make excuses or defend herself. It didn't matter that any other person celebrating their birthday would be out preparing for a party by now. Hers was always different.
Karen seemed to slightly buy the apology. "You better be. I doubt if Andre would stop at cutting your salary if he were aware that you're slacking. Have you made his coffee?"
Surprisingly, one of the most difficult tasks that came with being Mr. Quinn's assistant was preparing his coffee. He didn't take it regular black like other people, nor did he like it the normal creamy.
With him, there was always room for something in between. She had to follow the ridiculous measurement she had been given ensuring that there was the right quantity of half a tablespoon of milk, and three-quarter teaspoon of sweetener.
There was a specific temperature for the water used in brewing the coffee and he only took a particular type of decaffeinated coffee.
It was tiring, but if there was one thing Clara had learnt to make properly, perfecting the art, it was her boss' coffee.
Well, she would have been fired on the first day of work if she hadn't gotten it right; it was the same thing that had sent her predecessor slamming his office door and crying as she cursed both Andre and Karen. Or so had the employees said.
Clara pushed the button, alerting him of her arrival via the intercom before positioning her eyes on the security detector. Her retina successfully scanned and accepted, she waited for the automated voice to announce her presence before walking in with the tray balanced in her palms.
"Good morning, Mr. Quinn." She greeted him with a polite smile which had never been returned, placing the mug on his glass table while pretending as though the tight security system hadn't once again wasted her time.
Because for Pete's sake there was already a high system of security; CCTV cameras fixed at the hallways, electronic barricaded doors and bullet proofed glass windows.
Coupled with the uniformed security in suit walking round the tall expansive building, it wasn't difficult to say that Mr. Quinn could be paranoid.
"Morning." He replied curtly, apparently in an irritable mood. As usual. Well, his expression had never given anything away except coolness, none of the paranoia she and other employees suspected he might have.
He always appeared in command of situations, cool and calculated as though nothing ever got to him. And even now, while he seemed ticked off about something, it didn't lessen the magnificence of the glory he exuded.
Andre was alluring in the physical sense; all masculine and beautiful with hard sensual lips and a nose which stood out like a sculpted masterpiece.
Sometimes, his eyes seemed to be dark blue, other times they appeared more grey when the sun reflected its rays on them. He was a myriad of perfection, blessed with an olive skin which contrasted with Clara's porcelain white skin as he took the coffee mug and brought it to his lips.
Despite the number of times she had done this, her heart still
beat nervously as she waited for his criticism.Those hard lips which were pale red like those of a dying vampire sipped at the tea, and her green eyes lay fixated as his tongue reached out to swipe over the drop at the edge.
Her heartbeat increased as he set it down, because if the temperature was too high, his tongue would burn and she wouldn't hear the end of it.
He nodded as he looked up to face her, cross-legged, his suit the latest design of Calvin Klein. She knew this because she had once been very interested in fashion...
"Not bad. Isn't today your birthday, Ms. Lynn?"
Clara blinked twice, confused on hearing those words from her boss who had barely addressed her by her name. Had his deep melodious baritone made her mishear?
"Are you deaf?"
She knew then that she couldn't have imagined it. That streak of cold meanness could only belong to Andre Quinn. "Uh... I'm sorry, sir. Yeah... Yes, today is my birthday."
He nodded in affirmation of his own thoughts. "Happy birthday. Take the day off."
"Um...thank you, sir..." She couldn't believe her luck as she left his office, her smile so visible Karen Seattle quickly caught on it.
"Why the heck you're smiling like that?"
With a smile as evident as the mole on her cheek, Clara replied, filled with happiness. "Mr. Quinn gave me the day off. It's erhmm, my birthday."
Ms. Seattle's eyes hardened, and she folded her arms over her high bosom- so high they could practically hug her neck- lips lifting in mischievous smirk.
"I see. Then, you will use this opportunity to remedy your mistake from last night, won't you? You can't be tardy just because it's your birthday."
Three hours later, Clara Lynn was sweating all the way to her little toes, her bones ticking in frustration.
Bitchy, good old Lady Macbeth, Ms. Seattle had made her photocopy and arrange the remaining 150 copies of documents into different sections, and then 'requested' that she type and edit a bulky badly written report with terrible penmanship.
Next, she had sent Clara to purchase food from McDonald's all the way down the other Street.
Clara couldn't get the hang of what the older lady's deal could possibly be. She had been so mean ever since she set her eyes on her, but today's was unnecessarily excessive.
At the end, Clara spent six extra hours slaving for the other woman who made sure to place her at the lower floor, where Andre wouldn't get to see her.
It was difficult walking on heels after such a tiring day, especially since her car had malfunctioned and she'd had to take the bus to work.
As Clara walked out of the Quinn corporation, the heart and brain of so many innovations in America, she glanced at the gigantic building before exhaling outwardly.
It was far from how she had planned to celebrate her birthday, but knowing Dane, she was sure that her boyfriend not having called her till then was because he was planning a surprise.
She had pretended as though she hadn't been aware of his sneaky calls throughout the night, or his act of constantly checking his messages.
It was the perfect consolation she needed after an exhilarating day, and so she put behind the CEO's strange kindness and Karen's bitchiness, smiling as she boarded a cab instead of a bus. She didn't want to keep him on his toes all day, waiting for her to return home.
The streets of New York were brighter than the summer sun as the cab drove away from the vicinity of the building controlled by Quinn Andre.
The architectural designs of the houses were more unique than they had been before, and the trees and flowers seemed to communicate in a more lively way.
They were perfect.
She paid the cabman and quickly took the elevator that led to her modest apartment, the home she had shared with Dane since after high school when they'd moved in together.
She bit her lips as she rang the doorbell and waited, her heart beating in a beautiful kind of anticipation as each second passed by.
She pushed the lone button again and waited.
It was after a few minutes that it occurred to her that he either wasn't around, or wanted her to open it herself so as to make the surprise more impressive. Did he perhaps intend to propose? Her white skin reddened as it grew hot.
She pulled out her keycard and swiped it against the security system which had been a welcome gift to the workplace; her first present after completing her internship at the Quinn corporation.
Stepping into the cozy apartment, she closed her eyes... And opened them.
The only surprise was the oh so familiar grunt coming from the bedroom.
Clara halted in her steps, assured that pranks were being played on her. Why else would she hear...?
She forced her legs to move, placing one wobbly foot in front of the other as a high moan followed the grunt. Her heart beat faster and her head swarm in an ocean of dizziness, but she forced herself to keep walking, irrespective of how painful it was.
The horrible music was louder now, the worst melody she had needed to hear growing as her heels carried her to the door. It was as though she were merely a participant in a journey headed by an unknown pilot.
She pushed the door open. Slowly. Her fear increasing with each movement.
There in the bed she had shared with Dane for the past four years was another woman, screaming the name of the man she had believed would propose to her, his dick pounding into her.
"Da...Dane?"
And for a moment, the wheel which controlled time stopped for Clara.
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
He was Adonis on stage tonight, emanating hardcore sex like a cologne and spreading it through her body. An hour into her arrival and Clara was beginning to wonder if she had made the right decision accepting Andre's invitation, because all she wanted to do as she watched him from the lounge was to do something crazy like spread her legs and flash him the black lingerie she had worn. Or dip her fingers into her swollen wetness and get herself off. It was what his performance was doing to her; it made her want to get down and dirty. Hard. Everything about the décor tonight went beyond sensuality to exude an aura of untamed, raw, eroticism. The strobe lights were shades darker than they had been the past week, and the waitresses and waiters were dressed in outfits even more revealing than before. The hunky males wore crossing belts carefully fixed to lay emphasis on their hard nipples, their pants so tight that every shape of their heavy bulge was visible. They were all tanned, dar