“Girl, you work too much. Want me to have a word to your boss?” He winks.
I grin and wrap my arms around him, pressing my cheek to his chest. “Nah.”
He hugs me close. “You’re overworkin’ yourself,” he murmurs into my ear, all playfulness gone.
“I have to. Mom needs the money and—”
“I know, honey, but you don’t deserve this kind of stress either.”
I pull back, smiling up at him. “I’m fine.”
“You work sixty hours a week, minimum.”
I wave a hand, rolling my eyes at his slight over-exaggeration. “I’m here now.”
He gives me a skeptical look and then puts a smile back on his face. “Tell me,” he says, hooking his arm through mine, and turning me towards the bar, “where the hell did you get those gorgeous shoes?”
~*~*~*~
“Katia, I swear, you get prettier every time I see you!”
I’m wrapped in the embrace of Candy, my best female friend, though I don’t get to see her a whole lot because she lives two hours away. She’s bright, bubbly and sweet. Her personality is addictive. She’s smart as hell, too. Working for a massive company that apparently hires out bulk amounts of machinery.
“I could say the same,” I yell over the music, pulling back.
She smiles at me, flashing a row of perfect white teeth. One of them even has its very own little piece of bling. I don’t know what those things are called, but they’re kind of cool.
Candy is beautiful in the girl-next-door kind of way. She’s got mousy-brown hair, hazel eyes, flawless skin and a great body. She’s not a bombshell blonde, or an exotic beauty, but she’s so damned lovable and pretty I want to spend my days squeezing her cheeks.
She scoffs. “You and me are like the dog and the poop.”
I snort and begin laughing. “What?”
“You’re the dog, all pretty and cute, I’m the poop. Alone, the dog doesn’t think it’s that good, but really, he makes everyone else look like his poop.”
I stare at her, blinking. “Are you joking?”
She giggles. “No! Girl, you make us all look like poop.”
I roll my eyes.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, and ohhh, where did you get those shoes?”
I grin and hook my arm through hers, telling her about the shoes and how it was just my luck they were in this color.
“Ah!” she sighs. “Lifestyles of the rich and famous.”
I snort. “I had to save for five months, and I found them in a second-hand shop! Anyway you’ve got an amazing job. How is it going, by the way?”
She smiles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ears. “I love it, really I do. I mean, it’s only been a week, sure, but so far it’s going super. The boss though—oh my God, you should see him, Kat. He’s gorgeous.”
“Oh, do share. I need some mind candy for my spank bank.”
She gives me a horrified look. “What’s a girl like you, who looks like you, doing with a spank bank?”
“I don’t have time to get a boyfriend.”
“But you could get laid . . .” She points out.
I shake my head from side to side, backing up. Candy enjoys match-making. No, I mean she really enjoys it. She thinks she has a knack for creating these perfect relationships. She doesn’t. The last guy she set me up with farted during dinner. Farted. Then he laughed like he didn’t just fart in an expensive Italian restaurant. It was a truly beautiful moment. No really, there’s nothing wrong with a giant fart in a restaurant.
“No set-ups!”
She pouts prettily. “Okay, maybe not, but we could get you a fine piece of ass to take home and shag.”
Shag. Who uses that word?
“I’m not shagging anyone,” I protest.
Though it’s not a bad idea. Jack and Teddy, my vibrators, have well and truly deserved a break. And God, have I missed male company. It’s been two years since I’ve been on a date, and at least twelve months since I’ve been fucked. I’d kill to be fucked, just against a dirty wall, maybe over a car hood, something to take the edge off all these sexual fantasies building inside me.
I certainly have nothing at work to fantasize about. My boss is obese, smelly and a complete asshole. Why can’t I have a super sexy boss who looks like he’s jumped straight out of heaven? One who takes me on helicopter rides and ties me to beds?
Why? Because this is the real world, people. No boss is ever that awesome. Damn you, Christian Grey, for ruining all my future bosses. They’ll never compare.
“Helllooooo!” Candy says, clicking a finger in front of my face.
I blink at her. Shit. “Sorry, I was daydreaming about Christian Grey.”
She stares at me, mortified. “You do know he’s not a real person, right?”
“Take that back,” I hiss. “He’s real to me, and to Jack, and to Teddy.”
“Your vibrators aren’t real either, honey.”
I gasp. “Insulting them, too. How could you?”
She laughs. “We need to get you laid. Pronto.”
I think she’s right.
“Fine, but there are conditions,” I say, sipping my drink. “He can’t be smelly, farty, bald or . . . missing teeth.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.
“Or limbs!” I cry. “He needs to have fingers and . . . toes . . . you know?”