CHAPTER SIX
NATHANIEL
I pace around my office, trying to buy time as rain pours down my window. It's just seven in the morning.
I can't seem to settle down. All I want to do is rush to Caroline's flower shop and mess her up, but I can't do that. I can't appear so desperate.
I stop pacing. What if Caroline recognizes me at once? She might put a hole in my plan.
I press the intercom, and my PA's singing voice sweeps in.
"Hello, sir."
"Come to my office now," I say harshly, and the line goes dead.
I drop the receiver and stand up again, resuming my pacing as I run my hand through my hair over and over, waiting for her to come in.
She enters, shaking in fright. I wonder why—then I remember the mood I was in earlier and realize my tone must have sounded harder on the phone than I thought.
"Please, sit down," I say calmly, trying to calm her nerves. I know I can't get anything good from her in this state.
With trembling hands, she pulls out the visitor's chair and sits, her head bowed as she studies her fingers.
"Are you okay?" I ask, but she gives no response.
"Why are you afraid? I just need some advice from you," I say, and she exhales loudly.
"What can I help you with, sir?" she asks.
I walk back to my seat and sit down.
"I want to look different this morning. Do you know anyone who can make me look different? Something I can wash off by tomorrow."
She averts her eyes. "How different do you want to look, sir?"
"Just enough so I'm not easily recognizable. I don't want someone who knew me when I was younger to recognize me, that's all."
"Okay, sir. I'll work on it," she says, standing up and pushing the chair back into place.
"Make it snappy. I need to be somewhere by noon—looking different," I say, pointing toward the door to signal Mercy to leave.
She turns and leaves my office. I stand up again and start pacing. I need a release. I can't meet Caroline like this.
I look down at my trousers.
Why does this keep happening to me?
I have a terrible boner just thinking about her. Why can't I picture Caroline without getting hard? I need help—but not by masturbating. I need Caro to make me cum.
I pick up my phone and call Mercy. She's my help in times like this.
She has nothing on Caro, but if I close my eyes and picture her as Caro, I'll get my release. And in case you're wondering—I do pay.
Don't get me wrong; this lady practically threw herself at me. She was my former PA.
---
Past.
I stared blankly into nothing. Caroline's smiling face filled my mind, blocking every rational thought.
What's left of this plan if it hurts this badly to see her with another man?
I picked up my phone and saw her standing close to a man I knew too well.
I didn't want to think of him, so I blocked him out of my mind.
But I couldn't block out the joy I saw in her eyes.
Anger rushed through my veins, driving me to throw my phone at the wall.
How could she be so happy when I'm not?
"I'll destroy them both. Just wait," I muttered to the empty room.
The whiskey bottle in front of me was empty.
I stood up, walked to the mini bar in the corner, set the glass down, and poured myself a stronger drink.
The office intercom rang. I frowned. Why was my secretary still in the office? It was late.
I remembered telling her to go home hours ago—or did I just imagine that?
I picked up the phone.
"Hello, sir." Her voice sounded sultry. "I noticed you're working late. Can I bring you coffee?" she asked, dripping with seduction.
"No thanks. I'd rather work alone. Please go home—it's getting late."
I realized I sounded slurred. I must've drunk more than I thought. Still, I was aware of my surroundings.
The door opened. I remembered I hadn't locked it—too angry with myself to care.
That's a mistake I never make when working late, but fear wasn't one of my weaknesses.
The door gave way to reveal my secretary Mercy. She walked in slowly, adding more sway to her steps. The first three buttons of her shirt were undone, showing off her cleavage.
"I brought your coffee, sir. I thought you might need it," she said, placing the cup on my desk, then sat on the edge of my table.
I was surprised. I didn't know we'd grown that close.
So now she could just sit there like that—with no care in the world.
"Mercy, I thought I told you to go home," I said quietly, trying to hide my irritation.
"Did you? I know you need me—that's why I stayed," she said, unbuttoning another button. My eyes followed her hand before I forced myself to look away.
"I know what I want right now, and it's not you."
She stood, walked around the desk, and reached for my chest. Before I could stop her, her hands were on my shirt, unbuttoning it.
"I can make you feel good, make you forget your worries and anger," she whispered.
"You wish," I muttered.
Her hands slid down my chest to my lower abdomen—where I caught her wrist firmly.
With a stern voice, I said, "What's the meaning of this, Mercy? Take your things—the coffee you brought—and leave my office."
I expected her to run out in shame, but instead, she fell to her knees and began to cry.
I was dumbfounded.