Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
My assistant briefed me on a few other things but nothing really stayed. Like I mentioned, this kid can run the holdings on his own now, I’m practically just decoration.
So I sat up, tossing my pen onto the desk surface. It clattered, Gregory’s head jerking up in surprise at the noise.
“Sounds great,” I said dismissively. “Anything else?”
The boy looked stunned. I don’t pretend to be interested, but most times I at least sit through the briefing. But not today. Today, there were more important matters at hand.
“Nothing urgent,” he replied slowly. “Pending projects are in the email from this morning and I’ve already taken care of the, ahem, young lady.”
Christ.
Shit, her.
A woman I met at a charity auction a couple months back suddenly thought she was my girlfriend. I’d told her from the beginning that it was only fucking. It’s not that I don’t do relationships. I do. She’s just not the right girl with that whiny pout and bony frame. Not even close.
But the woman wouldn’t accept the “physical only” limitation, so I put Gregory on it. I told him to take care of it and to keep the details to himself.
Nodding, I stood.
“Great work. As long as nobody is dead or in jail, then I’m a happy man,” was my offhand remark. Mostly anyways.
“Of course, sir.”
“Perfect. Anything else?”
The tone of my voice told him our meeting was over and Greg was smart enough to get it in one.
“No Mr. Carlton. We’re all good.”
“Excellent. I’m leaving for an early lunch but text or call if you need something.”
“Of course.”
The younger man nodded once more and left, closing the door behind him.
Alone in my office again, I stood at the floor to ceiling glass windows and looked down at the bustling streets of lower Manhattan. Man, this place is always amazing. Tiny yellow cabs whizzed by, competing with privately-driven Ubers. The Freedom Tower soared off in the distance, and if I squinted, there was even the Statue of Liberty, in her misty blue-grey splendor. This is an amazing place, captains of industry thrown onto one tiny island.
And yet I couldn’t stop thinking about the only real challenge in my life right now.
Finding a virgin.
A real live, untouched virgin.
How the hell was I going to locate one?
After the meeting of the Players Club, I showed up at the office energized. Before the sun even rose, I was at my desk and searching the internet, looking through books online that promised in “two easy steps” the secret to landing a sweet, untouched female.
My blood flamed at the thought of finding something so rare. Some dudes want a komodo dragon. Some want their own G-6.
But I want a virgin. My own.
A legal one too.
Skimming through the web revealed nothing. There isn’t exactly an on-line guide for snagging this kind of shit, no matter what they say. And some of this stuff was in no way legit. I wasn’t going to the Philippines for a “tour” with a guy who looked like Crocodile Dundee on drugs. So after about two hours of pointless clicking, I gave up.
Damn.
What now?
Was I stuck? So soon?
From the corner of my eye, a diamond gleamed. Ah, my Mont Blanc. It had rolled to the window and lay there next to a small card. The card was made of thin blue plastic, just about transparent. A library card. Huh. Probably belonged to Gregory or any number of people who worked for me, forgetting all sorts of shit when they came to my office.
Suddenly, my head jerked up. Of course. A library. I’d gone high tech searching online for a virgin but really, old school was the answer. I should have taken my ass to the library downstairs first thing. Aw, fuck. Like most of my employees, I’d forgotten we had an actual library in the building, one with real books. Maybe researching the old-fashioned way would get me closer to the goal.
I tossed the pen back on my desk and headed out, long strides eating up the journey to the elevator.
Because years ago, I’d built the library after a conversation with my mom. She’d loved these places as a kid and talked a lot about finding peace there when things turned to shit at her house. Her parents had been a nightmare. I didn’t even call them Grandma and Grandpa.
So having a library at Carlton Corp. was a tribute to Rhonda. Maybe I didn’t go down to Florida very often to visit, but there was a little piece of my mom here, with me every day. Sentimental right?
Pressing the button, I waited impatiently as the lights dinged from one floor to another. Goddamn, high speed just isn’t high speed these days. Nothing ever moves fast enough, time is money folks.
But once the doors whooshed open, it was like stepping into a different world. No more corporate speak, drones moving around in grey suits. No more the dull buzz of computers, the flicker of artificial light making everyone look ghoulish.