What the hell have I done?
After Emery leaves my office, I tuck my dick back in my pants and change my shirt. Then I pace, my nerves shot and not just because of my orgasm.
God, that orgasm.
Focus, you dick bag.
That girl is far too sweet for office blowjobs with her boss’s boss’s boss, without so much as an orgasm in return. Hell, she’s probably never even kissed a guy that didn’t take her to dinner first. She probably lost her virginity to her prom date a full six months after he told her he loved her. And then he likely spent the rest of the summer bringing her flowers and buying her Dairy Queen or whatever the fuck they do in Kansas to woo a girl.
Fuck that guy. Jesus Christ, I need to focus.
Because what did I just do? Fucked her face in my office. Used her and threw her out afterwards. I didn’t even give her an orgasm first. Or after. Zero orgasms for her. I bet all she’s thinking about is, wow, what a goddamn asshole.
Which she already thought, didn’t she? Harrison Duke, the cold CEO who’s obsessed with his business and doesn’t even know or care what’s going on with his own charity department. A guy old enough to be her, admittedly, young father. But still.
Really young father. Like still in high school.
Fuck.
This is unacceptable. I glance at the stack of work on my desk, contracts that need to be dealt with. There’s a sticky note from Sandy reminding me about a call with Pink after lunch. I’m glad we’re pushing forward, and I’m even more glad that Monica’s pushing to be paid fairly. I don’t mind playing hardball with someone who knows their business is worth it.
This is what I should be focused on. Work. Not some bumbling girl straight out of a romcom who spills coffee on me and sucks my dick like she was born to please me. Work. And I don’t need to have a shred of guilt about this, do I? She’s a consenting adult. It’s not a crime to get off on a bumbling midwestern blowjob. She dropped to her knees and grabbed my dick, I didn’t ask her to. She could’ve left my office any time.
But the guilt doesn’t go away, even as I finally stop pacing and sit, dashing off a few emails and making a few calls. I’m able to put it to the side of my mind, but it sits there, pulsing like a headache. Building. Gnawing. This won’t go away unless I deal with it.
The question is, how do I deal with it?
I eat lunch in my office, keeping the door shut, even to Sandy. I handle the rest of the day’s business, including the call with Pink. I’m decisive, straightforward. I pour everything into work. I do this until there isn’t any work left, and still, the guilt pierces me.
Fine, I decide. I’ll take her to dinner. Dessert and after-dinner drinks. Maybe I’ll give her an orgasm in the back of the car on the way home. Privacy partition up, of course. Dinner and an orgasm for her, the two things lacking from this morning, plus something sweet. Then, we’ll be even. This heated attraction will be something for both of us to tuck away as a fond memory, with our lust equally abated.
Except, this idea presents a new problem. Where to take her? I’ve been to every must-dine restaurant in the city with my witch of a wife. My soon to be ex-wife. Which shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t allow Blythe to ruin the best things about this city. And I won’t. But will I be able to focus on giving Emery the attention she deserves with the memories of Blythe breathing down my neck?
Doubtful.
Though if I’m being truthful I know I could focus on Emery in the midst of a hurricane. Yet I still don’t want to take her anywhere old. I want to try something new with her.
A new restaurant. That’s it.
Besides it’s doubtful if Emery would even like any of my usual restaurants. I remember the way she devoured the falafel gyro at the food cart on Saturday. Maybe there’s a Middle Eastern restaurant somewhere in this city that would be a good fit. I devote far more time than I’d like to admit to research, even requesting that Leo investigate a few of the options for me. After he reports back, I decide on one, an upscale restaurant that is said to serve the finest falafel in the state. We’ll see if it’s a match for Emery’s beloved food cart.
I book the reservation, and that’s it, I’ve accomplished everything I need for the day. Except, I realize, for Emery herself. I need to actually ask her to join me.
I have her number from the event. Sandy gave it to me in case I needed to call her, but since I didn’t, it’s never been used. I punch her number into a text and tell myself I’m making things right, ending things rather than starting them.
I draft a message.
Harrison: Would you like to join me for dinner tonight? Middle Eastern food. 8 p.m. I’ll pick you up.
I debate the phrasing. Do I mention business to make sure she understands? But then, today wasn’t business, no matter how much I tried. Not that I tried that hard. For some reason, all my good intentions fall apart around this girl. But the point stands that today was clearly pleasure, and that pleasure needs to be reciprocated. I leave the message as is and fire it off.
I’m prepared to spend however long it takes staring at my phone, waiting for her to reply like some kid waiting for his high school crush to text him back, when a knock at the door saves me from my own ridiculousness. I look up just as Ramon cracks the door open.
“Hey boss,” he says. “Just wanted to check in.”
I glance at him, momentarily suspicious. Robert used to like to “check in,” but it was usually his way of fishing for something, time off or a favor or something similar. But then I remind myself, again, that Ramon isn’t like that. This might be a friend who actually cares about me, no matter how difficult that is to comprehend.
“Can’t complain,” I say, thinking somewhat guiltily about the fact that, hours ago, Emery was in this very office with my cock in her mouth, sucking me off like it was a part of her job description.
I look over at my phone, turned facedown on my desk. I’m tempted to check it for a reply from Emery, but I resist. I’m a grown man having a conversation with a business associate. I need to act like it.
“I heard there was a bit of an argument between you and Blythe in her office this morning,” Ramon says, cutting right to the point. “And I just wondered if you wanted to talk about it.”
I can’t help but snort. “You heard?”
“You know people talk.”
“Indeed,” I muse. “But I’m not sure how you can help. Unless you can come up with a viable reason I can use to fire my ex-wife. Also, when did we escalate this friendship to the discussion of our feelings? Shouldn’t we have had a sleepover first? Exchanged friendship bracelets? Something?”
Ramon shifts a bit, almost as if he’s reconsidering if he should have come into my office in the first place. But then he strides forward and takes a seat across from me and knits his hands together on the desk.
“Isn’t that part of the problem, Harrison?” he asks, clearly ignoring my attempts to derail the conversation by behaving like a dick. “She isn’t your ex-wife. You’re still married.”
I bristle. I’ve already dealt with this from Blythe this morning. I don’t need it from a friend, particularly one that I was just starting to admit that I liked.
“Hear me out,” he says, clearly reading my annoyed expression. “I’m worried that you’re making choices that aren’t the best for you. Refusing to divorce Blythe. Interns…”
My heart stops for a second before I remember that he’s referring to walking in on Emery and me in the break room, not the blowjob she gave me in my office earlier today. I give him what I hope is a dismissive, conversation-ending look. “One intern, not interns. And it was nothing.”
The blowjob was definitely something, but I keep that to myself.
“I’m sure it was,” he says. “But it’s not like you. You’ve always been the kind of man that didn’t stoop to levels like that.”
“You’ll have to keep telling me what kind of man I am,” I say, colder than I mean to. I’m not angry at Ramon. I’m disgusted with myself. “I wasn’t aware that you had such a pure opinion of me.”
“I’m not saying that you can’t have fun,” he says. “But you built this business from the ground up. Don’t you want to protect it?”
I hate that, the more he says, the more annoyed I get. Not because he’s wrong, though. It’s because he’s right. I know that I’m crossing a thousand different lines by entertaining even the idea of something with Emery. But I remind myself that I’ve done what I can to make that right, haven’t I? I’m going to level the field with dinner, and then I’m going to step aside.
Not that Ramon needs to know any of that.
“I’m as protective of my business as anyone would be,” I say evasively. “Though, as always, I appreciate your honesty.”
He sighs, knowing that he’s lost the battle, whatever it was about. He starts to stand, but stops.
“Maybe I’m overstepping,” he adds. “But I just want you to know that you deserve to be happy. You’ll move on and find someone, you know. Someone special. Your forever doesn’t end with Blythe.”
My insides are ice at those words. How could Ramon possibly understand what it’s like to have your entire life ripped out from under you? What would his reaction be, I wonder, if he walked into his home and found his best friend’s face buried between the legs of his wife? Would he be able to find something “special” again?
Not that it matters. I’ve decided that love isn’t in the cards for me, and after being married to Blythe, I’m fairly sure it never existed in the first place, anyway.
“Thank you,” I tell him, keeping my voice as flat as possible. “I’ll remember that.”
He nods, clearly wondering if he should say something else. Thankfully, he decides against it.
“Have a good rest of your day,” he tells me. “And remember, I’m here if you need me.”
Then, he’s out of my office and clicking the door shut. And like that same eager schoolboy who’s just faced a lecture he has no interest in listening to, I immediately flip over my phone.
Emery: Can’t wait. See you then.
She ends with an emoji, another reminder of how young she is. But I don’t care. Damn it to hell, and damn Ramon’s warnings, too.
I’ve made my bed.
And now it’s time to lie in it one last time.