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Story Notes:

This is my first go. I want to give a special thanks to an established author who took the time to help me with this story. Dude, you ROCK!

Author's Chapter Notes:

Told from Lew's POV throughout the story

Damned If You Do

Okay so wait a sec, let me see if I can explain my current situation in such a way that you don’t think I’m mental, or deranged. I know how this is going to sound and I get it, but bear with me. Right now I can’t tell up from down, only this overwhelming sense humid warmth and compression over the entirety of my body. It’s so hard to breathe, every inhalation a Herculean effort. It is stifling and claustrophobic. I can’t move and I am teetering on the verge of panic or complete mental collapse. Hold on, I’m getting ahead of myself. I think some context first might help you understand my plight. Let me back this up to a few days earlier and start from the beginning.

My name is Llewelyn Maplethorpe, Lew. I’m 21 years old and I don’t want to seem like a braggadocio but I have an MBA, well I’m working toward one. Granted, it isn’t from an Ivy League school or some other prestigious institution, but still, it’s a MBA.

So if I’m not a braggart, why bring up the MBA? It’s what led me to my current predicament, not the bragging, the MBA.

I graduated high school in the middle of my class and probably wouldn’t have even gone on to college if not for an athletic scholarship making it financially possible. I didn’t have any delusions my athletic skill set would allow me to go pro, though, I was pretty damn good. It’s not bragging if it’s true. Embracing the fact that while exceptional in sports, I wasn’t elite, not like my truly gifted younger brother, anyway I figured I should at least make the most out of my postsecondary opportunity and focus my efforts on getting a degree with some teeth, hence the decision to pursue the MBA. Right?

Now, one of the things you do when you’re chasing the brass ring is intern. It is a practicum where you essentially get pawned off to some company and they are supposed to show you the ins and outs of business operations, blah, blah, blah. Basically, they tolerate your presence and get you to do a bunch of the mundane crap no one else wants to do. Fun, no. And you don’t get paid.

My ‘opportunity’ is a sixty day assignment with an organization called Nefariori Morning Star Enterprises LLC. Nefariori? Is that Latin? Italian? I don’t know. Never heard of it before. So as a diligent student, I do my homework and look it up online. Other than your standard website letting people know this it is a privately run limited liability company there was nothing. It didn’t even state the business function. Social medial representation? No, another dead end and I’m thinking, well that’s great, I get saddled with some two bit little shithole outfit. On the upside, maybe I won’t be relegated to the mail room or fetching coffee for the higher ups.

Googling the address, I find their offices are located on the top three floors of old Durante Milton Building downtown.

Monday rolls around and I head down there to ’report in’ for my assignment. The sixty six floor building resembled something constructed in the art deco style of the thirties, lots of stone on a steel frame and odd little gargoyle ornamentations at various levels. Actually kind of cool looking.

Pushing through the heavy glass door, the interior seemed fairly upscale, polished marble and gold colored chrome, I made my way to the bank of elevators, reaching out and depressing an ‘up’ arrow.

I could hear the whirring of cables and gears as the elevator arrived to whisk me uptoward my appointment. The door opened and thankfully the car was empty. The last thing I needed was an elevator full of people stopping at every other floor. Stepping in, I quickly jabbed the 64 button with my thumb then the close doors button before anybody else can hustle in.  No one makes any last minute appearance as the doors swiftly closed and I began my ascent. Stepping out of the elevator on the sixty fourth floor, it opened directly into the chrome and glass lobby of Nefariori. There was a woman behind the reception counter. All I can say is wow. She was just an absolute stunner. Dark hair pulled back, white blouse. On the old scale of one to ten, she’s like a fourteen. I’m pretty sure I have never seen a woman this attractive in real life before. Even magazines would have to Photoshop pictures to make their girls look this good.

Walking to the counter I put on my best smile. Looking up, she smiles back all I can think is don’t say something stupid, don’t say something stupid.

“You must be Mr. Maplethorpe?” she says, voice that sounds like something out of teenage boy’s fantasy.

Don’t say anything stupid? I point at her with a finger gun and make the click-click noise as I lower my thumb. I am an idiot. She chuckles sweetly and sweeps a loose strand of dark brown hair back behind her ear. I wish I could shoot myself in the head with a real gun or at least have a ‘do over’.

Rising to her feet, “Miss Manse will receive you shortly, if you would care to have a seat,” she advised, glancing down the hall toward a broad set of double doors before extending an arm toward some chairs along the wall opposite the counter. She was referring to my scheduled meeting with the owner of the company, the super private and google proof Adara Manse.

“Thanks,” I mumble, at least I manage to get a word out this time.

“Would you care for coffee? Water?” she inquires.

“No, I’m good,” I reply, moving over to one of the leather chairs and settling myself.

“If there’s anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate,” she informs and all I can think is how magnificent this woman would look naked. Save your boos and cries of indignant outrage, I’m not a chauvinist, the sheer presence of this woman invites the imagination to libidinous thought.

The world of business is all new to me and I have no idea what the next two months might entail as I sit quietly to myself. Would it be rude if I took out my phone?

One of the double doors I presume leads to Miss Manse’s office opens and a young woman appears, her attire a little out of place for the office, faded and frayed blue jeans over high heeled black leather boots and a dark colored jacket, I catch only a fleeting glimpse of her face in profile before she turns back toward the office. I guess her age as young, sixteen, seventeen maybe, and by the tone of her voice and body language does she seem supremely displeased.

“No,” she yells vehemently, stabbing a finger back through the door. “You cannot tell me what to do!” she declares vehemently.

“Sadie!” roars a deep feminine voice from within the office, tone laden with frustration and irritation.

Turning, she storms down the corridor toward me and I’m stunned. If the woman behind the reception counter was a fourteen, this fired up girl is off the charts. In her boots, she’s over six feet tall, lean, long blue black hair with a slight wave hanging free and we make eye contact. It’s like emerald fire in her eyes and she holds me like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming tractor trailer.

“What are you staring at insect?” she demands, keeping her eyes on me as she approaches.

Insect? I’ve been called some pretty choice things, but never insect. “Um, I, ah,” another classic Lew line and then she sweeps passed, carrying something delightfully decadent in her wake, teasing my senses.

In hindsight, funny I should use that term, anyway, in hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have stared at what must surely have been the world’s most perfect bottom as she went by. Get it now, hindsight? I couldn’t help myself and I’m pretty sure my mouth was just hanging open like an imbecile.

“Mr. Maplethorpe, Miss Manse will see you now,” said the receptionist, snapping me back to the moment as the girl vanished into the elevator.

Did she notice me scoping the other girl out? Of course she did, she’s a chick and has the innate ability to catch you doing stuff you’re not supposed to. Turning I grinned feebly, fumbling over my tongue to find words of explanation but unable to do anything other than nod.

Rising to her feet, the woman emerges from around the counter, half smile on her beautiful face, snug knee length black skirt molding itself to her shapely hips, “This way,” she invites.

Getting to my feet, I smile and train my eyes on her face so she doesn’t think I’ll be checking out her bum, which, after she starts to walk, I totally did.

  

 

Chapter End Notes:

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