I throw down the phone as my eyes roll backward in my head, losing myself in the aftermath of the orgasm.
“I could get used to that,” I say, as Alexander crawls up toward me. I feel his throbbing dick rubbing its way up my body as he comes up to reach my lips, but pauses just shy of them.
“Could you now,” he says, wagging his eyebrows up and down.
I’ve been working nonstop on the deck for Brewed for the last several hours, and I keep losing track of where I am in Pietro’s extensive notes. He wants me to adjust the plan to put more emphasis on the global activations around their Christmas campaign. Add more competitor analysis in different regions there. Expand the various KPIs, and so forth. Irritation creeps in like a cruel mistress in the dark. I’d expected the revisions to take half the amount of time it has.
Having the opportunity to lead the creative marketing strategy on an iconic brand like Brewed is an amazing career opportunity that I don’t want to mess up—even if the timing is far from ideal. Pietro has been breathing down my neck to get this across the line, but after this is done I can switch off for a few days, get through the wedding, and pick it up again next week.
My phone pings, and I look across, seeing a message from Kelly pop up.
Kelly
What should I wear?
My irritation at work transfers to her and the situation.
Like I need to be thinking about any more decisions right now.
I don’t even know what I should be wearing, let alone what Kelly should wear. I mean, it’s one thing to dress for Alexander. It’s a whole other thing dressing to meet his parents for the first time.
Another ping emanates from my phone, causing the irritation to engulf my body.
For God’s sake Kelly, can you just give me a minute?
But when I look at my phone, it’s not Kelly who has messaged me.
Ryan
Hey. Heard you’re back in town. We should catch up. Ryan. x
19.Alexander
Wednesday
“And this is in recognition of your album going double-platinum here in the UK,” the head of the UK label says.
The plaque is impressively heavy as she hands it over to me. Underneath the glass, embossed with my logo in gold leaf, there are two platinum-colored vinyls set against the backdrop of my artwork. The inscription on a small gold plate reads:
Presented to Alexander Morgan in recognition of 600,000 units consumed in the UK.
All of this is encased in a black frame.
“Thank you,” I say, forcing on my camera-ready smile as the photographer lines up in front of us. Everyone from the UK label seems to tower above me as they position themselves to pose. They all dress similarly, too, in black or white shirts and jackets, and jeans rolled up above their ankles as if they’re expecting a flood.
In contrast, Erica and Lucy stand out in their blue T-shirts and jean shorts.
“Someone’s twinning tonight,” I say, once the obligatory photo is out of the way. Erica and Lucy place the plaque down on the bar beside me. The UK label people disperse to the black couches, built into the alcoves of the backstage area. They take a moment to glance at each other and smile before turning back to me.
“Did you hear about Rita?” Erica asks in a lowered voice, her brows furrowing.
“Rita?” My voice is a little too loud as I shake my head, causing a couple of people to stare.
Erica takes two steps forward, motioning Lucy to do the same.
“I overheard one of the label guys over there talking about her.” She tilts her head toward a mullet-haired mustached guy. “Apparently, she’s at the box office kicking up a fuss, claiming she’s on the list.” Erica spins her finger in a small circle by her head.
I take in a deep breath, fighting back the tension clawing at my shoulders.
