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SOLD TO THE CEO 87
“I also had a stepmother, says Gabe, she was a whore.I laugh, spitting out most of the orange juice.- They are all - I say, still between two laughs.Gabe is LeBlanc's cook. She comes, takes her meal of the day and leaves. The same pattern applies to the woman who cleans, or to the one who irons the clothes. Apparently the man hates company when he's in the apartment.Gabe finishes frying the bacon and places it on my plate. I asked him to because LeBlanc doesn't eat "junk food". In twenty minutes of conversation with Gabe, I discovered more about LeBlanc than in twenty weeks with the individual.When I finished showering, I just put on a bathrobe, since my clothes are at Elliot's. I felt bad about everything, but that feeling disappeared as soon as I started talking to Gabe.- Margot spends all of Elliot's money. She just doesn't know how to save - I continue our conversation about evil stepmothers.- Lizie was no different. She sold dad's car while he was away, she said.I smile a
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And second, doesn't she know the name of her boss?I'm about to ask Gabe about it, but the kitchen door opens and my peripheral vision is occupied by Aaron LeBlanc. He goes to the cupboard and takes a cup, removes the carafe from the coffee pot and pours himself. The man ignores our presence as if we were part of the apparatus."I'll set the table," says Gabe.- No need – he said – You can go home.LeBlanc walks over to the table. He wears a black suit and a gray overcoat. Her hair is combed, wet after her shower. And the closer he gets, the more aware I am of his scent. It smells of bath salts.Looking out the window, I can see the New York vibe. Maybe it will rain later, and then my task of finding an apartment will be mission impossible.She sits across from me at the round table, then stares at my plate with obvious disgust. Apparently not everyone likes eggs and bacon. LeBlanc looks at the options on the table, which Gabe made especially for me. He disapproves of them all, as he
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- Neither - his deep voice, meant only for me, causes a lump to form in my throat. He makes me nervous very easily.I look down at my plate. LeBlanc can read me like a magazine, as if all my thoughts were arranged in a sign on my forehead. I don't want him to think for even a second that I agree with his decision."I want to see Vicenzo," I said suddenly.When I look up, I notice LeBlanc still staring at me. Now one of his eyebrows is arched.- Because?I smile. Have I lost my right to come and go?- Because he's my boyfriend, and I need a friendly shoulder – I shrug – To support my legs.Thank goodness Gabe is already gone. I had a really good conversation with her, and I wouldn't want her to see me as an asshole. But if she knew why I'm here, she'd agree.LeBlanc clenches his jaw but doesn't take his eyes off mine."No," he said simply.What? He has more common sense than that!I didn't want to leave. And he definitely didn't want to go out to see Vicenzo. However, from one hour to
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I'm not happy with the fact that I was bought, but I can assure you that I will give you a lot of work. He'll be so busy trying to correct me that he'll regret spending his money. Besides, LeBlanc may call me a "toxic bitch" but he better put "my favorite" first since he's always on my dick.LeBlanc starts walking towards the door again, but not before I can see the small cynical smile on his lips.Idiot.When I hear the elevator doors close, I'm sure he's left the apartment. I look around, making sure Gabe really isn't there.I leave the kitchen and walk towards the room in which I woke up. I head to LeBlanc's closet, in the foolish hope of finding something not twice my size.The space is lit by a chandelier. There's a workbench in the center of the closet, with watches and ties in acrylic dividers. All around, I'm not surprised that everything is organized down to the millimeter, separated by color and size.I separate the shirts on the hangers, open the doors and drawers and look
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THE WHITE...There are smart men. Those who build airplanes, who move a piece of sheet metal and call it a car. Men who make the world prosper, because they always take something out of their mind and put it in the ground.On the other hand, there are the muscular men. They rarely use their brain more than their arms. They are the executors. The evil one can even build the plane, but who will fly it?But still, there is a third category, and I dare say it is the best of all. Clever men and doers. Those who don't use their brains to do something, but pay someone to do it. They are the infamous bosses, the ones who pay the salaries of smart people and executors, and don't even have to get out of bed.It's interesting, because right now I see two men working. One is an airline pilot; executor man. The other is an advisor; the smart man. They argue over refueling the plane for the past month, and they each have a point of view. The thing is, whatever the discussion, they're both on my pay
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THE WHITE...I have always loved solitude. Not the empty, miserable feeling, but that feeling that no one but yourself matters. I loved my privacy because the only thing that judged me was my morals, no one else. I grew up like that. I lived alone, drowned in gold because I didn't like money.My home has always been a quiet place. I hate neighbors, I hate noise, I hate not having peace. However, even so, I had a sleepless night. I heard Angelic walk through the master bedroom while I was in the guest bedroom next door. I heard the shower turn on, then the mattress sink and the lamp go out.When the first ray of sunshine filtered into the room, I got up. He could still feel her presence on the other side of the wall. She's an intruder in my world, but it forces me to ask myself questions. I want her to stop being?I like loneliness, but I also like her wearing my clothes. I like knowing she smells like me now. I like my hair tied with my tie, because she couldn't find anything else to
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ANGELIC...Sometimes we need big bandages for big wounds. But sometimes all it takes is a long bath to heal the painful openings. I mean, honestly, when all that hot water slides down my body, it's like I'm purging myself.That's why I end the shower with some regret. I could spend all day in the box.I wrap a towel around my body. The smell around the bathroom became familiar to me. The smell is clearly masculine, but I don't mind smelling like him. In fact, when I'm alone in the middle of the night, I can feel him all around me, and I can almost convince myself he's next to me.I walk over to the misty mirror above the sink and stare at my reflection. I turn my head from side to side, studying the mark on my neck. Vicenzo's fingers dug into me. I feel bile rising in my throat, but I refuse to vomit again.I can't be disgusted with myself. It wasn't my fault.I constantly remember what happened in the hospital. I kissed Vicenzo, of my own free will. That bastard can say he touched me
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THE WHITE...The consumer of souls.There is a myth that says the devil in ancient times bestowed favors. It was like a kind of creditor, and people got into debt of their own free will. A few times later, when the devil came back to collect his share, people refused to pay. He, because he did not like to be deceived, burned their houses, their children and their fortunes.I look through the windows. It's a beautiful day, as far as New York is concerned. I'm sitting at one of the tables in the three-story cafeteria right in midtown Manhattan, one of the best in town, by the way.- Sir? – the attendant calls, with her soft, low voice, because she doesn't want to sound rude.I look at the lady in front of my desk. Charlotte. Every day, she gets up early, takes a train from the station closest to her home and arrives at the service even before sunrise. Charlotte opens the cafeteria, cleans the tables and puts on her impeccable uniform. She smiles at every tycoon who enters the establishm
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- "What happens now?" Lora questioned.- "Steve will listen to the whole recording countless times" Colton replied, nonchalantly.Both walked side by side to the end of the hall, where the training room was located. The soundproofed room was empty that morning when Colton opened the door, then waited for the redhead to enter.Deep down, that militarized man didn't like what he was doing. Teaching Lora to be an agent, when she hadn't even mentioned that she enjoyed the profession, felt wrong.- "Today is your lucky day. Let's practice some shooting" he commented.Target shooting was an activity that involved testing proficiency and accuracy, foresight and speed. It didn't matter if the shot was short-range or long-range.- "Where do we start?" The redhead questioned.There was a demarcation on the floor of the room, which indicated the place where people should stand, so they could aim at the target and shoot. The distance between the mark and the target was ten meters. Lora positioned
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When she returned to her desk, Lora realized that the reason she left was no longer an issue. Her fame would be irrelevant if she was busy lusting after the one man she shouldn't. The redhead felt her knees weak; the fallen angel's touch was as vivid on her skin as her cells. Drake rose to pull out the chair for her, elegantly and gracefully. For strangers, thinking of them as a pair was automatic. - "I said you would be my key ring at events, but I think the key ring is me" he commented as he sat down with his friend, who held back a laugh. They both focused on stage as the musicians finished a classical melody, giving space to the master of ceremonies. - "Ladies and gentlemen, we hope you are having a pleasant evening. The starters will be served now, then we will have a greeting from the host" and, after an elegant gesture, the music reverberated through the environment, along with the murmur of voices in conversation private. - "You're a little flushed, but you don't seem to b
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Home to the most acclaimed films in the cinematographic world, the city of angels was more an environment of pretense and performance than of pleasure. The venues, as luxurious and elegant as they were, didn't exude money like Vegas. And neither should they. For Los Angeles, Hollywood's legacy was enough. The events were also an appropriate time to reaffirm ties of influence and show the world that, in addition to money, guests had contacts. It was a confidential agreement between the American stars; be at the top and help those who were at the top to stay. In the backseat of the limousine, Jean, Drake, and Lora waited outside the Roosevelt. One of the most famous hotels among the stars of the red carpet. At first, it would just be a dinner among the cast that made up the film, but it ended up becoming the reason for a small gathering of photographers. - "You're quite famous" Drake smiled at Jean. - "It seems so" the older man looked out, seeing all those people worshiping his name
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The city lights of Los Angeles were what lit up the world in dark times. The future was in the skyscrapers and in their grandeur. Every building on the outskirts of the city that never slept had a purpose; show your power. The Roosevelt Hotel was an interesting setting. With its white facade and large rounded supporting pillars, the building had a modern look. Its interior was no different, boasting an abundance of elegance. The chandeliers in the various rooms, the pure marble floors and the superior suites with indoor pools were signs of a fortune. In the master bedroom bathroom, in one of the city's most sought-after hotels, Evans Donovan was finishing lining up his bow tie in a millimeter way on his tuxedo. He surveyed his reflection, looking for flaws that anyone else wouldn't notice. But that man was obsessed with perfection in the details. His attire, as usual, was entirely dark. The only glow on her figure came from the silver rings on her fingers. When there was a knock on
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ANGELIC...The sun's rays hit my face, making me wake up. For the last few days, we've slept with the balcony doors open, listening to the sound of waves crashing against the ocean's horizon. This has been my paradise; sleep and wake up on this island.I open my eyes, looking around the room for Aaron. He's always the first thing I look for, the first thing on my mind from the first minute of the day. He's not here, but he's left an arrangement of lilies on the bedside table instead.I get up, pluck a flower from the arrangement, and spin it around, studying the white petals. I'm invaded by an old memory, which used to hurt a lot. I was twelve years old, and right after my mother's wake, I was in the garden at home. I was devastated after losing her, not only to her death but knowing that it meant I would be alone. And for a twelve-year-old girl, being alone in such a big house was really cruel.I thought I loved my family. I was so loyal to each one of them that I believed I loved th
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LEBLANC...Technology always amazes me. The way the world evolves, even if people don't follow the same path. And with that said, I'd like to point out one technology in particular: the Ferris wheel.Yes, the ferris wheel. Let's talk about her then.A large hoop of reinforced iron, with booths hanging from it, revolving endlessly to the right. Fast enough to entertain people, slow enough not to make you queasy. Simply fascinating, especially considering the colorful light show around.'I thought it was charming too,' Angelic says, interrupting my thoughts about George Ferris, the creator of the Ferris wheel.- What? I ask.- The ferris wheel. I was fascinated by her as a child.I look at Angelic, who is in front of me. I can visualize her child version, maybe with a bow in her hair. I can almost see her, tiny, staring at the ferris wheel, marveling at everything the curious eyes of a normal child can reach.However, on the other hand, I don't think she can have the same vision of me.
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LEBLANC...She's looking at me, her big blue eyes expectant, making me feel like the worst person in the world. Hope glimmers in every blink, and I, like the asshole that I am, am about to lie to Angelic.- And then? she asks as she holds me transfixed with her disgracefully beautiful eyes.Being a good liar doesn't mean I enjoy lying, and more, it doesn't mean I enjoy lying to her. However, I have no options left. I nod my head, because I believe false gestures are less cruel than false words."Just be honest," she pleads.No. No way.I'm leaning against the kitchen jamb, meanwhile, Angelic is behind the counter, in front of the stove. In my right hand is something she just cooked. Angelic said they were chocolate chip cookies. She said they were Christmas cookies. But honestly, I still haven't found the taste of chocolate, just burnt dough and sadness. This is really bad. In fact, bad is an understatement. It's a disgrace.- It is very bad? She frowns.Right now, Angelic is the most
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ANGELIC...When we got off the helicopter, the entrance doors to the house were already open. LeBlanc carries me in his arms, because I fell asleep at some point on the trip. This is explainable, as we took a short drive and then simply traveled to an island. He told me something about being a private person, but I couldn't imagine how much.I still feel half my brain asleep, so I don't even flinch at being held. I'm tired of tonight. In fact, in addition to being tired, I am resentful.I do my best to capture the details of the house. It appears to be an old building, with details reminiscent of castles. This suits LeBlanc as he appears to have king syndrome.'You live on an island,' I say. My words sound drunk with sleep."I don't like neighbors," he argues, making me smile.- Sounds arrogant.- Looks? – He looks at me – Make no mistake, I am.I snuggle into his chest as he heads upstairs. The place is so silent that it seems to be beyond the world. It looks like a bubble, where onl
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THE WHITE...I don't knock on the door, I just turn and push the handle. The Bellagio is famous for representing elite scum, and this room represents that taxation well. There are black leather couches on either side, a bar to the right, and a bottle of tequila on every square foot.I find Benjamin sitting on one of the sofas. First his eyes fall on me casually, then they stare at me. He is part of this little group that would dance on my grave.- Where are the good manners? – he asks, puffing out the smoke from his cigarette – I think old LeBlanc will remember that I don't change my face to kill a bastard.Nothing like old friends.- We can skip the threat part. I know them all.I close the door behind me and step forward. I sit down on the sofa across from him. The contrast between us is interesting. His excessive alcohol consumption, the clothes that make him look like he's just been in prison, the numerous tattoos and the cigarette. I'm very surprised Benjamin didn't already die i
