Chapter 3: Michael's Troubles

Michael

"You don't say!" Pedro mused from the other end of the line. "A girl that has Michael King worked up is no ordinary girl."

Michael rolled his eyes, strolling into the elevator, with his phone pressed to his ear. "Don't even think about. she's not my type. I don't do slums."

"Coming from someone who came from the slums too," Pedro scoffed.

Pedro and Michael came from the same orphanage. Unlike him, his parents abandoned him at the gate of the orphanage, barely two days after his birth.

Though, Pedro and Michael were age mates, Pedro saw Michael as an older brother, and the latter never failed to act in thst regard, protecting him at all times.

"I'll take the insult because it's coming from you," Michael snapped. "Be warned, Ped."

"It's Pedro, not Ped. You know I hate that nickname!" Pedro hollered as Michael scoffed. Riling Pedro up was a game Michael loved playing. He hated the nickname and Michael never stopped taunting him with it. "And don't use that tone on me. We both came from the slums, if that makes you any better."

"We came from an orphanage," Michael sighed. "There's a huge difference."

"Sounds the same to me. Orphanage, slum, foster house...they all look the same to me."

"Whatever you say."

"So, did you get her name?" Pedro diverted the topic, his voice dripping with humor?

"Who?" Michael feigned ignorance. "Whose name are you talking about?"

How could he forget who Pedro was referring to. It took every ounce of restraint in him to stop himself from ripping clothes off her. Full and curvy- that's how he liked his women. Her voluptuous breasts against his chest was his consolation, after the failed mission in Singapore.

Again, Khalid got away, and Michael was beginning to think someone was tipping him off. Malcolm said Khalid was seven steps ahead of him. How Khalid got wind of his coming eluded him. Heaving, he registered it in his mind to be more discreet with his operations next time.

When he got up this morning to come to work, Riggs, his emergency driver complained of a brake malfunction. He was pissed at Riggs for not giving him a heads-up, but there was nothing he could do about it. Porsche were for Mondays, and he'd go out in no other.

To save himself the trouble of signing autographs and taking unsolicited pictures from passers-by, he shaved his signature beard and restyled his hair.

Fast forward to the sassy girl in the taxi, and here we are...

The elevator opened in a majestic floor cramped with latest editions of fashion outfits. His portraits were glued to the glass wall.

"C'mon, man," Pedro groaned. Stop hiding deets. Does she have the qualities you're looking for?"

Hell yeah. But he's not going to tell Pedro that. He strolled into his office and settled behind the desk. "Don't you think you're beginning to snoop around too much?"

"Don't do this to me, Mike," Pedro was being melodramatic now, but Michael was not falling for his cheap schemes this time. "We're brothers remember?

"Hello! Hello!" Michael brought the end of the phone to his mouth. "I can't hear you. Speak up, man."

"I know what you're trying to do, Mike." Michael hangs up whenever he's uncomfortable discussing a topic, and he's about to do the same thing Pedro. "Do not fucking hang up on-"

Michael tapped the red icon. "Kill me later," he dropped the phone as exhaled sharply. His neck hurts from bad sleeping posture. He needed his morning latte to clear his head. Singapore, Khalid, the sassy curvy lady, he needed a break from them. Reaching the intercom on his desk, he pressed down the button. "Trudy?"

"Yes sir!" The receptionist squeaked delightedly from the other end of the line. "How may I be of service?"

Trudy was prepared to serve her boss in every capacity, officially and unofficial, as their manner was, but Michael was not having it today. For no reason, he was not attracted to her that morning.

"Bring me a cup of coffee. You know how I want it."

"I've got it covered, sir!" She ended the call, excitement lacing her tone.

He dialed Mr. Brown's desk afterward. "Bring me the files of all the applicants you interviewed today. Don't waste my time. I don't have the whole day."

"Yes sir." The older man responded from the other end of the line.

Michael released the button on the intercom and leaned back into his chair, sighing. Tonnes of paperwork needed his approval. Justin Gregory, the English fashion designer that models Nicki and him would soon bark down his door. It promised to be busy already.

The door slid open and he lifted his head from the paper with a smile. On seeing who walked in, his mood dropped. She was holding the coffee foil Trudy was meant to bring to him.

"Nicki?" He sat upright, narrowing his eyes at her. "What are you doing here?"

She sashayed to his desk and placed the foil cup gingerly on his desk. She was dressed in a skin-tight maroon-colored strapless gown with glitters on the bodice. The gown was parted on the left to the middle of her thigh, punctuating her creamy, flawless skin.

She's the only daughter and child of Henry Bravnov, a billionaire oil tycoon. They came from way back in high school; an inseparable duo... until she demanded more than friendship.

"Do I need to schedule an appointment before dropping by to say hello to an old friend?" She arched her brows, pursing her red lips.

"That's not how I meant it. I'm just saying you should have at least called. I could be nose deep in a very important meeting."

"But you're not." Lust dribbled from her lips.

Michael took the cup and took a sip, watching her from the corner of his eyes as she made her way to the back of his chair.

"Today's Monday, Nicki. I've got projects to work on and several meetings with top clients."

He took a sip of the steaming liquid, forcing it down his throat. For obvious reasons, the coffee tasted like sour mustard and spoilt milk.

"Sssh!" She stopped behind him, massaging his shoulders, down to his chest. "Work, work, work, all the time. Don't you ever get tired of living a boring life? Get some air, Michael. Take a sabbatical!"

"It pays the bills," he said, avoiding her searching gaze, rummaging through a stack of piled documents to distract himself from her flirtations. "Besides, I don't want to give my competitors a reason to think I'm loafing around. As you can see, I have a lot to accomplish before the end of the day."

"Michael! Michael Michael" she whirled the chair around and lodged herself between his lap, tracing circles on his bulky chest, their lips inches away. "KFH has been the leading fashion enterprise for ten solid years. You've won countless awards with a whopping ten billion dollars net worth to your name. A little break won't shoot you off the scale. Just...relax."

She leaned forward and brushed her lips over Michael's, leading one of his hand to her parted thighs.

Michael reciprocated the gesture involuntarily, taking her lips in equal stride. He didn't know what transpired between Nicki and Trudy, but since KFH's top model was here, who cares?

A free fuck is a free fuck, no matter who is giving it.

Her hand traveled down to his zipper, caressing his strained member beneath the cotton restraint. Suddenly, the face of the busty female in the taxi flashed into his mind's eye. He broke away from the kiss, pushing Nicki slightly away from him.

"Are you okay?" Nicki inquired, genuine concern, lacing ger tone. "Did I do anything wrong?"

"It's not about you, Nick. You have to leave," he said catching his breath. "I need to concentrate on work."

She folded her arms across her chest. "If you had a girlfriend, I'd understand. But is this because of that bitch you called a receptionist, throwing herself at you at any chance she gets?!"

He sighed, massaging his temples. It's not noon yet, and he can't wait for the day to end.

"She's not the reason, okay?" He collected his breath. "I'm not just in the mood for this right now. Maybe some other time."

Her expression softened. "I don't want another time. I'm in the mood, and I want you now." She attempted another chance at seducing him. "What does she have I don't have? Is it because of her boobs? If that's what you want, I can arrange the best BBL surgeons in town to get a boob job done to the size of your choice."

"Jesus, Nicki!" Michael exclaimed. "I'm half bothered about the shape of your boobs than your personal vendetta with Trudy. I don't care about some fucking boobs. Jeez!"

"I'm not blind, Michael. I see the way you look at her boobs. Don't think I'm foolish for keeping quiet!"

"And so what!" He didn't know when he flared up. "Times without number, I've told you we cannot be more than friends. You have no right to be jealous of my receptionist because you're not my girlfriend? What I do with my receptionist is not your business." He stood to his feet, livid at her. "So, stay away from my shit!"

Tears pooled in her eyes. "What is it you ever wanted I never gave you? What is it you desired I didn't fight for you to have?" her eyes misted, making Michael's shoulders slump. "I gave you my support, my time, and every inch of my body. I was there when you had nothing, and I clung to you through thick and thin. What else do you want from me, Michael?"

Her voice broke to a shivering whisper. Plain guilt washed over Michael. He turned his back to her, running his hands through his hair.

Through the help of her father's scholarship scheme for the indigent, Michael and Pedro were fortunate to see the four walls of a classroom.

All through high school and college, Nicki stood by him, championing his needs above hers.

In a more reserved tone, Michael took her trembling hands in his, thumbing her tears away. "I can't thank you and your father enough for giving a nobody like me a shot at life. I'll forever be indebted to you. All I have is yours, Nicki. Take whatever you want. But I'm so sorry, Nicki, I can't give you what you seek. I don't see it happening between us. I'm not the man for you."

The hot glare from Nicki's emerald eyes bore holes into Michael's soul. "We're not done, Michael. If I can't have you, no one else can. I'll bury anybody alive who tries to take you away from me, including that slutty receptionist!" With that, she stormed out of his office.

Mr Brown stumbled into the office with the files. "Is Ms Nicki all right? She seemed upset."

"Put them on the desk," Michael ordered, choosing rather to avoid his question. Mr Brown got the memo. Although, he's one of the founding members of KFH, he knew his boundaries.

Michael flipped through the CV's absent-mindedly, until his eyes settled on a face he could not get out of his mind.

"Hell-hound," Michael smirked, as a wicked plan broke into his mind. "What can you say about this applicant?" he asked Mr. Brown.

The round man narrowed his eyes at the paper. "Bad choice, sir. She has no working experience, and she has one hell of a temper."

"Tell me about it," Michael smirked. He didn't give a damn about her working experience, but he resonated well with the latter. Grinned wickedly, he relaxed into his chair, staring at her passport photograph. "Give her the job. We have a lot of experience to pass."