Spin-off for Alex Herron (Zade's & Sapphire son)
CARLA JAMESON:
Men can be unpleasant individuals! I apologize, but there's no sugarcoating it, and they can't deny it. Their interests often revolve around a single objective, girls. However, just as you're about to comply, they abruptly end the connection, influenced by their mothers who deem you unsuitable for their sons. Seriously, really? I'll prove the inadequacy with my fist in your nose.
Then, I find myself assigned to collaborate with Alex Herron, the billionaire CEO with a bad-boy image, convinced that his wealth, good looks, and prominent presence in his jeans can secure whatever he desires. At the moment, what he desires is to be intimate with me. What he remains oblivious to is that my boundaries are uncharted territory for any man.
He may be a billionaire with an unpleasant attitude, and I am a reluctant individual when it comes to physical intimacy. This combination could indeed create an intriguing workplace dynamic.
ALEX HERRON:
Maintaining a reputation like mine comes with immense pressure. Just try being a billionaire CEO with a bad-boy image for a week and see how you handle the scrutiny. I bet you'd end up in the media spotlight more frequently than I do!
When you possess the attractiveness, wealth, charm, and bedroom expertise that I do, the world is at your disposal. Countless mansions to purchase, exotic cars to drive, yachts to navigate, and numerous women to... well, you know what they expect from Mr. Herron.
So, when Carla Jameson is assigned to collaborate on a project for my company, it's only fitting that I give her an opportunity. She's young, brilliant, and attractive, with a mysterious quality that captivates me like a moth to a flame.
She can attempt to resist, but when Alex Herron desires something, you can be certain he will attain it, one way or another.
--
Carla Jameson
Seated at my desk, enjoying a take-out salad from the cafeteria below, I received an email from my boss. Glancing at the computer monitor, I refrained from opening it immediately; the content wasn't a mystery.
Anticipation had been building since earlier that day when my boss informed me that Silverman & Stern Management Consultants had secured a ten-million-dollar contract with Herron Enterprises. I would be part of the management consulting team.
Taking another bite of lettuce, I leaned over to read the subject line: Confirmation of Meeting Scheduled with Alex Herron at Herron Enterprises. Clicking the link to add the details to my schedule, I returned to my salad.
A year ago, meeting billionaire entrepreneur Alex Herron would have excited me. Now, it was just another mundane encounter with wealthy individuals utilizing Silverman & Stern's management consultants for their needs – like me – to handle their affairs.
Reflecting on how jaded I had become in just a year at Silverman, I sighed, realizing this job wasn't what I expected, though it beat toiling away at a non-profit for a meager salary. While less fulfilling, it afforded me the luxury of buying cooler things.
Stabbing a cherry tomato, I contemplated my upcoming meeting with Alex Herron, having already Googled him. Everyone in business knew the legend – a thirty-five-year-old, single, tall, dark, and handsome entrepreneur with the brains of a Rhodes Scholar and the physique of an athlete.
Starting Herron Enterprises in his parents' basement fifteen years ago, the company raked in six billion in revenue last year, delving into computing, networking, cyber-security software, and fiber optics. Despite his success, my skepticism labeled him just another billionaire playboy trying to purchase the world.
Sipping the watery iced tea accompanying my salad, I gazed out of the twentieth-floor window at the hazy Chicago skyline. "I'll bet he's a major douchebag," I muttered, unable to stifle the thought.
The term "douchebag" had become a reflex whenever I considered men. In my mind, it was gradually becoming synonymous with the word "man." Call it jaded, but the two seemed interchangeable.
Another bite of lettuce, another sigh. Why did men have to be such douchebags? I pondered, wondering if there were any good men left in the world. Surely, they weren't all either gay or married.
Alright, perhaps I'm exaggerating a bit. Maybe not all men on this planet are unpleasant. Perhaps it's just the males I've personally encountered during my twenty-four years on this planet that were less than agreeable.
They didn't all start off that way, of course. Initially, some were perfectly pleasant. It seemed like they transformed into less agreeable individuals after crossing paths with me. Maybe that was it – perhaps I was the common denominator, turning initially nice guys into total jerks. I was patient zero!
As I licked the dressing from my lips and reached for the tea, a thought crossed my mind. Maybe turning perfectly nice guys into jerks was my special power. Nah, who am I kidding? I don't have special powers. Men are quite capable of becoming jerks all on their own.
The most recent jerk in my life was my ex-boyfriend, Scott, who ended our five-year relationship because his mother didn't think I was good enough for him. He actually said those words to me.
"I'm sorry, Carla, but Mother doesn't think you're good enough for me."
"I'm not marrying your mother, Scott," I shot back. "The question is, what do you think?"
Without hesitation, he looked me in the eye and said, "I think Mother is probably right." And with that, he walked out the door and never looked back.
I was like, are you kidding me?
I've been with your jerk self since freshman year at college, saved my virginity for our wedding night, and two months before the wedding, I'm not good enough for you?
Seriously?
I felt my cheeks getting hot. Even though it's been over a year since Scott dumped me, it still makes me fume.
Granted, I didn't come from money like Scott's family did. The Jameson family was lower middle class at best, but I worked hard to get through college and graduate school. I graduated with an MBA from Harvard last year and was recruited by Silverman & Stern to join their management consulting group.
I have a windowed office in a Chicago high-rise, pull down one-fifty a year plus bonuses, and live in a fantastic downtown apartment. I'm on the fast track to make partner within five years. And I'm not good enough for your son?
Again, dear mother, f*ck you!
I frowned at my own thoughts. I never used to swear like this. Granted, this conversation is only going on in my head, but now I have the vocabulary of a drunken sailor. And I blame it on Scott and his mommy.
Scott said his mommy thought I was a bad person. She didn't like the way I treated her little boy.
Fine. Whatever. Sure, I can be a little abrasive at times, and maybe I bossed Scott around a bit, but come on, the guy could barely wipe his own ass without mommy's help.
If he didn't have me telling him what to do, he would have spent most of his days bouncing through life like a pinball.
Not good enough for your son.
F*ck you, you old bat.
Your son wasn't good enough for me!
I chewed on a chunk of lettuce and scolded myself for even thinking about this stuff. I mean, it had been over a year since I last saw Scott. Why was this still sticking in my craw?
And why didn't I want anything to do with men in general now? Had Scott scarred me for life? Was I destined to be an old maid? Or maybe a lesbian? Hmm, no, I don't swing that way. At least not yet.
I'm young, healthy, and as horny as the next girl. The fact that I'm still a virgin irks me a bit. After all, the whole "saving myself for Mr. Right" concept flew out the window the day Scott dumped me. I'd jump Mr. Wrong's bones if given the chance.
It's not that I haven't had opportunities to have sex. Jesus, you can't walk down the hallway here at Silverman & Stern without running into a swinging dick. It's just that I don't want to be bothered by a man at this point in my life.
And as I said, men are jerks.
I'd never had a penis inside of me, so maybe I didn't know what I was missing. But I had long, nimble fingers and the foot-long vibrating dildo I bought online that I called "George Clooney." George was always waiting for me in my nightstand. What the heck did I need a man for?
No, better for me to focus on my career rather than my love life. I'm only twenty-four. I still have plenty of time left on the old biological clock, although some days I can hear it ticking louder than others.
I have my entire future all mapped out. I'll find a man after I make partner, probably when I'm thirty or so, squeeze out a couple of cute babies by the time I'm thirty-five, and find a nice French nanny to raise them for me while I go back to work.