ASHER RICK

Part one

This is a mature story. You have been warned. I wouldn't wanna read comments about this story being crude or whatever. If you're too conservative or dyed-in-the-wool, this may not be for you.

This is really MATURE.

It will be an erotic-romance story. We love that story that excites us, that stirs up our deepest, wildest fantasy. I would appreciate your support for this. Thanks and have fun...

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are purely the product of the author's imagination and all are used fictitiously. Any references to actual persons, living or dead, historical events, locales are entirely coincidental.

Copyright© 2020

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book or any portion thereof or whatsoever may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, or used in any form or any means without the written permission or a formal request to/of the copyright owner.

THANKS SO MUCH.

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I groaned. “Jess, why would you let me wear this one? I’m going to an interview, not a club.”

Jess has been a good friend of mine since childhood. She was my knight in shining armor when bullies tried to get their way with me. I loved her with passion, but I couldn’t say I love her now.

She wanted me to wear this very very revealing dress to an interview. The low-cut garment revealed a slight sight of my cleavage. It reached my knee but it hugged my skin tightly like a second skin. I was mostly conscious because I had wide hips, a round backside, and my breasts. Well, I would say, I was gifted in that department; they accentuated my small waist. My legs were toned since I loved to run. I always made a point of jogging for my health. Physically, everything looked good and did complement my height of 5′6 ft.

"Hon, you rock in that dress, you look ravishing. I doubt they would even look at your resumé,″ she earnestly said with brows knitted together, but knowing her, I could still perceive that mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Well, can’t I just wear a cardigan over this, please?″ I traded.

″What?! Are you going to church?” She looked at me as if I was talking about the strangest thing I had ever spoken about. “You know what, I have a coat that would perfectly match that dress of yours. I want you to wear that wedge sandal you have, the toe ankle strap one and you’re good to go.” She continued, waving her hand as she went. “And please, trust me, you’ll thank me for this later, Hon.” She looked through me in the eyes and I knew I trusted her more than I trusted my very own fashions.

I heaved a sigh. I couldn’t agree more. She prepared me for this, from head to toe.

I stared at myself in the mirror and yes, it was a great job. My makeup was simple yet it made me very alluring. I couldn’t promise I would still have this nude lipstick I had on my lips. That was why I never bothered wearing one when there weren’t any special gatherings or affairs. I just had this feeling of always moistening my lips.

“I’m good to go, babe,”

“Hon, refrain from licking your lips just for today, okay?″ I rolled my eyes at her. That's what I was just thinking about.

“I know right.”

The drive to Davisco company wasn’t that long. I felt like, due to my nerves dancing within me, the drive was too short. I could feel my palms beginning to sweat.

Davisco was a software company run by a very private man who went by the name Mr. Rick. I had searched for his profile online and, indeed, he was classified. Whenever he went to gatherings and public appearances for his company, his best friend attended on his behalf. The photos of him were either side views, his back facing the camera or something had blocked the whole view. But I would say he was well built and toned. With a broad back that, even in suits, was unmistakably well-defined. “Oh, it shouldn’t be my concern now, should it?” I scolded myself.

And here I was, standing in a 10th-story building situated in the center of New York City, designed by one of New York’s most prominent architects. It encompassed the modern designs a building should possess.

The grilling in my stomach was becoming intense as I was taking my time to walk inside. I felt like walking back to my car and just forgetting it but, I was here now, I had to do it. It’s now or never. With a deep painful breath, I walked steadily, approaching the receptionist behind that shiny table.

"Hi, I’m here for an interview at 10:00 a.m,″ she was pretty. An obligatory smile was plastered on her lips. Genuine or not, I didn’t care. My nerves were dancing and my heart was beating erratically to dwell much on that.

"You must be Carrie McWilson. Just take the elevator to the eighth floor and punch this code. You will see Ms. Evans. Mrs. Wells’ assistant. And just wait for her command.” She handed me the small rectangular card. I supposed it was the code. I gave her a polite nod and thanks. I entered the code and went up.

The elevator opened and the elegant exterior greeted me. There were five doors to the right facing the elevators. I assumed these were where the important meetings were conducted. The woman whom I guessed was Ms. Evans was stationed at her place. She spotted me and a warm smile brightened her face. I converged on her table.

"Hi, you must be, Ms. McWilson. I'm expecting you today and I’m so glad you made it. Mrs. Wells is waiting for you and hey, she is a bit grumpy and shrewish today. She probably woke up on the wrong side of the bed, so just get yourself together and smile. Good luck, Ms. McWilson.” Smiling, she went back to her tasks.

Yeah, way to go, girl, for cheering me up.

“Thank you,” I gave her a nervous smile. Nevertheless, I continued my steps.

***

"Make yourself comfortable," a hard voice had prompted behind me, startling the living in me, but I managed to get a hold of myself.

She precipitously came out of the door, which I skeptically deduced as the bathroom. Mrs. Wells looked indisposed as her bags under her eyes were palpable. She looked stiff but proper in all senses.

"Are you okay?" I unconsciously whispered the question. She flinched and stared at me in one's head but said nothing. I thought I saw a glimpse of surprise in her eyes, but, it was gone in a second. I shamefully diverted my gaze from the couch.

"I'm sorry..." I cleared my throat as I situated myself on the elegant-styled six-seater couch.

She still didn't utter anything, which made me more nervous as my eyes remained fixed on the floor.

A set of elegant pointed red high-heel shoes flaunted before my eyes as she took her space and sat across me. At the back of my head, the tense music had escalated my raging pulse. Choirs screaming. I could feel her eyes scanning me in silence, her intent look was scrutinizing.

Afraid to raise my peeper, I didn't look up to meet her eyes. She audibly cleared her throat, and assuming it was perhaps my cue to raise aloft my head to meet her eyes, I did. Her eyes were deep and very projecting. After a moment of excruciating silence, she surprised me with her pronouncement.

"You can start your job tomorrow. I will give you the second assistant position to Mr. Rick. He needs two assistants. One who directly hands in every report and things of those sorts. The second assistant will aid the first assistant. Mr. Rick can be very demanding sometimes. He hates tardiness and failures. He wants everything done smoothly with efficiency. Not many assistants who worked for him last longer than three months, so I am warning you, be firm and strong."

This was weird. "Ahm. I actually applied for the Database Administrator position, which role may include troubleshooting, maintaining a secure database, performance monitoring, security, and so on, any of them, but you are hiring me for assistance?" I looked at her as if she had grown two heads just now. As ridiculous as it might have sounded, I was not here for that job. I groaned internally.

"I definitely understood the nature of the job you seek for, Ms. McWilson, but I am giving you a position you'll never regret having." She nonchalantly retorted. She leaned her back still and her posture left me no room for argument.

"Based on what you have just mentioned, Mrs. Wells, Mr. Rick is a difficult person to handle and I don't think I can handle him myself." My breath was heaving as I could never comprehend how I applied for a position just to be thrown to a different station.

God, what did I get myself into?