Welcome Home-I
Walking into her condo, kicking her shoes off in exhaustion, Grier wondered if her day could have gone any worse. This time of year, the word scrooge was tossed around frequently but she was certain if anyone was getting visited by three ghosts come Christmas, it was going to be him. Nick Santos, her boss from hell. In five years, the man she knew could easily win any of the sexiest eligible bachelor titles on the planet, based purely on looks, routinely caused her to rethink her sexuality. In those moments where she found herself ogling him, he would inevitably do something so horribly rude her lady parts could dry up like she was stranded in the Sahara.
Today was no exception. Her cranky-ass boss grew irritated when they’d entered one of the production plants and holiday music was playing overhead. He’d given a tersely worded comment to the manager telling him to be respectful not everyone in the company celebrates Christmas and they might also find the holiday painful, especially when layoffs were happening. Then he laid off three people in management because he found out they were in a love triangle, but all three men had wives at home. Video of them having a blowout argument over which man the senior manager loved most had made it to Nick’s desk. Just over two weeks to Christmas and he ditched three of his management team for cheating on their wives with each other.
It wasn’t this which bothered her though. It was the fact he made sure to out the three men to their wives as gay and sent them the video clip of the fight. Anonymously of course. She could say nothing since she herself was in an ironclad NDA.
Then without further ado, he’d marched back to the car, advised they were returning to New York, and he didn’t speak another word until they landed back at JFK. When he’d had his driver drop her off, his only words were “seven a.m. Monday.”
She meandered to the fridge and was about to pull it open to grab the rest of the bottle of merlot she knew was in there when a sound from deep in her apartment caught her ear.
The only person who had a key to her apartment was her best friend, Hazel. Grier hadn’t even given her boyfriend Arlo a key since they’d only been dating six months, and the term boyfriend was a stretch. Her working hours were not conducive to tons of free time, but Arlo so far didn’t seem to mind. However, Hazel knew she was supposed to be away on a business trip with Nick Scrooge Santos and she wasn’t due back until tomorrow.
“That’s it, baby, open those legs wider for Daddy.”
A man’s all too familiar voice tormented her from down the short corridor. Daddy?
“It’s so f*****g hot how sexy you look taking my cock.”
How the hell did her cheating ass soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend get a key into her apartment and why was he even so brazenly bold to have a lover there?
The answer made her stumble over feet.
“Keep f*****g me, Arlo. Give it all to me. I want to come on your c**k in her bed on her favorite duvet. I love this duvet so much! Let’s make memories on it. Make me come on it.”
Hazel. Her best friend since college. Ten years of being friends. She’d stood by Hazel when her parents died seven years ago. She’d held her hand through every single one of her catastrophic relationships with the douchebags Hazel was drawn to. Now her best friend was f*****g her boyfriend and crowing about doing it in her bed on her favorite duvet.
She frowned angrily. She really liked her Christmas duvet. It was decorated with holly and ivy and snowflakes. Damn Hazel. Why did she have to ruin the duvet? Gripping the edge of the doorframe and then Hazel’s next words had her moving back to the kitchen.
“f**k me Arlo. Put your come in my cunt.”
Arlo who on the two very recent occasions they had s*x, insisted on a condom, was now in her bed, f*****g her best friend, bareback. Retreating to the kitchen, she grabbed the bottle of wine, glad the b***h down the hall hadn’t stolen it as well. She poured herself a glass and then wandered back down the hall. This time she didn’t pause in the hall.
She leaned in the doorway, clearing her throat loudly and then took a long sip of her wine and waited for the sound to register. When Arlo heard her voice, his hips stuttered and then Hazel gave a scream to kick him off, her heel connecting with Arlo’s still hard d**k. Arlo dropped to the floor like a sack of feed. A glimmer of a smile at his pain flashed on her lips.
“Oh, don’t stop on my account. Please finish. I’ll drink my wine and then we can chat when you’re done.”
“What are you doing here?” Hazel’s voice shrieked in surprise.
“Here? You mean here in my condo? Mine. The place I bought with my money, Hazel? Are you really questioning why I’m here.”
“Grier, it’s not what it looks like.” She started to plead, her eyes welling up with tears.
“Save the crocodile tears, Hazel. I don’t know what I’ve done to you to warrant you wanting my boyfriend,” she held a finger up, “sorry, ex-boyfriend, to f**k you in my bed and to do it without protection, as you just encouraged him to do, but you don’t get to cry over it.”
“Grier,” Hazel was scrambling for a shirt to put on, her face a shade of puce at being caught.
Arlo was rolling on the floor whining with his hands around his junk, “I think my c**k is broken.”
“Good,” Grier tipped her wine glass in his direction, “serves you right for f*****g my best friend,” again she held her finger up, “ex-best friend, in my bed. I do need to ask why my bed? You couldn’t simply sneak around like normal assholes?”
“Grier?” a man’s voice calling from down the hall caught their ears. “You forgot your laptop bag.”
As if this couldn’t get worse. She sighed not wanting to leave these two alone in her room.
“Down here, Nick.” She called and saw his face poke into the hall, “come, join the party.”
His face, usually stoic became incredibly hard and his lips flattened. “What party? I don’t do parties.”
“The one where my ex-best friend of over ten years is getting plowed by my ex-boyfriend of six months. He thinks his d**k is broken.”
“Did you break it?” Nick asked as he casually strolled down the hall with the laptop bag in his fingertips.
“No.” She sipped her wine. “Regrettably.”
Grier fought a snicker when Nick tilted his head to one side at the man who was holding his c**k aloft studying it.
“It does appear to have a rather deep bend in it. It’s not very big, is it?” Nick commented dryly.
“It’s average and what he does with it is average as well, but I chalked it up to beginner’s nerves since we only s*x twice.” Grier toed a pair of briefs from the floor on the tip of her Louboutin’s and kicked them at Arlo. “Put them on and go get your d**k checked out.”
“Mr. Santos,” Hazel was kneeling on the floor now desperate to find her pants and she was eyeballing Nick like he was her messiah.
“Do we know each other?”
“I interviewed with you the same day Grier did, and you gave her the job.”
“We interviewed twenty-six people the day Grier came in. You expect me to remember the twenty-five I didn’t hire?”
“We had a connection.”
