In this life, you've got to be strong. You have to be able to hold your own. And as a woman, I'm saying this from experience. Depending on anyone can lead to being fucked over and finished. I've been burned to learn this very thing. At 38, I should be married and have it together, right? No. I chose to stay single because of my job and past experiences with men. Now, I fuck for pleasure and get on with my day. It's easier that way. No heartbreak,
no paranoia, no lies, no fucking worries. I don't get caught up with love and relationships. They become complicated and weird. In my last relationship, I almost got married. I was 23 at the time. My parents forbade it, but I'd been happily in love with that man. That...animal. My fiancee had a double life. He was married in another country and had a kid. It should have been clear to me, but I thought his job was demanding.
Clarence, who was eight years older, had already established a solid footing in the corporate sector. During his numerous business trips, I encountered him at the restaurant where I worked as a waitress while attending college. We fell in love. Well, so I thought. We dated for 10 months and then he popped the question. Clarence wanted a small wedding, so I obliged. But I remember that faithful morning at the bridal store while getting fitted with my bridesmaids.
I got a text. It was eerie. It had been photos of my fiancee and a woman and a small boy. She said that she knew I was having an affair with her husband, that she saw the exorbitant receipts. She even called me and we spoke. It was weird, just fucking weird. She told me she was divorcing him and I could have him, but I didn't want him. Not anymore. Clarence denied it all. Even when I showed him the pictures, he said it was some crazy chick
trying to destroy his life. I didn't even bother to question anything anymore. I left him. In the end, my parents were right. I kept my job as a waitress and finished my degree. Since then, I've never let a guy get close to me. Sex lasts as long as I'm satisfied. I only think about myself and my happiness. It's better that way. It's better not to be fooled by a
fool. Another thing is that as VP of my firm, I never fuck with my colleagues. Working with them all day and letting them taste my insides is a big no. I despise drama and I don't appreciate gossip. Let's just say I work with men who have the personality of a 16-year-old. Call me a case, but this is how I deal with things. This is how I live my life and continue to live it. I'm sitting at the bar at my favorite restaurant. I usually come here after work to let off some
steam. I usually take two shots and then end it off with cocktails, but somehow tonight feels different. I down the last shot and reach for the drinks menu. I'll have the tequila and pineapple juice, please, I say. Make that two. I turn to the direction of the deep voice and my heart skips a beat. Why the fuck it would skip is beyond me. My heart is stone. It's like a diamond that cannot be broken. I don't feel. So when this happens, I'm curious. Sitting beside me is Neva Adams,
the new head of human resources. He joined the firm a month and a half ago and ever since then, he has caught the attention of the ladies of Garrett Corporation. Not me, of course. I have rules. And besides, he's young and definitely not my type. This man has a great side profile and he is also handsome. He's dark, smooth, and probably has a skin routine, or maybe just impeccable jeans. He reminds me of coffee, like a raw, unfiltered coffee.
Neve looks at me. I'm sorry, am I interrupting something? Why apologize when you've already been bold with it? I say. The bartender sets our drinks down and I go straight for it. I won't stop until all of it is down my throat. Neve smiles. Should I get you another? I give him a curtain nod. He sips on his and then hails the bartender. I don't know, but this man is something else. I should have said no because I don't fraternize with work employees,
but my mind is playing games with me. I want this. I want to interact with him. And that beard. Rough day at the office. He asks, why are you here? I say, ignoring his question. Somehow I believe he is here for me, like a stalker, a lion seeking out its prey. He looks like the kind to know they're handsome and well sought after by the ladies. But when that one woman doesn't quite pay attention, they make it their vow to conquer. There's that sixth sense about him,
ever since he started at Garrett Corp. I've seen him lurking in my hallways. I've passed him countless times in the lobby and in the cafeteria. He has always been cordial, but I've always felt like he'd had an ulterior motive. Neva knows who I am. He knows that I'm VP and by my side, he's my friend. And by now his colleagues probably told him to steer clear or not to waste his time. But yet, he's here. He adjusts his tie.
For a drink? He answers. Ever been? No, but I'm glad I am. They're great at mixing drinks and entertaining beautiful women. I scoff. This man is young. He's in his 30s, yes. But he couldn't be a day over 35. His attempts to charm me with words are futile, and he will realize this soon enough. I sip my drink when the bartender puts my refill on the table. But I can't help but admire his facial hair. Something about men with beards fascinate me.
Besides, he continues. It's a five minute walk from the office. You don't drive? I do. But when I saw you heading this way. Oh, so you're a stalker? He swirls his glass and sips. I wouldn't say stalker. Just interested. I don't fuck my workmates. I'm not your workmate. We work in the same building. Same thing. Again, usually I would walk away and leave him here. But yet I'm still here talking to this man.
Is that a new rule or? The way this man's eyes are raking over me like a true seducer is disquieting. It makes me feel...wanted. It has been like this from the beginning of time. I say, taking another sip of my drink. Do you usually go about stalking your prey hoping to fuck them? He laughs. Pray? That's exactly what I said. No, unless they peak my interest. Hmm. That might be the description of a womanizer. How tired is your dick? He smiles and finishes his drink. Are you asking for yourself?
I'm asking because I'm genuinely interested in knowing if you bed women daily. I don't bed. I fuck. I fuck them and let them leave. I prop my chin up with the back of my hand. Wow, sounds charming. Sadly, this man might just be like myself. We might actually be alike. But carrying on a conversation with him is dangerous. He's a colleague. He's new. And he has direct intentions. We may get along, but there's the possibility that he'll be churlish
or a douchebag like the rest of them. The type to bang someone and talk about it with other colleagues. And although I'm not getting that from his demeanor, men can be deceptive. They can be a wolf. Neve orders another drink. So you're staying? I ask. I'm not going anywhere until I get through to you. That's a bold statement, but in what way exactly? At my apartment, on my bed, and having my way with you. I huff. Aren't you head of HR? Isn't fraternizing with
employees and employee relationships a no-go? He smirks. Only if we get caught. My God, he's worse than the others. Why am I not getting my butt up and fucking leave? Why am I still talking to this man? Like I said, I don't fuck your colleagues, right? To be honest, you are too forward. I've just met you and I don't know what you are about. You look good on the outside, but... Neve leans forward, close enough for me to smell the tequila on his breath.
I didn't peg you for a get-to-know person and if my suspicions are right, you like to fuck too. Fuck hard, fast, and forget. My eyes narrow at him. So let's cut to the chase. You want me and I want you. Let's just fuck it out and get it over with. He is right. I don't ever want to know the men I sleep with. But when it comes to people I work with, I sure as hell want to know what I'm getting myself into. One night can turn into a scandal quickly, and if my boss hears about it,
it'll undo everything I've worked for. I may want this. I may even like his assertiveness and the pure masculinity that oozes from him, but I don't want to risk my chances. Well, what you say pretty face. I shake my head. Uh, no thank you. Please leave me alone. I swivel my chair and face the other way, and after a few minutes of silence, I turn around to see the seat next to me empty. I breathe a sigh of relief. I thought he wouldn't have left without a fight. It's kind of disappointing.
And now I feel bored. Wait a minute. The bastard has left me with the tab. Well, he left me something all right, but not money. I pick up the white card next to his half empty glass. It's a business card with a barcode marked scan me. I scan it and up comes a profile of him. Only fans. What the fuck? Everything is locked. I can't see a goddamn thing. His profile picture is a shot of him bareback lying on a bed. Well, I'll be damned. I'm intrigued.
Fucking intrigued. How can the head of HR at the company have an only fans account? What does this even mean? Wait, is he a prostitute? An escort or something? Am I supposed to pay for his services? Like, what the fuck? Behind the card is his phone number written on it. I'm not going to call him. He's not that slick. But I keep the card. For evidence? Yes. Evidence. I pay the tab and head back to the building where my car is parked underground.
Ugh. Now I'm thinking about him. I should have left the moment he showed up. But no, I wanted to feel some type of way. I'm not going to call him. He is not my type. And he is young. And he is also a workmate. No, but on the other hand, he left me with the damn tab. I should call him and give him an ear about being unmanly. But maybe that's what he wants. Maybe he wants me to call him. This might just be a trap. Fuck it. I text him instead. Me.
You left me with the tab. I get an immediate response with Neve's home address followed by Well, come do something about it. Why the fuck would I go to a stranger's house? I start my car and stare at the message. Then another one comes in. Neve. We don't have all night. We have work tomorrow. This bastard is so full of himself. Yet I am sitting in my car contemplating ongoing. Me. Don't tell me what to do. Neve. Time is ticking, sweetheart. Ah, fuck it. It's been two weeks.
Hey Raiders, you have met the end of Twin Flame, The Condo, Part 1. Stay tuned for Part 2. See ya. Bye.