Agenda by Alp Mortal
Categories: Contemporary Romance | Gay | Humerous
Word Count: 15,925 Heat Rating: 3 Price: Free Available here:
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Each year the M/M Romance Group on Goodreads sponsors a writing event. This is my submission for the 2015 Love is an Open Road event.
I am always very happy to receive your feedback. If you wish to contact me directly, please email me at: [email protected]. Visit the website, www.alpmortal.weebly.com, for updates on the next gay romantic story or crime thriller which I am working on. Thank you, Alp Mortal PHOTO DESCRIPTION: In a modern office space, two young men are in the throes of a passionate kiss. One of the young men is smartly dressed and standing between the legs of the other young man, who is sitting on a table. The young man, who is sitting on the table, is naked save for the pair of briefs he is wearing, which are being pulled down. STORY LETTER: Dear Author, For the last five years I’ve been his right hand man. I handle his schedule, I make his coffee, and I pick up his suits from the dry cleaner. I even make the arrangements for his hook ups with other men. The world sees a ruthless businessman, a cold bastard. But I know him. Behind the icy facade, I see HIM. The man who is meant to be my other half. Question is, when is he going to see ME. Not as his personal assistant, but as a lover, as a partner, as a man. Thank you Please only contemporary. I would like a HEA and sex on-page, but the call is yours Sincerely, Eleftheria |
Chapter One - Dream A Little Dream
“Take me, Jonathan. Please… fuck me! Oh God, that’s fuucckking awesome… harder! Give it to me. Make me scream, make me beg… Jesus! You’re so big. Fuck… I’m gonna come-come-come…”
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep!
“What the fuck? Shit!”
I have the sweat-drenched body, the reek of sex in my nostrils, the aching balls, the wet patch chilling beneath my thighs, the breathlessness and the palpitations… just not the man of my dreams.
The shower beckons but I want to revel in this moment of delusion for a minute longer. I imagine his weight shifting and a playful slap on my arse. He fingers me. I groan and turn my head to see his face— the satisfaction playing out on his lips, the tip of his tongue between his teeth, his eyes reflecting my complete defeat.
I reach out to touch his cheek and he disappears like a genie in a puff of pink smoke.
“I love you, Jonathan…”
It is five o’clock in the morning— Monday morning, June twenty-first. Summer… the fucking board meeting!
A three-minute shower, a quick shave, Monday’s suit-and-tie combination: the board meeting suit and tie. Coffee, teeth, phone, keys, wallet— I’ve forgotten something but I don’t have time.
“Goodbye, Humphrey. Try not to piss all over the living room if you can help it.”
A single, delusional, gay, cat-loving-hating, stressed, compulsive, vegan, Buddhist, graphic-novel-reading, coffee addicted, would-love-to-live-in-a-loft, pretentious, art-loving, fashion-challenged, horny-as-fuck thirty-something, executive personal assistant.
“Hey, Garth!”
“Good morning, Mr Enilon.”
I always make a point of getting to know the night security staff. In the past, they have mistaken me for an intruder and called the police. I have considered moving into the stationery cupboard to save time on the commute.
I just need to get ahead today.
I embroil myself in making notes against each agenda item for Jonathan to refer to as he answers questions from the investors who are attending the meeting today. He really appreciates the fact that I have an MBA and understand the markets. Janice has cleaned his office but I set out fresh glasses and unscrew the cap of the water bottle so that he doesn’t have to waste time doing it himself. I log on and deal with the first batch of emails; I also produce a digest of all the relevant economic forecasts and statistics and lay out the newspapers, flagging all of the articles that I know he’ll want to read over the first cup of coffee.
I take a breather, escaping to the rear courtyard, grabbing a coffee en route. I smoke three cigarettes while scanning his Twitter timeline and re-tweeting in an attempt to push his followers up to ten thousand.
Then I start to reconcile his expenses and fabricate three receipts. I confirm and reconfirm all of his diary appointments for the rest of the week, booking him into the tailor, the salon, the masseur and lunch with his mother— also arranging the catering for his get-together on Thursday, and recheck all of the RSVPs, adding profile notes to the summary of the guests who have confirmed.
Arabella arrives at eight o’clock to set up prior to Jonathan’s entrance, to apply his make-up for the photographs, which are being taken for the latest company brochure. Denise leaves the black folder on his desk. I never get to see what is inside. Howard loiters, hoping to get five minutes to pitch for his new project.
Martyn texts as he drops him off at the kerb and I feel physically sick, realising that I have forgotten to apply deodorant this morning.
“Morning, Maris!”
“Morning, Jonathan…”
I scurry in after him, taking his jacket and briefcase, waiting on the next clutch of tasks, anticipating a meltdown when he sees the Bank of England’s forecasts on economic growth. Poised with pad and pencil in my hand, I enjoy the best five minutes of my day, as Jonathan reels off his instructions— each one a firm stroke of my cock.
I hobble out, leaving Arabella to dust his forehead and apply a little lip gloss. Howard jumps in as she waltzes out, and she surreptitiously places a packet of deodorising wipes on the corner of my desk.
Howard barrels out with a flea in his ear. I glide back in to soothe the temper before PR phones down to announce the photo-call, hoping he’ll agree to lunch with his mother on Friday. “Impossible! Put her off and get Lincoln on the phone for me— and what is that disgusting citrus smell?”
“Furniture polish… The caterer wishes to know if you want organic wines on Thursday.”
“You deal… also need three entertainers— usual agency— all blond… and two tickets for the new production at Sadler’s Wells opening on Saturday. You’re looking peaky, Maris; get more sleep.”
I leave him talking to Lincoln and make a beeline for Janey’s desk to get Jonathan synchronised with Barry, his counterpart in the investment subsidiary.
“For fuck’s sake, Maris, you look like shit!”
“Morning, Janey; I didn’t sleep very well last night—”
“Or ever! Why do break your balls for that asshole?”
“I like working for Jonathan; he’s good for my career.”
“Maris… stop bullshitting yourself, wake up and get a life!”
****
I do like working for Jonathan. The last five years have been the most exciting in my professional career— and the most depressing in my personal one.
Over the last five years, my feelings for Jonathan have developed to the point where I am in physical pain if I am apart from him for longer than a few hours. The weekends are purgatory. He is tall, dark and handsome; highly intelligent and quick-witted; innovative— a risk taker at the top of his game and angling for a big promotion. He’s already promised me that if he gets the job in Hong Kong, then I’m going with him. He always says, “Maris, I cannot do this without you. Please promise me that you won’t leave.”
I always promise that I won’t. Why would I?
However— and it must be them and not me because I am closer to him— everybody else thinks he’s a perfect shit and an asshole to boot. I have seen him take people down a peg or two, fire employees and have them frog-marched off of the premises, make Cindy cry, and stiff Lincoln over budgets and deadlines more times than a King’s Cross whore gets it on a Friday night.
I’ve proven myself to be a very capable and useful assistant. If we relocate to Hong Kong, then I feel it would be the perfect time for us to take the next step in our relationship.
****
“Maris!”
“Coming, Jonathan!”
“Have more self-respect, Maris! You run around him like a puppy and he doesn’t even remember what your surname is… Pick me up for lunch.”
“Okay, Janey…”
I scurry back to Jonathan’s office, sensing energy levels rising.
“What is it, Jonathan?”
“Sabre Corp is rolling over. As soon as the board meeting is finished, I want the team assembled. We’re going for the lot!”
“Right!”
“I hope you didn’t have plans for this evening; this could be an all-nighter.”
“No, that’s fine. What about my appraisal?”
“Oh. Fill in the form and I’ll sign it later. Right!”
I love the way he says ‘Right!’; it gets me all squishy inside.
“And Maris…”
“Yes, Jonathan?”
“Remove the smell of furniture polish from this office by the time I get back. It’s making my nose itch.”
“Of course.”
****
I decamp to the bathroom and attempt to wipe my pits with a screen wipe.
“What the hell are you doing, Maris?”
“Oh hi, Lincoln… forgot my deodorant.”
“Your dream of a boss has just shafted me again. I swear I’ll take a swing at that bastard!”
“Jonathan only has the company’s interests at heart, Lincoln. He’s extraordinarily visionary.”
“He’s a cunt. I hope you got your full bonus.”
“The appraisals aren’t due in until tomorrow.”
“Derek asked for the list of top performers at the meeting yesterday— deadline was last night.”
Jonathan will have put my name forward.
“I’m sure it’s all in hand. We’re going for Sabre Corp— Jonathan has called a team meeting straight after the board meeting.”
“Jesus!”
Lincoln bolts to muster his troops.
I scurry back to clean the office. My pits begin to itch and then flare up.
“Ouch!”
Janey appears. “What’s wrong?”
“I used some screen wipes to get rid of the citrus-perfumed deodorant I used this morning, and it burns like hell.”
“Why?”
“It was making Jonathan’s nose itch.”
“Prick! Heard about Sabre. What do you want from the deli for lunch?”
“Uhm… just a salad.”
“Get a life, Maris.”
I grind my teeth and picture Jonathan— just as he was in the photograph he posted to his Instagram account last summer; the one of him in white swimming trunks, standing beside Giovanni, at the poolside bar at the hotel in Hawaii. I Photoshopped out Giovanni’s hand, which was resting on Jonathan’s hip. I knew he didn’t like it but he was too polite to say anything to Giovanni. That’s Jonathan: all heart really.
When we’re in Hong Kong, it’ll be me beside him and my hand resting on his hip and he won’t mind at all.
“Take me, Jonathan. Please… fuck me! Oh God, that’s fuucckking awesome… harder! Give it to me. Make me scream, make me beg… Jesus! You’re so big. Fuck… I’m gonna come-come-come…”
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep!
“What the fuck? Shit!”
I have the sweat-drenched body, the reek of sex in my nostrils, the aching balls, the wet patch chilling beneath my thighs, the breathlessness and the palpitations… just not the man of my dreams.
The shower beckons but I want to revel in this moment of delusion for a minute longer. I imagine his weight shifting and a playful slap on my arse. He fingers me. I groan and turn my head to see his face— the satisfaction playing out on his lips, the tip of his tongue between his teeth, his eyes reflecting my complete defeat.
I reach out to touch his cheek and he disappears like a genie in a puff of pink smoke.
“I love you, Jonathan…”
It is five o’clock in the morning— Monday morning, June twenty-first. Summer… the fucking board meeting!
A three-minute shower, a quick shave, Monday’s suit-and-tie combination: the board meeting suit and tie. Coffee, teeth, phone, keys, wallet— I’ve forgotten something but I don’t have time.
“Goodbye, Humphrey. Try not to piss all over the living room if you can help it.”
A single, delusional, gay, cat-loving-hating, stressed, compulsive, vegan, Buddhist, graphic-novel-reading, coffee addicted, would-love-to-live-in-a-loft, pretentious, art-loving, fashion-challenged, horny-as-fuck thirty-something, executive personal assistant.
“Hey, Garth!”
“Good morning, Mr Enilon.”
I always make a point of getting to know the night security staff. In the past, they have mistaken me for an intruder and called the police. I have considered moving into the stationery cupboard to save time on the commute.
I just need to get ahead today.
I embroil myself in making notes against each agenda item for Jonathan to refer to as he answers questions from the investors who are attending the meeting today. He really appreciates the fact that I have an MBA and understand the markets. Janice has cleaned his office but I set out fresh glasses and unscrew the cap of the water bottle so that he doesn’t have to waste time doing it himself. I log on and deal with the first batch of emails; I also produce a digest of all the relevant economic forecasts and statistics and lay out the newspapers, flagging all of the articles that I know he’ll want to read over the first cup of coffee.
I take a breather, escaping to the rear courtyard, grabbing a coffee en route. I smoke three cigarettes while scanning his Twitter timeline and re-tweeting in an attempt to push his followers up to ten thousand.
Then I start to reconcile his expenses and fabricate three receipts. I confirm and reconfirm all of his diary appointments for the rest of the week, booking him into the tailor, the salon, the masseur and lunch with his mother— also arranging the catering for his get-together on Thursday, and recheck all of the RSVPs, adding profile notes to the summary of the guests who have confirmed.
Arabella arrives at eight o’clock to set up prior to Jonathan’s entrance, to apply his make-up for the photographs, which are being taken for the latest company brochure. Denise leaves the black folder on his desk. I never get to see what is inside. Howard loiters, hoping to get five minutes to pitch for his new project.
Martyn texts as he drops him off at the kerb and I feel physically sick, realising that I have forgotten to apply deodorant this morning.
“Morning, Maris!”
“Morning, Jonathan…”
I scurry in after him, taking his jacket and briefcase, waiting on the next clutch of tasks, anticipating a meltdown when he sees the Bank of England’s forecasts on economic growth. Poised with pad and pencil in my hand, I enjoy the best five minutes of my day, as Jonathan reels off his instructions— each one a firm stroke of my cock.
I hobble out, leaving Arabella to dust his forehead and apply a little lip gloss. Howard jumps in as she waltzes out, and she surreptitiously places a packet of deodorising wipes on the corner of my desk.
Howard barrels out with a flea in his ear. I glide back in to soothe the temper before PR phones down to announce the photo-call, hoping he’ll agree to lunch with his mother on Friday. “Impossible! Put her off and get Lincoln on the phone for me— and what is that disgusting citrus smell?”
“Furniture polish… The caterer wishes to know if you want organic wines on Thursday.”
“You deal… also need three entertainers— usual agency— all blond… and two tickets for the new production at Sadler’s Wells opening on Saturday. You’re looking peaky, Maris; get more sleep.”
I leave him talking to Lincoln and make a beeline for Janey’s desk to get Jonathan synchronised with Barry, his counterpart in the investment subsidiary.
“For fuck’s sake, Maris, you look like shit!”
“Morning, Janey; I didn’t sleep very well last night—”
“Or ever! Why do break your balls for that asshole?”
“I like working for Jonathan; he’s good for my career.”
“Maris… stop bullshitting yourself, wake up and get a life!”
****
I do like working for Jonathan. The last five years have been the most exciting in my professional career— and the most depressing in my personal one.
Over the last five years, my feelings for Jonathan have developed to the point where I am in physical pain if I am apart from him for longer than a few hours. The weekends are purgatory. He is tall, dark and handsome; highly intelligent and quick-witted; innovative— a risk taker at the top of his game and angling for a big promotion. He’s already promised me that if he gets the job in Hong Kong, then I’m going with him. He always says, “Maris, I cannot do this without you. Please promise me that you won’t leave.”
I always promise that I won’t. Why would I?
However— and it must be them and not me because I am closer to him— everybody else thinks he’s a perfect shit and an asshole to boot. I have seen him take people down a peg or two, fire employees and have them frog-marched off of the premises, make Cindy cry, and stiff Lincoln over budgets and deadlines more times than a King’s Cross whore gets it on a Friday night.
I’ve proven myself to be a very capable and useful assistant. If we relocate to Hong Kong, then I feel it would be the perfect time for us to take the next step in our relationship.
****
“Maris!”
“Coming, Jonathan!”
“Have more self-respect, Maris! You run around him like a puppy and he doesn’t even remember what your surname is… Pick me up for lunch.”
“Okay, Janey…”
I scurry back to Jonathan’s office, sensing energy levels rising.
“What is it, Jonathan?”
“Sabre Corp is rolling over. As soon as the board meeting is finished, I want the team assembled. We’re going for the lot!”
“Right!”
“I hope you didn’t have plans for this evening; this could be an all-nighter.”
“No, that’s fine. What about my appraisal?”
“Oh. Fill in the form and I’ll sign it later. Right!”
I love the way he says ‘Right!’; it gets me all squishy inside.
“And Maris…”
“Yes, Jonathan?”
“Remove the smell of furniture polish from this office by the time I get back. It’s making my nose itch.”
“Of course.”
****
I decamp to the bathroom and attempt to wipe my pits with a screen wipe.
“What the hell are you doing, Maris?”
“Oh hi, Lincoln… forgot my deodorant.”
“Your dream of a boss has just shafted me again. I swear I’ll take a swing at that bastard!”
“Jonathan only has the company’s interests at heart, Lincoln. He’s extraordinarily visionary.”
“He’s a cunt. I hope you got your full bonus.”
“The appraisals aren’t due in until tomorrow.”
“Derek asked for the list of top performers at the meeting yesterday— deadline was last night.”
Jonathan will have put my name forward.
“I’m sure it’s all in hand. We’re going for Sabre Corp— Jonathan has called a team meeting straight after the board meeting.”
“Jesus!”
Lincoln bolts to muster his troops.
I scurry back to clean the office. My pits begin to itch and then flare up.
“Ouch!”
Janey appears. “What’s wrong?”
“I used some screen wipes to get rid of the citrus-perfumed deodorant I used this morning, and it burns like hell.”
“Why?”
“It was making Jonathan’s nose itch.”
“Prick! Heard about Sabre. What do you want from the deli for lunch?”
“Uhm… just a salad.”
“Get a life, Maris.”
I grind my teeth and picture Jonathan— just as he was in the photograph he posted to his Instagram account last summer; the one of him in white swimming trunks, standing beside Giovanni, at the poolside bar at the hotel in Hawaii. I Photoshopped out Giovanni’s hand, which was resting on Jonathan’s hip. I knew he didn’t like it but he was too polite to say anything to Giovanni. That’s Jonathan: all heart really.
When we’re in Hong Kong, it’ll be me beside him and my hand resting on his hip and he won’t mind at all.