Shay

thirteen

Ibra was apparently one of Harry's slaves, as I liked to call them.

Probably, he did anything Harry wanted without getting money for it, so he could say that he once worked for no other man like Harry Samuels himself. Under which circumstances did not matter.

On the other hand, I noticed that it wouldn't suit Harry to be THAT much of an asshole. I imagined that he paid his employees very well. He would probably pay me for another kiss.

I laughed at that thought.

Perhaps I would even get a bonus for another French kiss, or a request for a job under his name after some good fellatio.

Ibra nodded to Harry and made his way to the stairs I had been looking for when I had been running away from Harry.

John seemed to be exhilarating for the first time and let the calm flow through his lungs. Apparently, Harry's business was now really important and they couldn't just drop it. I looked briefly at Harry and thought about what it'd be like if he'd just drop this meeting and put his whole attention back on me, kiss me again and press my whole trembling body against the elevator.

But when he caught me watching him closely, holding his gaze on my eyes, we both knew that it would not happen so soon.

I interrupted his look on me and looked down. I wanted neither him nor John to exchange any words that referred to the happenings of the kiss. They didn't have to. I finally realised the consequences that could come up. I didn't want it to go public.

Also even though I had an inner feeling of yearning to Harry and his what I have experienced to be incredible touches, I also had an inner rage on him, and on his stupid behaviour.

Yes, I had replied to his kiss with kissing back, but he was the one who had these intentions first.

I was simply swept away.

And this little bit of anger at him seemed to surpass my nice feelings for him, making me have the will to expose Harry in public, to call him a moron, and to destory his career.

But that'd be stupid. I'd lose my job because I'd be called a stupid, dumb slut – at least Mrs. Smith would do that. I'd be put to shame. All people who would read this article would state that all I did was using him so that I had something to write.

I did not know whether this was actually the case.

People would defend Harry though he was just as guilty as I was.

The kiss was wrong.

I knew it now, too.

But if people didn't defend him, and even praise me for exposing him, I'd still break the trust that Miss Smith had built between our newspaper and Harry. It was far too valuable to destroy. Harry definitely didn't need any bad publicity but the exact opposite.

I didn't even know why I kept this rage in me, at all. Maybe because the kiss didn't fix anything. I didn't forgive him for what he had said.

He had given me all of his respect because I was not a "slut", not like "all the other women" who'd immediately jump on his body or fall down on their knees.

I knew that he even saw it as a compliment that I paid attention to his "compliment" and that he could bring me to boil.

The kiss, however, was apparently his excuse. Not because he used the wrong words but because, apparently, I misunderstood. That's how he'd explain this situation to himself.

Maybe he just wanted to say that I am a woman with class.

I was, or at least I wanted to call myself classy. And I wanted to express pure class, especially now that I was in this position. Or just for the position I was striving for. Or for the situation that Miss Smith wanted me to strive for. For what it was, it didn't matter, I wanted to be a woman with class, very different from Jenna.