A Guide To Becoming A Teenage Hipster

Step [14]: Everyone Loves Ivanka

Extra: A Peek Into Cinta’s Mind

YOU WOULD THINK that after I landed a journalism job for one of the biggest sports magazines’ in the country that I would be happy. Overjoyed. Maybe even borderline ecstatic. Well no. No I was definitely not happy. Why? Well let the record show that I for one will and always will be a feminist. And to anyone who call’s me conceited, stuck up and arrogant for classifying myself as one, to you my friend, I say, F U. I am a woman. I have boobs and female organs that cause me the most unbearable pain every single month, for a whole week. And thats excluding the excruciating pain that we face when it comes to waxing our body, underarms, upper lip and don't even get me started on bikini line waxing. 

So you can imagine my pain when I was one of the 40 female workers employed to Sporteva; the magazine company I work for, and the only female journalist they have working there. Lets also not forget that Sporteva has a total of 32 journalists. Lets all take a moment to soak up on how ridiculous those statistics are. I literally took a week to get over it, where I was constantly moaning to Patrick about how dumb those numbers were. I even told him that there was no way I was going to work in an industry that was dominated by penises, and that I was going to turn down the job offer. But like always, Patrick is always sensible, always clear minded and smart to the point where I feel like bashing his head in. Is it so goddamn hard for the man to just be unrealistic sometimes? Apparently not.

Okay so I guess I am making excuses for not being happy about this job. The pay is great, the work environment is great and even the 32 other male’s who I’m working with are pretty goddamn funny. But. God, there always is a ‘but’ when it comes to my life. I wish I could get rid of the goddamn ‘but’, which in other words can be summarised as Tyler. Im scared of Tyler. Or more so, Im scared of bumping into Tyler, and even worse having to report on Tyler. Why?

Well it seems like Mr. Waterford’s son really lived up to his father’s expectation. Olympian swimmer, one time gold medalist, two time bronze medalist, idolised by fans, money pouring out of his ears, and the tabloid articles about his high profile relationship with porn star turned actress Ivanka Silver makes him a pretty big name in the sports industry. And yeah, of course he’s dating someone who came out of the adult entertainment business. That is so Tyler. 

 My palms are getting sweaty just thinking about that jerk-off. He makes me so unsettled and the fact that I will most probably have to face him sooner or later just makes me scared. Because of course I will always have feelings for him. Don't judge me brain! That first love never dies shit is true to a certain extent. I hate him, but I care about him. No, what. Me care about Tyler? Absolutely not. Nope, not after what he did to me. I care about him, maybe in a way where I’m hoping he’s happy and content with his life. But I will never consider being with him, but I care about him to the extent where I genuinely want him to be happy. I hope his relationship with the porn star is as good as Patrick and mine’s. 

CHAPTER 14: MONEY ON MY MIND

[Tyler’s POV]

“WILL YOU CLASP my bra strap for me babe?” The bronze goddess standing over me asks; her body bent over slightly to give me a good look at her long legs and tight ass. 

Smirking I get up and clasp the silky red bra for her, as I start kissing her smooth and vanilla smelling neck as my hands trailed down her back.

I unfortunately didn't get to go very far because my phone started buzzing which meant one thing. The goddess had to leave because Ivanka had just entered the building, and I highly doubt she would be pleased to see my new flavour of the month standing in red underwear which looked incredible on her, but probably very shit on Ivanka.