Russ (18+) | ✔

6

Charlotte

"Now you listen here Sherbet, Tim's outside waiting to drive you back to Mercer's place! Get your blonde ass in the car!"

"Excuse me, Mr. Grimes?!"

"Call HR about my language if you want. But do it later! I knew I shouldn't have chosen you for this job," Mr. Grimes murmured the last part before he shouted again. "And wear a hat!"

I had opened my mouth to respond but Grimes had already hung up. Ripping off my robe, I pulled on some jeans and a sweater, along with my sunglasses and curl cap before making my way outside into the black SUV with tinted windows in which Tim awaited my arrival.

With dread filling my belly at the thought that Mr. Grimes knew what I was doing between the hours of twelve and three, I sat in an uncomfortable silence as Tim drove us back to Russ's penthouse.

"Tim, how bad is it?"

Tim was the company's mailman. He was extremely organized and did things that definitely were not inside his job description. Such as occasionally being a chauffeur.

He was paid handsomely though, and never drove anyone around just because they felt like it. Only when necessary. Or crazy clients show up attempting to stab employees in the cheek with their high heels, again.

"Do you want me to be honest Char?" Tim asked as he cocked a bushy red eyebrow at me through the rearview mirror.

"Yes," I whispered back, knowing he'd heard my response.

"I think Grimes said something about a forced vacation. I mean Lord knows you deserve one, the last one was what, three years ago," Tim chuckled, however, his laughter died as he saw the grim expression on my face.

"Why," I asked, again as a whisper. Just as the word left my lips, a flash blinded me before more followed.

"I'll let you figure that one out for yourself," Tim murmured as he parked the van in the far back of the parking garage where the paparazzi had apparently followed us.

"But I think you'll want this," Tim said, turning around to hand me a black surgeon mask with a white teddy bear mouth painted on it. "As much of a cunt that you can be whilst accepting your mail, I wouldn't send my ex into that crowd of vultures."

With a grateful smile, I put on the face mask and per Tim's instructions, waited for him to open my door. With a gentle arm on my waist, Tim steered us toward the elevator, leaving behind the flashing lights of the paparazzi's cameras.

. . .

The second Tim and I stepped out of the elevator, Mr. Grimes was shouting.

"You had one job, and you couldn't even do that right!"

"Don't yell at her like that! It's not her fault," Russ shouted at him.

I was immediately captivated by the sight of him. He had changed into his workout clothes and was covered with a light sheen of sweat. His hair was slightly matted and tousled, as though he had been running his fingers through it a lot.

"Okay, so you're both to blame! Doesn't change the fact that now I have to deal with this," Mr. Grimes shouted right back.

"It's not our fault!"

"Oh well, maybe you shouldn't be fucking in front of a window—"

"IT IS NOT OUR FAULT THAT PEEPING TOM DECIDED TO TAKE A PICTURE WITH HIS FUCKING DRONE," Russ yelled, his face turning puce as he angrily pointed a finger at the wall-length window.

"IF YOU HADN'T BEEN FUCKING YOU WOULDN'T HAVE TO BE IN THIS SITUATION!"

"CAN EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP," I piped up, though my words were muffled by the facemask, I was still more than loud enough to be heard. Russ turned to me and was about to say something but faltered for a second as he took in my appearance. Ripping away the facemask, I asked, "What do you mean about drones and a picture?"

"Great," Mr. Grimes grumbled. "A fucking publicist and she doesn't know what's going on with the media."

Throwing a glare at Mr. Grimes, Russ responded to my question. "Someone got a picture of me... and you," he began, gauging my reaction which I assume wasn't too good as he quickly attempted to lessen the blow. "But mostly me. I mean they can't even see you... And they arrested the guy. But TSR and all the other media platforms got it already."

I could feel my right eye twitching as anger combined with embarrassment flooded my system. A picture?

"How much did they see," I croaked the question, taking off my sunglasses as well.

Shifting around on his feet, Russ didn't respond, and neither did Mr. Grimes who was scowling at Russ as though his life depended on it.

"Just the back of my suit and your head thrown back in ecstasy as I gave you head," Russ answered quickly, visibly swallowing the lump in his throat.

Behind me came a small chuckle that Tim quickly attempted to cover up with a cough.

"Can I see the picture?"

Russ quickly nodded, and sprinted to the kitchen, returning with a green manila folder. Opening it, he handed me the single photograph that was inside.

*** please refer to photo in media bar if I'm not descriptive enough(imagine from a distance through tinted windows and without showing her face + the description I provide)***

Just as Russ had said, the photo only revealed his identity. The only things that were even remotely identifiable were my hair, which wouldn't help much since it was straightened at the time, and my outfit.

My head was thrown to the side causing my hair to curtain my face and my fingers buried in Russ's hair as my entire body arched towards his head. My legs rested limply over his shoulders, the left shifted slightly higher than the right to give me more leverage.

The photo was extremely erotic. So much so that I had felt my panties moisten as I analyzed it.

Clearing my throat as I handed Russ the picture, I asked, "What are people saying about it?"

"They thought you were just a fling," piped up Mr. Grimes who had been silent for a while. He was reading from his phone as he spoke."However, since they just saw you, a couple of 'em wanna know who the 'mystery girl' is. Most of them like you as a couple though, I haven't the slightest clue why. They're willing to let you reveal your identity when you're ready."

"What the hell kind of fans do I have," Russ murmured to himself, scratching his sweat-matted hair.

"Mostly young women if I'm being entirely honest. Southern women are more interested in sports than most men. But combine that with all women's interest in drama and a possible new basketball wife? Oh... And the purchase of facemasks has just gone up," Mr. Grimes chuckled at his phone with distaste. "Morons," he mumbled.

Exhaling deeply, I closed my eyes to prepare myself for a response that I dreaded hearing. "So what's the plan?"

"You're not gonna like it, Carlotta."

😊✌

Update on Sunday!