Chastity is just an ordinary girl. Living an ordinary life.
Until one day. It was only supposed to be a job interview. But it turned into so much more.
She met him. Mr Cesar. And everything changed.
But who is he really? Why does he disappear at ni...
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An alarm clock rouses Cesar from slumber. Groaning, he leans across his bed to turn the damn thing off.
That's when he realizes the sound isn't an alarm clock at all, but a telephone call from his secretary, and that he is not actually in bed, but in the middle of a meeting with his entire office, all of whom are staring at him, awaiting some kind of verdict.
Great. It's one of those days.
Coming into work the night after a full moon is always such a headache.
"Sir?" says his vice president. He's enjoying this; Cesar can tell. "Can you offer your opinion, Sir?"
Cesar clears his throat and glances at the slides.
"Well," he says. "I think you really hit the nail on the head, Horace. In my professional opinion, if we continue our economic growth trajectory at its current rate, we should be able to boost the sales curve for this buy-in and empower us to monopolize the technology industry in a scalable modality that's consistent with our corporate values, assuming of course that our gestalt about self-driving trains is correct."
They teach you in business school that you don't need to actually know anything – you just need to occasionally drop some big words and sound impressive, and everyone will lap it up. Never mind that the VP's presentation is about videocameras and has absolutely nothing to do with self-driving trains.
Cesar smiles wolfishly. "If that's all," he says. "My secretary tells me I have another meeting."
He sweeps out the room.
The million-dollar lobby walls are conveniently reflective, and Cesar catches his reflection on their surface as he walks. Damn, he thinks, delighted. Chiseled jawline, ripped biceps, pecs that bulge against a shirt that's just a little too tight. If you squint, you can see the outline of every single one of his perfectly sculpted abs against his Hugo Boss shirt as he moves. He stops for a moment and flexes, admiring the picture they make, until a splash and a shout from the other side of the lobby makes him turn.
His mouth falls open. He closes it again, quickly, but he cannot take his eyes off the sight before him.
Breasts.
Two enormous globes, nearly spilling out of the too-small blouse that can barely contain them, the most beautiful, perky, unblemished, virginal boobs he has ever set eyes on (and as the famous CEO of BigBillionaire, he has set eyes on hundreds).
Reluctantly, he tears his eyes away from the breasts to examine the face they belong to. He gets the impression of eyes, a nose, and a mouth, before his own eyes are drawn inexorably back to her front –
"L-Lancherlot," the girl is saying. She looks mortified and innocent. His inner wolf howls with delight. She smells delicious, like nothing he has ever smelled before, and it is all he can do to contain himself. She stares at him, and his inner wolf threatens to burst free. To devour her.
Specifically, her delicious golden globes.
He clears his throat and gestures. "You might want to put those away," he says. "Miss.. er..."
"Lancherlot," she says again.
"Sorry... I was distracted."
His eyes catch sight of a dark shape in the pond, two eyes that watch from the shadows. Right. "You're here for the position of assistant. Let's go to my office, where we can conduct this interview away from prying ears."
She nods. At least, he thinks she does. Even with her arms covering her breasts, they continue to mesmerize him as they walk, two voluptuous yet innocent sirens of temptation –
"Wear this," he says brusquely when they reach his office. He shoves a coat at her. She wraps it around her as she sits, shielding her breasts from view.
"That's better," he says, ignoring his inner wolf's grumble of disappointment. "Now. What are your qualifications?"
He thinks she says something about having previously worked in a diner, having graduated college, and being good at talking to strangers. She rambles a lot, so it's hard to actually be sure. He glances down at the next question on his list.
"What do you think you will bring to the company?"
"Um... ermm... my intelligence? And... um... my work ethic?"
"Can you tell me a bit about why you think you will be a good fit specifically for BigBillionaire?"
"Well – I live close by. And I'm very smart, I'm good at lots of things..."
He sighs. "Miss Lancherlot, do you even know what this company does?"
"W-what... what it does?"
"What we sell, our mission statement, that sort of thing."
"Um... well... ah... you sell... cars, I think... and your mission statement... um... your mission statement..."
It was a bit of an unfair question. He's not even sure he remembers everything the company sells. Or the company mission statement. To be honest, he's not even sure the company has one. But it's clear this girl can't BS on her feet, and that's all he needs to know. He shakes his head. She stares at him, crestfallen, water still dripping down her face, toward her chest...
"I think I must ask you to leave, now, Miss Lancherlot."
She shuffles out, still dripping, still clutching the front of her chest.
His inner wolf screams at him, like an enraged zombie thirsting for brains.
"Oh, be quiet!" he snaps, and digs under his desk for some whiskey.
