Iris (The Wild Side)(9)

I let him think about that, realize how incriminating it was. I’d certainly been obsessing about it myself.
“So f*cking what, dude?” he finally shot back. “So she knew who you were and pretended she didn’t. Doesn’t prove she’s not into you.”
“It proves she’s a liar.”
“Again, so f*cking what? Most people are liars. She’s nice to you. She’s into you. Sounds like she’s a f*cking ace in bed. She hasn’t asked for a thing from you, aside from your dick. I say just go with it. She shows up, you f*ck her however you please. She leaves, take that Lourdes chick out. She’s hot. Probably more of the relationship type, which is what you’re looking for, God only knows why.”
I grimaced. I couldn’t even imagine going out on a date with someone at this point. My head was too screwed up for that.
“Not ready for that yet? Good. So keep it simple. Go f*ck Candy. I won’t take offense. I was planning to bang her when she quits, but you can have her, if you’re so inclined. Hell, go bend her over her desk right now. I’ll put on some headphones and pretend it isn’t happening.”
“That’s generous,” I got out, feeling slightly nauseated at the thought. I wasn’t even that tempted, and just thinking about it made me feel a little guilty, which was ridiculous, because Iris and I had never so much as talked about being exclusive.
And for all I knew, she was with that f*cker in the Jag as we spoke.
“Well, you’re my friend, and I feel sorry for you. Forty years old without an ounce of game. Sad old bastard. Listen, if you’re not ready to f*ck someone else, just go in there and at least let Candy give you a blow job. She’s waxed on, ad nauseum, about how good she is at oral. She’s always walking around, sucking on something or other, trying to get a rise out of me. Literally.”
“You have the most messed up relationships with your assistants, I swear,” I told him, and not for the first time.
“They call me the tyrant. Did you know that? Often. My employees, past and present. It’s become my nickname. I think they started a Facebook group about it.”
I tried not to laugh, though I doubted he was exaggerating much.
“Don’t believe me? We can ask Candy about it. I like her to be honest. She knows that. We ask her and she’ll tell you I am hellish to work for. A demanding bastard. I don’t like to ask for things twice, and I expect her to catch on quick.
I explain on day one that I don’t f*ck where I sleep. I’m civilized like that. And if I sign your paycheck, fuuuck no, I’m not making my life messy. So what does she do? She dresses like a f*cking sex kitten and brushes her tits against me every chance she gets. She keeps a jar of lollipops on her desk and sucks on them whenever she thinks I might notice.
And she’s not the exception, she’s the rule. This is how it always goes: They sign a lot of paperwork, agree to a lot of things, hate working for me, and about three months in, they all quit.”
“Because you’re a tyrant,” I pointed out.
“No, you see, that is the interesting part. They never, ever quit because of that. I make it clear from day one, if you want to f*ck me, you won’t be working for me when it happens. No exceptions. They all agree, and a few months later, after brushing their tits against me, bending over to show me their sweet little asses, me saying no all the while, and what happens? They quit, and beg me to f*ck them.”
“And what do you do?”
“I oblige. You’ve seen the women I hire. I f*ck their brains out. This lasts anywhere from a day to a week, and then I send them on their way, with a glowing reference, because I’m nice like that. Though I have to say, the whole thing pisses me off. I like the eye candy, but I’m sick of training them.
You see how Candy is? You came to the door, she didn’t answer it, so you had to let yourself in. We had to serve ourselves coffee, because she was busy taking cleavage selfies. She’s terrible, since she’s relatively new, and by the time I get her trained properly, she’ll be quitting to, yanno, f*ck me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Poor guy. These are really relatable problems you have.”
He grinned. “They’re about as relatable as your problems, my friend. Hot, barely legal blonde stalking you, obsessed with your dick.”
I cringed inwardly. He had a point. Sadly, jaded as he was, he almost always did.
“Candy!” he shouted.
She came sauntering back in with a smile. “What, babe?”
“I was just telling Dair about that private Facebook group. It’s called Turner the Tyrant or something. Tell me the truth. Are you in that group?”
“Yep.” She looked pretty smug about it. “Those women go off about you on the daily.”
He grinned like it made him happy. “Please give them a message for me. I don’t give two, scratch that, I do not give one solitary f*ck if you all want to vent about me together.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Your last assistant, Coffee . . . ” she began.
I had to blink a few times at that name.
“ . . . just did a post about the size of your dick,” she continued. “She hates your guts, but she’s doing you a service. She said you were nine inches hard.” She held up her arm, making a big circle with the fingers of one hand. “And thick. I called bullshit. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
I just about choked on the sip of coffee I’d just taken.
What the f*ck? The sad thing was, this was a pretty average interaction for them. I was starting to think he just kept an assistant around for entertainment purposes. Candy certainly never seemed to do any actual work.