Hellllooooos
Please vote, I beg, ty
And feel free to comment, I’d love that and to hear your thoughts- all of them (;
>>>
The bitch arrives late.
I woke up this morning in a dazed rush, only to wait almost six hours for the prodigal son to return. Mr. Romano insisted that I stay with him and not do any work for the day.
So here I am, sitting in the stunning main lounge of the mansion, surrounded by comfy navy couches and state-of-the-art interior design.
The anticipation has been killing me for hours now, and I don’t know why. I don’t even care who this guy is, let alone what his name is.
On the bright side, Mr. Romano and I have had a nice six-hour chat. We sorted out my business plans and set a date for the launch, which isn’t too soon but also not too far off.
That took four hours, and the other two were spent listening to Mr. Romano’s stories about what his son did when he was a kid.
From what I’ve gathered, the Romano heir was quite the naughty child, and most of the stories were surprisingly funny.
I haven’t laughed like that in a long time, and it felt good-especially when I found out the kid stashed cake in his pocket at one event, and it messed all his clothes.
The story might not have been that funny, but the picture John showed me was. I have to admit, he was a really cute child.
Just as I start to wonder what he would look like now, he arrives-on cue.
I didn’t hear the massive, heavy doors open, probably because I was too busy daydreaming again.
Mr. Romano Jr. walks in, and w-he’s drunk as fuck-but God… is he beautiful.
I shouldn’t be thinking that, especially since I’ve already built an impression of hating everything about him. But I can’t deny that he’s built like a god. Even in a messed-up suit and clearly drunk, he looks hella sexy.
“I’M HOME!” he announces, and fuck, his voice is so sexy.
It’s husky and smooth, like chalk, deep but not overly so-just enough to sound full and rich. His accent carries a hint of British charm, sounding beautiful and peaceful, like something I could drown in and never come back up for air.
To be honest, the only reason I’m drawn to it is because I’m envious-of his voice and, of course, his looks. I wish my future boyfriend could talk like him and have even half of his physique.
I can’t tell if he has muscles under those clothes, but if he does, sharing is caring, and he’ll have to hand some over-because I definitely need more muscles to feel happy in my own skin.
Just as I thought my self-esteem couldn’t get lower,
“What tis this whore doing here?”
“James. Don’t be rude. She’s our personal assistant.”
My jaw drops, and then ‘James’ continues,
“Well I don’t givva fuck if your whore is also your personal slave.”
Now I think my jaw is about to fall off. Even with that sexy voice, his words hurt like shit.
Atleast John breaks the awkwardness. “Lilah, please escort James to his room. I think we’ve heard enough for today. I’m sure tomorrow will be better. My apologies.”
“Hah, stop sucking her asss dad,” James slurrs.
John shoves the now pissed and drunk James towards the stairs. Atleast now I know who the midget was talking about. I don’t blame her for wanting to lose her V to him, but thank God she didn’t, cause he’s a complete asshole.
I walk behind him up the stairs so he doesn’t fall backward. If he did, he’d probably squish me to death with his height of 6’2.
As he climbs the stairs, he mumbles incoherent words under his breath- none of which I can make out, but I know for sure, none of them are pleasant.
“You know you can leave me alone now. I think I’m fully capable of walking up the stairs myself, bitch.”
And of course, Murphy’s Law strikes: he stumbles, almost falling to the side, but I catch him before that happens.
His arm is slung around shoulder, and I can smell the alcohol reeking from him.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he spits.
God, he’s so annoying. Then he stops in his tracks, rubbing his temples.
“Just help me up the last steps you useless whore,” he seethes, clearly annoyed by his own struggle too.
I yank his arm over my shoulder and lift him up with all my strength as he leans his dead weight on me.
“God, could you hurry up!” he barks. His attitude is starting to piss me off.
“Well, you’re not a freaking feather, so deal with it,” I retort.
“You probably weigh more than me,” he states casually, looking annoyed with me.
Gosh that hurt.
We make it up the stairs and the second we reach the last one, he snaps, “Whore, get your hands off me!”
He shoves me off, causing him to stumble into the wall with a loud thud.
“God you are so infuriating! What the fuck do you want?” I yell at him.
“For you to get your dirty hands off of me and leave me alone. You can go enjoy fucking my father tonight, but don’t hit on me, you gold-digging bitch.”
Now he’s seething. I shouldn’t say anything for the sake of my job, but fuck it right now. James needs to be put in his place.
“Does it look like I’m hitting on you?! Because as far as I’m concerned, drunk assholes are not my type. And if you think you’re all that, then go check yourself and remove that stick from your ass- unless you need your butler to do it for you, you spoiled bastard!”
And there you have it-I gave it to him.
“Oh, so my little whore has a big mouth? And if you’re going to keep on running it around here, I’m going to stick my dick in it,” he hisses.
That comment shuts my mouth and refrais me from saying anything bad, because looking at his current state, he’d do it.
Seeing that I’ve finally shut up, he stumbles off into his room, things breaking and crashing things in the process.
*
I went straight to bed after that. Dealing with him was exhausting-absolute hell.
I don’t know who hurt him, but he sure as hell needs to learn when to shut up.
Everything he said cut deep, and it still does, even as I lie here an hour later at 7 p.m. It hurts like hell, I trust me, I know what hell feels like. I’ve been there, done that.
He really pissed me off-especially with that assumption about me fucking his father. Like, seriously? Who on earth thinks like that?
Offended? Absolutely. But I’ve been called worse. My father… well, he was a real asshole. Thanks to him, I’ve got the joys of PTSD. At least I don’t need antidepressants or SSRIs; my job keeps me busy enough to push through most days, sometimes even making me forget I have PTSD.
Still, I really need some rest. Today has been exhausting and way too long.
I snuggle into my blankets, thinking about James-his unruly, messy jet-black hair that’s wavy in most places, like mine. Except mine falls in softer beachy waves.
“And those eyes… so dark I couldn’t even tell they were green until he looked me straight in the eyes and swore at me. That deep, dark shade of green-intense, almost unreadable.”
Another thing to envy, I guess, since my eyes are just plain brown-nothing remarkable, nothing that draws attention. Not that I want attention. Trust me, I don’t.
But, I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone treat me nicely once in a while, maybe take me out, spend a little money on me… and definitely buy me food.
But what would it be like? To be treated right, for once? To be…
Zzzzzzz. Lights out.
*
Bang. Bang.
Not long after, I’m startled awake from my deep slumber.
“What’s that banging noise?”
And is that…?
>>>
It that what Lilah? Tell us!
What do you think is going on-leave a comment!
I wonder what’s about to happen next? ðŸ˜
Not anything normal, that’s for sure.
Comment