Vive used to rely on diet pills to keep her going. However, with much hope and a lot of time spent in rehab, she’d quit her methamphetamine addiction. Blake preferred cock as his stimulant. Hard, hung, uncut, cut, imported or domestic—it didn’t matter. Like Vive’s speed balls, Blake wasn’t getting any dick either.
“Okay, kiddies, I best get upstairs. I have gossip to spread, editorials to write, celebs to expose.” Vive extended her goodbyes. Read by four million people weekly and covering all things salacious, Debauchery magazine came out in print and digital editions. A publication she’d founded and thrived on, it ruined people’s lives but made hers. “Next time I’ll bring my own binoculars. I have a gold pair the Metropolitan Opera gave me with their media kit.”
Blake nodded. “I’m off to kick some client butt.” In an attempt to not make the tented erection in his pants obvious, he placed a folder over his lap.
Taddy laughed.
He headed to the marketing division on the office’s other side. On his way out, Taddy’s new hire, Kelly, came in. She plopped some red fabric on Taddy’s desk followed by her next espresso shot.
“What’s this?” Taddy watched Kelly place a folder with the garment.
“A pashmina for your New Year’s Eve trip with Miss Easton.” Kelly beamed with brown-nosed reassurance. She’d secured her position at Brill, Inc., hence a place in New York City society.
“Cute, thank you,” Taddy complimented, accustomed to her employees’ generous gifts. Nevertheless, it in no way became old, in particular a red pashmina from Burberry.
New hires recruited from Taddy’s alma mater at Columbia gave her Hermes and found themselves promoted at once. Those from New York University favored presents from Bloomie’s—and often lost their way in middle management. Nevertheless, the NYC Fashion Technology graduates were the worst. They made the mistake of buying Taddy Pinkberry yogurt, and generally lasted less than a year.
Kelly had graduated from a university Taddy had never heard of before. She seemed different.
Taddy had caught the twinkle in Kelly’s Kewpie-doll eyes the second she walked through her 42nd Street doors. At one p.m., she noticed Kelly didn’t “lunch” status quo. Brill girls ate vegan, juiced or pharmed prescription pills like they were Good & Plenty’s. Not Kelly—she actually took her hour lunch to eat at Burger Heaven. Kelly didn’t “ritty” methylphenidate, despite Brill girls regaling Kelly with tales that it would make her work faster and be more focused.
At press launch parties when Brill girls snorted coke, asserting it helped them breathe better from their botched nose jobs, Kelly declined party favors. When the Brill girls poured Grey Goose vodka down their throats, alleging it enabled better blowjobs without gagging, Kelly stuck to seltzer with lime.
Taddy offered Kelly a Coke Zero or Lipton Iced Tea.
Notably, Kelly didn’t consume caffeine either.
Brill girls showed off their waxed legs and air-brushed with self-tanner cleavage in Dior, Herve Leger and Pucci outfits at the office.
Kelly dressed modestly in Michael Kors, Calvin Klein and Donna Karan—American and wholesome.
No one at her media company could reckon Kelly’s agenda other than odd. The fashion division trash-talked Kelly, saying she hailed from another planet, Los Angeles perhaps. The beauty division ignored her, deeming Kelly invisible. And the lifestyle division thought she existed as a 1950s reincarnate. They possessed a love-hate relationship with Kelly from afar.
Taddy knew all along what made Kelly unique.
On the contrary, Taddy didn’t mind a little diversity. She employed Jewish girls, Catholics, Muslims and a few self-claimed Buddhists who barely understood yoga let alone much about eastern religion. Adding a Mormon girl to the mix intrigued her. So did the circumspect Kelly, who never carried clients’ garment samples out from the office—and therefore, she never stole a thing. And she could write press releases with no revisions. That was another anomaly.
Kelly’s morals made her endearing and different from the horny, ruthless pit bulls she normally encountered. And Kelly reported to work at dawn probably because she wasn’t wasted from the night before, able to press Taddy’s early-morning, midmorning and late-morning espresso shots.
But Taddy realized Kelly would have her shortcomings on some things, her social calendar being one of them. Painting the town red over the holiday didn’t appeal to Taddy, or any Manhattanite for that matter. Not one as temperature-dropping and crowd-drawing as New Year’s Eve. Staycations are so last year. My heart is set on St. Tropez. There, she could decompress poolside, topless, and always unknown.
Taddy held on to Kelly’s St. Tropez offering. “I plan on being topless throughout my entire holiday.” She wrapped the pashmina around her shoulders to show her gratitude. “This shall keep me snug on the plane ride. It’s always nippy in first class.”
“Naked?”
“Always.”
Kelly drew her clipboard to her tiny breasts. “Miss Brill, December’s temperature is cool in St. Tropez. Your file includes a weather report.”
She flipped the folder open. Cool wasn’t in the forecast—downright cold to freezing was what Mother flipping Nature ordered. Crap.
“Sit down, Kelly.” She pushed the Lalique-framed snapshot of her NFL football crush, Brayden Brooks playing at last year’s Super Bowl, to her right. Her Lanvin-cuffed wrists swept her client’s lipstick project to her left.
Challenged to come up with anything more unique than Rose Petal, Sugar Plum and Earth Red for lip color names, she’d been rebranding SKUs for Baden Cosmetics. Taddy replaced their stickers with new labels, which included Double Penetration, Licked All Over and her personal favorite, Cunty Red. Clients hired her for one thing and one thing only, to get them press. Lip gloss called Sugar Plum wouldn’t secure an editor’s attention at HerSay magazine. But Cunty Red? Most definitely.
“What is it, Miss Brill?” Kelly pushed her unbleached chignon up and sat on the seat’s edge with a sharp inhale.
“We have a problem…a whopper to be exact.” Taddy heaved her breasts out. She loved scaring the flat-chested new hires with her knockers.
“Do we?” Kelly asked in terror. Taddy assumed not from her boss’s breasts, for those she knew Kelly admired because she always stared at them fondly. Her dismay was for the word “problem” that came from Taddy’s mouth.