Breakfast with Mia

Breakfast With Mia

By Jordan Bell

Copyright © 2012 Jordan Bell

All Rights Reserved.

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This
ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to
share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for
each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was
not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you
for respecting the hard work of this author.

Please note:
This erotic story contains scenes of a very
graphic and adult nature which some may find offensive. This story is for sale
to adults only. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons
or events are purely coincidental. Please engage in safe, consensual sexual
practices only. Remember, this is a work of imagination and fantasy. All sexual
activities described herein are between characters 18 years old or older and
are always consensual.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six, Damian’s
Turn.

One

District Grounds was known for its pastries even though it
tried very hard to be a hip coffee shop. Free Trade signs and green energy
commandments plastered the walls, and true, the coffee was just what a girl
needed at
oh-my-god-o’clock
in the morning, but it was the pastries that
brought people from across the city to line up and beg to gain ten pounds.

This morning’s special was a puff pastry with delicate,
golden filo layers splitting from its center to rise at an apex of buttery
pleasure. Warmth rose from its center, steam colored when the door jingled open
to let in a cool blast of morning air. Drizzled at the convex center was
homemade white icing like snow, dusted with dried strawberry dust and white
chocolate shavings. The fine strawberry particles rose on the steam and when I
inhaled I could taste them dissolve at the back of my mouth.

This was going to be a delicious morning. The only x-factor
was the filling, which District Grounds head pastry girl had wisely left
unlabeled. A mystery wrapped in confectioner’s sugar. I turned the little white
plate 90 degrees, rested my chin in my hand, and tried to discover the secrets
of the universe hidden within the core of my breakfast pastry.

 The jingle bells trilled and another blast of morning city
air rushed into the coffee house and
he
entered, looking all CEO-like
and well groomed. He had a casual way about him, like it hadn’t occurred to him
he was wearing a $2000 suit and there wasn’t a Lincoln Town Car idling at the
curb for him. He was just an average Joe in a perfectly average coffee shop
with the best pastries in town.

When Damian Vaughn took a seat at my table, I nudged the
plain black coffee with two creams and half a packet of fake sugar in front of
him, except I’d used a full packet of real sugar because my boss really needed
to live it up a little bit.

“How much do I owe you?” He
actually
went for his
wallet like he might
actually
be carrying a buck twenty five in there. I
turned my plate again, eyeballing the edges of my breakfast dessert for
telltale signs of its melty middle.

“I got it, boss. And your bear claw.” I nodded at the white
bag between us. He dove in like a man possessed. “For someone who could have
anything he wanted for breakfast, you’re sadly disappointing. How am I ever
going to sell your secrets to the tabloids if you don’t go a little crazy from
time-to-time? Tomorrow I’m sneaking a double chocolate chip fudge muffin in
there instead.”

“You do and you’re fired.” His first bite was messy. The
hard frosting cracked and crumbled, sprinkled his burgundy satin tie. Pastry
flakes clung to his goatee.  Really, he was like a six foot child some days. “You
do realize I make ten times in a day as you do in a month? Twenty times. I can
afford my own bear claw and coffee.”

Damian leaned back in the wobbly wooden chair, hand-crafted
by artisans in the Catskills, according to an advertisement on the wall, and
took another a deep, uninhibited bite.

“Really? Twenty times? Guess that’s why you’re name’s on the
building. Since coffee and pastries are all
I
can afford, indulge me.
You can buy me an excessively expensive car as a Christmas bonus, which I will
never drive, but I’ll show off to all my girlfriends.”

“Deal.” Damian waved at the pastry I still hadn’t started
eating yet. “What’s today’s
chef-d’oeuvre
?”

“Not sure. I’m guessing something nutty and savory. Want to
take a guess before I begin my sinful affair with its fragile crust?”

“You know nothing about the world, Mia. It’ll be something
thick, like pudding, delicately sweet to pair with the topping. They wouldn’t
waste strawberry dust and white chocolate on something savory. Go on, life’s
short and you’re wasting it on your breakfast.”

I watched my boss wax poetic about life being short then
inhale the last of his bear claw without savoring a single bite of it. That’s
how it was, I guessed, when one could afford a do-over.

It was now or never then, and I carefully took the square of
dough in one hand and lifted it to my mouth. Crust bits broke apart at my touch
and when I took one slow, perfect bite, a wave of sweet white chocolate cream,
more decadent than I could have imagined, swept through me. It was
orgasmic.
I closed my eyes, ran my tongue through the sweet cream, felt the tiny bursts
of strawberry as the dust ignited on my tongue.

It took five bites to finish and with each, the pastry
dissolved its shape until I was licking white chocolate and filo crumbs from my
fingertips. With the last bite, I glanced at my boss who stared like he’d
caught me photocopying my ass in his office. I licked the sticky residue from
my lips and he handed me a napkin. Both of us looked a little guilty about the
whole thing.  

“That was inspired,” he mumbled. “Feel better?”

I blushed, feeling strangely like some kind of foodie
exhibitionist. “Much. And you were right. The inside was white chocolate cream.”

Damien stood suddenly, inspected his shirt and I handed him a
napkin from the ones he’d given me and he dusted himself off. He looked good as
new, like a million bucks.

“I am always right, Mia. That’s why my name is on the
building.”

I gathered the remains of our breakfast, tucked my coffee in
the crook of my elbow and followed him to the door. I tossed the evidence of
our breakfast into the trash, he held the jingle bell door open for me, and
followed me out onto the sidewalk. The Town Car revved to life and inched
forward to meet us because it was insane to make Damian Vaughn walk two feet. I
opened the door for him so he could slide in first. I followed.

“Well Mr. Vaughn,” I said when he was comfortable. “Let’s go
make you a million dollars. What do you think?”

Two

The partners called her “The Dragon” because she walked into
a meeting in her two inch stilettos and every man before her fell defeated at
her knees. She took companies over like they were the nerdy kids on the
playground and she was the bully who’d hit puberty early. She made Vaughn &
Marley a disgusting amount of money.

The staff called her “The Dragon” because her face was
shaped like a snout, all points and bones, because she never ate anything and
spent four hours a day on a stairmaster. She lashed her staff with a wicked,
ungrateful tongue and when she was feeling particularly spunky, ripped their
souls out with her bare hands and ate them. Corrine Aquirre was a predator and
everyone on the flowchart beneath her was simply the bones she cleaned her
teeth with.

The Dragon was in particularly good form that morning, snapping
insults at me like I’d just tried to sleep with her husband. I hustled in late
behind Mr. Vaughn even though it was his fault he’d forgotten his smart phone
at home and we had to go practically around the city like tourists to get it
and come back. It wasn’t even kind of my fault, but the sting of The Dragon’s
whip left welts and set the day on the wrong foot entirely.

The Dragon followed Mr. Vaughn into his office, harping and
tossing off threats before he took off his coat.

“Shrew.” I unloaded my crap onto my desk when the door shut behind
them. Across from me, my admin twins, Bethany and Laura, made dagger slices
across their throats in solidarity.

The Dragon unleashed a fireball in Damien’s office, a
barbarian scream preceded the breaking of something expensive, and then the
door flew open with Corrine Aguirre, blonde and tucked and pulled to pinching,
filling the doorway. Everyone in the office turned to stare while pretending
not to stare.

“You’ve a lot of nerve, Damien. You can call my secretary to
reschedule. Do this to me again and you’ll be sorry you’ve ever wasted my
time.” The Dragon pointed a red manicured nail at my boss, stabbed the air with
the tip, then abandoned him. I wondered if she actually asked for
virgin’s
blood red
when she went in to get her nails done.

We all stared, how could we not?

I turned and gave Damien a
what-the-hell-did-you-do
look and he shot back an equally impatient
mind-your-own-business
glare
and shut his office door.

“Oooh, girlfriend, one of these days that woman is going to
burn this building to the ground. You just wait. It’s a whole new brand of
crazy when she starts attacking a Vaughn.” Bethany stood like she was
stretching and bobbed her head in the direction of the corner closet. “Copy
room?”

I nodded. “Give me five.”

The copy room was the co-ed women’s bathroom sanctuary for
gossip and conspiracy theorizing. We used the noisy copier to hide our voices.

Laura had a comforting arm around Cara when I finally eased
into the supply closet. Poor Cara had the unfortunate job title of
The
Dragon’s Bitch
.

“It’s the shoes, that’s what’s got her panties all bunched
up. She accidentally put on her last season’s Minolo Blahniks and it’s been
hell since. How that monster doesn’t get fired is beyond me,” Cara sniffed.

“She’s putting out to the partners,” Luke suggested, but I
jumped in quick.

“No, she’s not.”

“And you know every little thing going on behind Vaughn’s
door, do you?” Bethany hooked her hip against the copy machine and crossed her arms
in a gossip showdown.

“No.” I thought for a moment. That wasn’t true at all. “Well,
yes, actually, but that’s beside the point. The Dragon likes women.”

The four of them gasped in stereo. Bethany swatted my
shoulder, Cara crossed herself, Laura giggled nervously, and Luke grabbed his
heart and fell into the paperclips

“You dirty little liar!” Bethany swatted me again and I swatted
back. She spun her hand in the space between us. “This is sanctuary and you’ve
never said! How do you know this, you backstabbing gossip hoarder?”

I hopped up onto the stack of paper boxes and kicked my toes
at the ground. They waited expectantly, salivating over such tender, juicy
gossip. “Because she’s practically a partner, right? She’ll be there as soon as
Georges retires in the fall. That woman is already bending over for those old
men and taking it like a champ. But she can’t be a lady with them; she’s got to
be a weapon they can use against corporate lawyers during their violent
take-overs. She’s got to be like them, so she never gets to be an actual woman.
She won’t want to go home to another man bending her over. She’ll want to go
home to someone who lets her be a girl, and she’ll want the painted toes and
smooth legs and stockings, not more stilettos and handcuffs.”

Luke made a little sound at the back of his throat. Bethany
fanned herself.

“Mia, you’re like a sexy magic-8 ball, you know that?” Laura
gave a little whistle. “Tell us more. What about that hot boss of yours? What’s
he into?”

“Damian? Nothing special. Vanilla with a cherry on top. It’s
not that he’s boring, he’s just an indecisive work-aholic. He goes on dates
sometimes and has me send flowers to them the next day. Never calls again. Kind
of tragic, really.”

Cara tsked. “Now that’s just a shame. He’s what, about
thirty five?” I nodded. “He needs to find himself an eighteen year old girl to
loosen him up. Someone who he can take for a ride in his sports car, if you
know what I mean.”

We laughed and the conversation dissolved into naughty
speculation about some of the new interns who couldn’t be a day over nineteen.
I couldn’t imagine Damian in a sports car with an eighteen year old girl. She’d
wear his patience too quickly.

The afternoon wrapped up at five and I was shimmying into my
ugly boots for clomping through street muck on my way home. Damian’s ride only
went one way and that was mostly due to his love of bear claws. I was lacing up
when he leaned across my desk and brought with him the scent of aspen and
evergreens, ski lifts and icicles.

“Mia?”

“Yes, boss. What can I do for you? You’ve got thirty-two, no
wait, thirty-one seconds.”

“I can afford overtime. I need a personal favor from you.”

“We’ve talked about this, Mr. Vaughn. I won’t pick up your
dry cleaning.
You
have a car. Three cars. With drivers. I have a subway
pass. It’s got my name on it and it’s laminated.” I pulled the laces tight and
swiveled to look him in the eye. The usually neat part in his dark hair was
messed up, pieces sticking up at odd angles. Sex hair, except that it wasn’t. Damian
was too distracted for something so exciting.