Rearranging You

ANGELA

“Angie! Come on, a bunch of us are heading downtown to Bijox!” Someone calls to me from the other side of the stall, but I’m too busy to care.

I’ve finally got the fit bartender to take the plunge, and while I’m pressed firmly against the door with my back to it, he supports me with my thighs across each of his shoulders and his mouth devouring my pussy.

We’ve been playing this silly little game for weeks now. Will we? Won’t we? But the thing about me is that I always get what I want—and with a clever tongue like his, all the effort’s worth it.

“Yes, yes…fuck just like that. Don’t you dare fucking stop,” I call down to him breathlessly without a single care for the other patrons in the room.

His rhythm is reaching perfection and it won’t be long now until my orgasm takes over and coats that sexy beard of his. I might even be kind enough to lick it off…if he manages it a second time around.

“You like that?” he calls up against me, and the vibrations have me recoiling tighter.

He almost didn’t believe me earlier when I invited him to follow me in here, and it’s gone from flirty little comments to his tongue on my clit. Isn’t it nice how things develop sometimes?

“Angie?” Another person calls out for me just as I’m getting in the zone, but unfortunately, I know I have to answer this one as the voice belongs to my cousin, Mia.

“Little busy here,” I shout a bit too raggedly as the man below me keeps up his tantalizing pace.

Oh, we’re getting close now, so deliciously close that I can already feel my legs starting to shake. A few more seconds and I will be done for.

“But Angie it’s the—” Her voice is cut off by the slamming of the main door, and thick-booted footsteps echo around the restroom.

I have no idea who it is nor do I want to care at this moment in time, but I’m left with little choice when I find myself thrown head-first from my perch and over towards the wall.

“What the hell?” I yell while finding my feet, only to stare out of the stall and into the face of one of New York’s finest, finally realizing how fucked I am.

***

Several magazines are thrown down on the desk in front of me with my drunken face plastered over the front. I don’t know what I was thinking with that top, but at least my hair looks nice, all things considered.

“Public indecency, Angie, really?” My mother practically screams at me, and rather than interrupt the oncoming speech, I take a sip from the iced coffee I brought in here with me.

It was 100 percent worth being fifteen minutes late to get here, but again my mother would think differently about that. We never see eye to eye, and I think if we ever did, we'd both die from shock.

Ever since my father died, she's been obsessed with this perfect image of herself and this family.

It's no secret that she hates having to take over his company while finding a replacement. If she acted more human, I'd probably find it in myself to feel sorry for her.

"I just don't understand what's happened to you. One minute you're attending Yale, studying law, and the next you're living like—like a Kardashian!" Ouch. She could have at least said Paris Hilton.

"Is it me? Are you punishing me for losing your father? Is that what this is?" she questions, but I know by now that she's not really looking for an answer.

None of mine could ever live up to the ones conjured up in her own head anyway, so instead, I rest my head back against the chair.

It’s changed a lot since my dad was here; there’s a lot more femininity about the place but I’m not sure if that’s because of her, or because of her PR team.

Nothing screams women in business more than contemporary art and flowery furnishings, and she can’t have her office falling short, that’s for sure.

“Are we done?” I ask, rising to my feet and shaking my empty coffee cup filled now with just ice.

If looks could kill I’d have dropped dead right now but I’m not dead—my father is—and as much as she wants to be blasé about it, it is her fault.

She was the one that was meant to take the car to the airport that day to visit my aunt’s charity gala. But when she got food poisoning, rather than just simply admitting that she was ill, she made my dad go instead.

Only he didn’t make it and was hit by a drunk driver not even a mile out of the driveway.

“I mean it Angie. Things have to change around here or I’ll be forced to take action,” she threatens, but I only shrug.

What could she possibly do to me? My half of Dad’s money was already handed over to me months ago and I’d rather die myself than get dragged into the family business.

As far as I’m concerned I’m only here because she asked me to be and because she’s my mother. That’s still got to count for something, right?

“Take whatever action you like.” I scrunch my nose at her condescendingly before walking out again.

Only not before winking seductively toward her male receptionist with the cute glasses… What a conquest he would be.