CEO impostor's

thrust. - Do you like my cock in that greedy pussy? I know I'm blushing, I always get that way with your insinuations and dirty words. My boss is waiting for an answer and this is what I give him: - Yes. - Yes, what? - he insists, fucking me harder. His fingers now digging into my hips as he pulls me closer to the edge of the table, changing the angle so he goes deeper. - Yes sir! Please fuck me. He gets out and turns around, pushing me bent over the table. I gasp as I'm penetrated from behind, Charles lifts my leg and holds it in the air, doing exactly what I asked.

Strong, vigorous, merciless. We cum together and he's still inside me, holding me, when he rests his chin on my shoulder. The kisses peppered on my back fill me with affection and hope. It's a shame that it's a fool's hope and that this was the last time we were together. CHAPTER 1 A Year Later There's a saying in Los Angeles that goes something like this: "you think you've reached the end of the barrel until you live on Skid Row." I'm in the "city of angels", but it's the part that doesn't appear on postcards of California, with so many homeless people in terrible hygiene and housing conditions that the UN even compared it to a refugee camp. This is where one of the biggest economies in the world operates, with people coming every day looking to be a movie star, shine in the world of fashion or start a multi-million dollar business. However, it is also the place of broken hearts and shattered dreams. It's common to walk through the ugly part of downtown, in the center, and come across actors, singers, CEOs and even medalists sleeping on the cold floor, these are people who lost everything and started to live in poverty. I thought I would be a music star, but that didn't work out either. I consider myself a lucky girl, because despite being yet another person whose hopes have been trampled, I can walk the streets with my son in my arms and know that I have a roof over our heads. I greet Carter, the bartender and owner of Texa's Club Bar, who stops what he's doing to tickle Noah's belly. My baby smiles at the tall man in a cowboy outfit and a look like he could beat anyone in an arm wrestle, as if he were his best friend. - It's going to be a long night, we already have half the tables full - he warns, which makes me check the main room of the bar and see that he's right. - I'll be back in ten minutes. I rush to Carter's office and lay my baby down in the seat that rocks whenever he moves, and tuck her into her playpen. Unfortunately, I don't have a babysitter to look after him, so I leave him safe with Baby Shark. I swap my sneakers for pink cowboy boots and quickly braid my hair, letting it fall over my left shoulder. I turn on the baby monitor and, with a kiss on my son's forehead, I go to work. When I was forced to leave my old job to get away from Charles Whitmore, I was left destitute and, unfortunately, I became part of the homeless population for a few days. I didn't want to worry my mother, so I delayed asking for help. I thought it would resolve on its own, but that wasn't the case. Mom is a Texan with a big heart who would have found a way to come to Los Angeles just to beat up my old boss, if she had known that the man promised to love me and then threw me in the trash. If she could, she would have given me anything I desired, but my family is very humble. I survive on subsistence on a small farm in the interior of Texas, near Houston, far from where I am. However, when she discovered that I was in need, she pulled some strings, spoke to everyone she had contact with and it was a church member who reminded her of Carter, an old childhood friend of my older brother. After a desperate plea for help, he let me live in the small room above the Texas-themed bar for cheap rent, as well as giving me a position as a waitress. Two months later, I found out she was pregnant. With all the stress, I wasn't paying attention to my period, and it took me a while to realize that Charles had left me with more than a broken heart. I was afraid that Carter would throw me out, as the bar is not a suitable place for children, however, he felt sorry and let me stay as long as I sang on the small stage without charging a fee. So here I am, a twenty-two year old waitress with a three month old baby. - What's the special dish, sweetie? - a rude man asks with an arrogant air. I know his suit is expensive, it reminds me of the ones Charles wore, custom made, added to his snobbish attitude, I'm sure he's rich. There's something about guys with money that makes them act superior. In an area like Skid Row, they really are. Which makes me question his presence here. His place is a fine-dining restaurant overlooking the sea. - Pork ribs and tomato soup. He tilts his head to the side and licks his lower lip suggestively, I don't need anything else to know what kind of client he is. Unfortunately, it's very common to have guys hitting on me and Leslie, the other waitress. Two of her friends, who are also wearing suits but somehow look less rich than the jerk, giggle. - Are you on the menu? Your joke is so expected that it doesn't take me by surprise. I had heard variations of this several times, except when I was working with my baby bump. My feet hurt from standing and I can't stand listening to Tim McGraw on the speakers

bull. - Not worth it. - You know very well that I don't accept harassment in my bar! Carter has turned customers away before, but these are wealthy and could mean new patrons at the bar, unlike the low-income ones we usually have. Carter's bar is clean and organized, but it's far from being a hit with tourists or locals. - It is not alright. Let's serve them and that's it. I passed the order on to Brooke, our chef, and she saw the interaction through the opening between the bar and the kitchen. Customers can watch her cook if they stand near the counter.

- I can spit in his food, it always works. She gives me one of her beautiful, victorious smiles, Brooke looks like a model, even with her beautiful dark, curly hair hidden by her protective cap. She even did some advertisements and dreamed of being an actress. However, like half the residents of this area of ​​the city, it didn't work out. - Ew, how does that work? - It makes me work with an extra dose of happiness! - She says sarcastically and I make a face, which makes her laugh. - Don't make that face, I'm joking. I'm an angel, don't you know? - I have my doubts... I shake my head, while I serve the hot soup and she finishes frying the ribs. Carter fills three mugs of beer and brings the drink himself, reminding the men that the girls at the bar are not alone. He's a Texan who grew up on a farm, tall with some muscles, and a respected guy in the area. He had to be or we would have regular robberies. Then I take the food. The other two guys order burgers and ribs, I pass the order on to Brooke and wait on the other tables. It takes half an hour for Carter to get my attention after checking the baby monitor hidden behind the counter: - Millie, code B. Leslie nods that she can handle the customers, while I rush to the office. We invented this so I wouldn't have to say out loud that my baby needs me. Noah is crying in his car seat, I change his diaper and feed him, sitting on the sofa and humming to calm him down. I love the smell of his hair, his eyes are open and staring at me. They remind me of your father and the pain of leaving him behind. Noah falls asleep, he's a good boy, who's used to being alone because I spend hours serving customers. I leave the door ajar and return to the main hall, pointing the guitar to Carter, who authorizes me to sing on stage. I usually do this so that my baby can continue to hear my voice and go into deep sleep. The men make some nasty comments, but I ignore them. They're drinking a lot of beer and Carter deserves to be rewarded. I sing four songs and return to the main function. The trio in suits were getting too drunk and too loose with their jokes, both Leslie and I stopped serving them, Carter was the one who approached their table. It's two o'clock in the morning and I stop again, but to check the bathroom situation, and I was leaving when the idiot in the suit corners me in the hallway: - What time are you leaving, baby? I can take you for a walk... He tries to grab my braid, but I take a step back, which makes him sneer. - There's no need to be skittish, I don't want to hurt you. - He leans in to breathe in near my neck. - I can reward you for a great night. - I appreciate your interest, but no. Thanks. I escape around the side to the safety of the main hall and the man leaves me a generous tip along with a business card with his phone number on it. I ask Leslie to throw the card in the trash, not wanting to get involved with a suit any time soon. CHAPTER 2 - You have to try this craft beer, it's the best I've ever had and it even has hot waitresses. Jackson Sigmund II is my childhood friend and I trust him despite his narcissistic tendencies. He was working in Europe and recently returned, being an entrepreneur, we became partners in some businesses apart from my family's company, which I have been managing since my father was arrested for [1] trying to get rid of my sister-in-law. My older brother, Logan Whitmore, has his own company, and after a while, he wanted nothing to do with our family legacy. My cousin, Wyatt, helped me run the company in the beginning, but since what he did to Emily, I couldn't stand his presence anymore. I'm still haunted by the memory of his message that fateful dawn, boasting about being with my Millie. I didn't believe it, but he sent me a photo of him kissing her. Even so, I continued to doubt and broke into his house, what I saw was a stab in the chest. - I don't know how you can go to that area and not have your car stolen - I answer my friend. He's addicted to a bar on the worst side of town, Skid Row. I and several CEOs donated to an NGO to build villages, but it's like covering the sun with a sieve. We build houses for a hundred and two hundred new ones appear. Therefore, I also make donations to community associations and churches that distribute food to the needy population. - I'm going by taxi and it's not that far from here. Come on, I've been back for months and you look like a prude. How long are you going to dwell on a skirt tail? - he complains as if we were still teenagers, which doesn't help until he plays the final trick: - Come on, I think it could be a good deal. Jackson knows that I decided to step away from meetings and parties to focus on what really matters: making the company prosper. Nothing excites me in life anymore. - Business? - I'm mocking, because this entire time, Jack, as he used to call him when he was a child, talked more about the waitress than about the drink. - Do you want a sugar baby, by any chance? My friend shrugs, not dismissing the idea. - It's a possibility. For men like us, contract relationships can be more economical and less of a headache. I don't take away his reason. Every woman I was involved with took financial advantage of me and, in the end, wanted more than I could offer. The only one who never asked for anything was the one who betrayed me. - Let me get this straight, this guy makes a divine beer and only sells it in a small bar with no reach? Do you want to bottle it in beautiful packaging so we can sell it at exorbitant prices as a luxury item? It wouldn't be the first time we've gourmetized something simple to be consumed by the rich and influential. - I knew that talking about money would convince you faster - he says instead of answering me. The entrance to the place doesn't look promising, Texa's Club Bar is a three-story building that is relatively close to the

side, a small stage has colorful Christmas lights on top. A short, brown-haired woman dressed as a cowgirl has her back to us and leans in as she picks up a guitar. Her ass doesn't show, but I check her anyway. My heart races because she looks like Emily, it's not the first time I've confused a woman with her. This one, however, has more curves, which makes it hotter. - I told you, don't hit on my girl, I saw her first. Remember, the brunette is mine - Jack warns, walking to a table. I decide to stay in the chair with my back to the stage.

I don't want to spend the night looking at a woman who looks like the one who betrayed me. - I'm only interested in beer. Jackson signals to a young blonde woman who passes by, ordering drinks. I hear the first chords of the guitar and I'm about to continue the conversation when the woman sings. The world stops and I can't hear what my friend says or the murmur of the sea. All I can hear is the angelic voice. It can't be, can it? I turn around slowly, almost in slow motion, like an accident that I can't help but look at. It's her, with her eyelids closed, pouring her soul into a song about disillusionment. I'm hypnotized, unable to turn away. My Millie looks a little older, even though she's only a year old. There is a different shine in her eyes, which makes her more beautiful, or maybe it's the longing. - I warned you that this bar has its qualities! - He brags, taking a sip of his beer. With that, the things he said before come back with force and I'm left with a bitter taste in my mouth. Emily opens her eyelids and misses a note, we are stuck staring at each other for about three seconds before resuming as if nothing had happened. I escape her charm, straightening up in the chair to face Jackson. - Is she your girl? - That's right, you can have the blonde. What stupidity is that? She left me for my cousin, didn't keep him and now she's got her claws into Jackson? This woman was my destruction. Seeing her on stage, singing carefree, takes me back to a year ago. I thought Emily would be the love of my life, before I found her with someone else. So much so that alone in the office, sometimes I close my eyelids and remember what it was like to see her in Wyatt's bed, naked and with her hair spread out on the pillow, the memory breaks me inside. - In honor of all the men who have ever broken a woman's heart, the next one will be one from Taylor Swift: I knew you were trouble - the announcement makes me tense. Screw it! I drag the chair next to Jackson. If she wants an audience, that's what I'll give her. Her gaze fixes on our table and, if there was any doubt that this was a hint, she dispels it when she sings about "finding a problematic guy". My friend gets excited and raises his mug in greeting, urging me to do the same. - Here's to new opportunities! - he says, ignorant to the fact that the reason for my bad mood over the last year is standing in front of us in a cowboy dress and matching boots. Automatically, I match his toast and take a bigger sip this time. Jack is right, the drink is good. However, I am not able to appreciate it. The focus, meaning and my entire being is connected to the woman on stage. Then I remember how I met her. Two years ago, I went to give a talk on entrepreneurship at the community college, and as I was leaving, I saw a young woman singing in her pants for a few bucks. I was enchanted by his voice and angelic appearance. I put several notes in the open guitar case at her feet, but I couldn't leave, I invited her for a coffee and discovered that she was a music student in terrible financial condition. Like the idiot I am, I gave her a job for a position she wasn't qualified for and still fell in love with her. Six months later, after many conversations, repressed attraction and coffee, she accompanied me on a business trip. I took her virginity in a hotel room, we spent months together, with an intimacy that went beyond sex, until I discovered that she was a deceiver. - So how long have you two been together? - I question my friend, but what I really want to know is what Emily's plan is. Maybe the idea of ​​turning cheap beer into a luxury item wasn't Jackson's and my friend became a pawn in the great game that this woman prepared for me. - I've been coming here at least three times a week for a month. - Order ribs and fries from the blonde waitress who wears an outfit similar to Millie's. - What did you think of the beer? - Very good. The drink is great, that's not the problem. - Production is made by employees during the day and sold at night. Do you believe it? And they even put it on sale. I think we got a good price on these hillbillies. This confuses me so much, what does she have to gain? I squint at the man behind the counter. According to Jackson, he is the owner. He's my age, more or less, and he's a stocky guy. Emily was born in Texas, could this guy be a relative? Maybe a husband... the thought bothers me more than it should. Either way, she must be looking for profits. - Have you spoken to the owner? His shrug makes me question how much my friend actually prepared for this "multimillion-dollar takeover" in the beverage market. - He doesn't like me very much because I slapped the hot girl's ass, that's why I brought you. - What? - I clench my fists, irritated by the image of him being inappropriate with her. -Nothing much, you know. I've been friends with Jackson since childhood and that's why I know what an idiot he can be sometimes, who has no sense of limits. He is narcissistic to the point of thinking that everyone secretly desires him, even if they don't admit it to themselves. I often had to get his attention because of this. - Hey, Millie! Code B! - the owner calls her from the counter and, immediately, she drops the guitar in the corner and disappears to the back of the bar without giving me a second look. I wonder what this means. CHAPTER 3 I don't know how