Blocked

Cherise stared at the blank computer screen. There were words somewhere in her mind, but she could not get to them.  They were trapped between memories of her last orgasm and the repeated attempts by Mr. Smith to get in contact with her.  For the last two days, her brain had been taken hostage by images of being wrapped around his brown body in various positions and locations. The way his fingers would hungrily graze her skin as though he could taste its sweet vanilla flavor through his fingertips. The carefully laid kisses on the nape of her neck and small of her back. The involuntary vibration in her thighs when it got too good to her.  With a sigh, Cherise removed her glasses to rub her temples. “Focus!” she whispered into the early morning quiet of the office.

But her brain was racked. Mr. Smith was in town to preview his new album to the press. Cherise had been relieved when the assignment was initially given to  another writer.  Her relief was short lived as assignments were rearranged after a writer had a death in the family. Of course Cherise ended up covering Mr. Smith’s listening party.  She’d tried during the staff meeting to keep her face together, but she swore that she’d felt it shatter and land in pieces on the office floor. Despite her best efforts to prevent it, she’d have to talk to him now. The careful dodging and short responses to his emails and texts had been pointless. The career gods were mocking her.  Perhaps even rolling on Heaven’s floors laughing hysterically at her expense.

Cherise had absolutely no clue how she was going to handle the evening. She’d spent two days planning her approach to the interview, but nothing stuck. She’d been obsessing over what she’d wear, but by some strange happening her entire wardrobe had morphed into ugly over night. It was ridiculous and she knew it. She needed to be talked down.  If only she could talk to her girls, but neither of them knew about Mr. Smith.  Cherise tried to imagine what they’d say. Mya had a penchant for mischief so she’d throw Cherise a  pair of Jimmy Choos and tell her to give him what he’s asking for. Peyton would give her the screw face and say, “You gonna let a man interfere with doing your job? You need to get your shit together ASAP.” Cherise had to chuckle at the amount of energy she was wasting on her silliness. She sat back in her chair and set her locks free from the messy knot she’d tied in her frustration. “I am trippin for real,” she said to no one in particular.

“Talking to ourselves this morning?” a voice broke through the fog in her mind. It was Morgan, the assistant fashion editor and one of her closest friends on staff.

“Something like that,” Cherise replied, a hint of dryness in her voice.

“Well, I’ve got some hot new samples from Tracy Reese and Giuseppe. Wanna raid the closet before the rest of these heifers  get hold of all the good stuff?”

Cherise smiled. The career gods hated her, but the wardrobe gods were clearly on her side. “Sure.” If she had to walk into hell, she was going to strut through the fiery gates in a pair of free Giuseppes.

Why is Cherise so against seeing Mr. Smith? Find out here.