Marry Me G. Hauser (the chimp paradox .TXT) 📖

the bit for you to use them in one of the parties.”

“How’re they priced out?” Braxton took the forms and sat at

his desk, seeing his computer load with unanswered emails, his

phone hum with missed text messages and his telephone line

light up.

“I put sticky notes on my favorites.” She answered the phone

from his desk. “Braxton Todd, can you hold?” She put the caller

on hold and sighed. “Man, it’s gone loco around here lately.”

“Can you handle it or do we need another body?”

“I always need help, but I can do it…just working late.”

“Put an ad in the paper or online. But I get the choice once

you’ve narrowed the pool.”

“Thanks, Braxton. I’m about to go bonkers we’re so busy.”

“Look, it’s a good thing. Beats the damage we had from the

recession two years ago.” He tapped his earpiece and nodded to

her to go. “Braxton Todd, can I help you?”

Brianna waved at him and left his office.

~

Braxton shut down his computer. He was wired from too

much caffeine and his throat felt slightly rough from talking for

the last eight hours. He removed his earpiece and ran his hand

over his thick brown hair. He dropped into his leather swivel

chair as Brianna shouted through the door, “I’m going home!”

“Night, sweetie,” he called back and took his cell phone out

of his pocket as he heard her leave his office. Text after text

awaited him—the majority was work-related, but a few were not.

Those he had left until his work was done. He couldn’t be

distracted during the day. It was hard enough keeping up, and

Brianna was right—they were too busy at the moment and

needed help. Suddenly the job of public relations for budding

new celebrities and even the washed up ones who were revived

from baby-boomers’ nostalgia had brought his firm back to life,

even after it had teetered on the brink of bankruptcy not too long

ago.

Holding his phone, he straddled his legs and read the

messages, deleting them as he went. Men, women, all ages and

races, hunted him down like he was some form of prey species.

What they didn’t get was he was more predatory in his tactics

than prey. Braxton was a hit and run lover.

At thirty-three, working out with a personal trainer daily and

having the luck of the genetic pool, Braxton knew he was good

looking. Was he conceited? Well, at least he assumed he was. He

wanted someone as pretty as him to fuck.

He didn’t kiss a mirror…but he did know he could tempt A-

List Hollywood celebs with his charm, chiseled jaw, perfect

smile and big brawny build. He preferred men to women, since

men usually understood the mentality of… Go Away! and didn’t cry when he didn’t call after sex.

But he’d fuck anything pretty.

How many lovers had Braxton had? He was clueless. In his

twenties he’d actually kept track, writing down their names, and

when he didn’t even know that, he’d write descriptions. He lost

track at over two hundred.

He swore by safe sex, refusing to screw bareback, and had

never contracted anything nasty. Not once. Luck? Yes. And

being a keen observer of his sexual conquests’ behavior. The

true predatory cat, he investigated them before he chewed on

them.

Life was about observation and being smart. He had both

qualities and that’s why he was so successful at the art of

seduction. He got laid. A lot.

“Delete. Delete…” He stopped to read an email from

someone who had contacted him via his PR website. His

information was public since he was in business directories and

he did respond to calls and texted back on his business line.

The text was from a twenty year old guy named ‘Dominic’. It

read, ‘ Free? I am.’

With the message was a photograph, thank fuck, of the man’s

face, not his cock. The young man was pretty. Very fucking

pretty. ‘ where?’ Braxton replied.

The return message was instant. ‘ Anywhere. u name it.’

“Mm.” Braxton smiled and looked around his empty office.

He texted an address and then took a picture of himself, sitting at his desk in his suit and tie, sending it.

‘ Be there in ten.’

Braxton grinned to himself and scrolled through the other

messages, deleting them as he went. He’d enjoy a nice blowjob,

then if the man was sweet and not annoying, he’d take him for a

quick dinner.

Young, old—didn’t matter to Braxton. As long as they had

good self-esteem and hygiene, he was willing, but only once. He

didn’t do two dates.

Besides he was hungry and he wouldn’t mind a companion to

chat with during a meal. He opened his desk drawer and

removed a protein bar, peeling back the wrapper to eat it as he

waited. While he did, he checked out menus on line, one for in

case Dominic was a dud, to order to get delivered to his house in

Santa Monica, or…if he was cool, to dine in WeHo with his

companion.

He finished the protein bar and headed to the men’s room to

check his appearance, wash his hands and face and go over his

busy schedule for the next week in his head. It was a Thursday in

March and he was already thinking of his April deadlines and

commitments.

Ooh. I used the word ‘commitment’.

He gave himself a look of disdain in the mirror over the sink

in the men’s room. He made the sign of the cross. “Don’t even

think the ‘C’ word, you bad boy. You’ll end up with a needy

man tonight instead of a nice BJ.” He relieved himself at the

urinal and knew by seven, his building, or at least his floor,

would have emptied for the night. There were several law offices

above and below the tenth floor, and they worked into the

evenings at times, but his floor? Accountants, plastic surgeons,

and office drones. Gone by six, latest.

He stood at the sink with his cock hanging from his trousers

and gave it a good wash out of respect to Dominic. Though

Braxton had no doubt he smelled sexy, everywhere, he’d had a

long day of work, and although he was cut, he still wanted to

smell ‘fresh’. He hung his soft cock over the sink and gave it a

nice soapy rinse, tempted to jerk off to the image of his own

body in the reflection but resisting it. He used paper towels to

dry