Don't Wanna Try
Prologue
She didn’t want to want him. She had promised herself to stay away from
the people of the music industry, the entertainment business, but he was
tempting. It wasn’t love or romance she
had plaguing her, but a terrible case of lust and intrigue. He wasn’t overly attractive or
sophisticated—he was a man who made it big with a little bit of luck and a well
of talent. There wasn’t any physical
attribute that contributed to her insane attraction to him; it was the man
himself that offered the most potent lure.
Her curiosity frightened her; never one to obsess or even remotely
fantasize about the famous, but she felt drawn to him despite his status.
He knew lust, he’d acted on it.
But he’d never known raging lust.
She’d walk into his world for only a few short months, with an attitude
and a chip on her shoulder. But damned
if he wasn’t attracted to her. He wasn’t
worried about that—he was worried about just how deep the attraction went. He had vowed never to tangle himself in a
relationship again; he’d done it before and nothing but grief came out of it. Would he be willing to cross himself—and can
he convince her to take the risk with him?
Chapter 1
While she wasn’t poor, she was not rock star status. She was simply a secretary for a big man in
the music industry. It wasn’t her plan
to wind up as a secretary for him.
The temporary secretary agency forced her into a corner; knew she wanted
out of the life of menial secretarial work—that one big break would pay off her
debts, and she could put her efforts into finding something more satisfying
than taking notes and faxing contracts.
“I hate you for doing this to me, Mara,” she stood up from her
chair and paced. She stared out of the
window and down at the afternoon traffic.
“Either I work for people I hate or I spend another year or two working
my ass off.”
“Just keep thinking about the result of this. Everyone knows that you’re the best
secretary, but you hate your work just as much as you hate who you’re going to
be working for. You know we love you,
honey; that’s why we’re giving this account to you. Do it for yourself, you owe it to
yourself. You just gotta,”
Mara pleaded.
“I know, I know. It’s a
great opportunity. I can’t help but have
a bad feeling about it, though.” She
sighed, seated herself in the plush chair, and slumped down. “Aftermath Records, goddamn.”
“Damn the big guy all you want, but this is it for
you. While you stew some more, I’m going
to call your new boss and let him know, personally, that I’m sending the
very best to him.”
“Thanks, Mara. I’m going
to hate it…but you’re right, and I know you’re right. This is going to be the last leg of my
subservience. I know you guys love—“
“Don’t sweat it, honey.
Being a secretary is a respectable job—but it doesn’t fulfill the young
woman’s mind, body, and soul. We’re all
old windbags with fat husbands and grown children. We work to cure our own boredom—get a taste
of the business world we missed out on.
Get home, take a bubble bath, and relax.”
“I’ll do that. Wait,
Mara, you never did say how long I’d be a temp for.”
“Three months.”
“Three?”
“I know; it’s longer than the standard four weeks or less term,
but that’s what they asked for. That’s
why this is such a big break. It’s a
major company, but it’s also more involved and longer term.”
“God…” she lamented. “I
hope he isn’t a prick with his ego in his pants.”
“Not all men hit on their secretaries.”
“Yeah, not all men try and rape their secretaries
either!”
“You can rest assured because that wouldn’t happen at
Aftermath.”
“I know. I wasn’t really
talking about flirty bosses, I was talking about
egotistical musicians and producers. I
just hate that environment, damn it.”
“You’ll suck it up and do the job. That’s you, honey.”
“Yeah, it is. I’ll be
seeing you, Mara.”
“Try and have a little fun with all those big stars you’re bound
to meet and greet,” Mara teased.
“Oh, right,” she rolled her eyes as she left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once she was home, she settled on the secondhand couch, propped
a foot on the edge of the beat-up coffee table, and flicked on the
television. She thumbed through the
channels quickly, finally choosing some courtroom drama. “It won’t be so bad, right?” she whispered to
herself. “Maybe I’ll get a normal boss,”
she mused, then chuckled. “Like that
would happen!”
She stumbled into bed early, around ten pm, knowing that she’d be up at four am. Life was
a bitch.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The alarm clock buzzed as the hands struck four am. “Five
more minutes,” she moaned. But the alarm
clock didn’t respond to verbal commands, and she was forced to struggle out of
bed. She showered and spent extra time
tending to her appearance: shaving her
legs, shampooing her hair, and coloring her face. She wasn’t a tomboy, but she didn’t feel the
need to paint her face with gobs of artificial flavorings. Nevertheless, she opted for neutral eye
shadow and a rosy lipstick. She was a
young woman, and make-up helped to age her features a bit; enough that men
wouldn’t suspect how few years she had been around for.
Her eyes scanned the open closet, searching for something
adequate for the first day. She wasn’t
aware of any particular dress code, but assumed that it was somewhere between
moderately professional and professional.
In the end, she chose a sleek pair of black slacks that fit her loosely,
but still hugged her feminine curves in just the right places and a white
tailored men’s shirt. She took the
liberty of leaving a few buttons undone—just to show a bit of enticing
cleavage, but not too much that it called attention immediately.
She sighed, begrudgingly leaving her small apartment—there was
no eagerness from her to jump into the throes of early morning traffic nor to
meet her new boss and fulfill her new position.
Chapter 2
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Author: zines@aol.com
These
stories are for entertainment purposes only. They are completely fictitious,
and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else
that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character. No money was made on
the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In
other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't
take it seriously.