Whatsoever He Might Kind of Want or Desire

Whatsoever He Might Kind of Want or DesireWHATSOEVER HE MIGHT KIND OF WANT OR DESIRE (2nd ed)
By Jody Wallace
Ebook Re-release: September 2013
Genre: Fictional Fiction Parody
Length: Blessedly Short Story (6.5K)
Rating: Bad
From: Meankitty Publishing
Buy Links: AmazonB&N, iTunes, Kobo, Smashwords
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About This Work of Staggered Genius:

Gorgeous former party girl law student Krissy LaLove has a heck of a lot riding on her slender shoulders—the care and feeding of several orphaned brothers and sisters. That’s why the vague but high-salaried job description in Creep’s List entices her to apply to be the eighteenth floor personal assistant of none other than ruthless billionaire CEO of CEO Industries, Assad Masterson.

However, Krissy quickly, ah, comes to discover the high-paying position she’s so desperate to land might mean swallowing her pride…and some other things…as Masterson introduces her to a world of dark lighting, sexual domination and binding contracts. A world where a six figure salary and company health insurance mean nothing next to satisfying one’s burning desires.

WARNING: This title contains profanity, mockery, in-jokes between the authors’ split personalities, Wikipedia references, and inconsistent use of the Oxford comma. Totally on purpose.

Note: This was originally published under Gladys Nutsack. I won a bet. You may now heave a deep and heavy sigh and shake your head sadly.

***** An excerpt from WHATSOEVER *****

Chapter One

She had to get this job or her orphaned brothers and sisters would starve. In a fight to the death with their stomachs.

Krissy LaLove gulped down an anxious belch as she sat trembling in the cold, austere waiting room of CEO Industries, the biggest corporation that took over other corporations and sold off their contents at corporate yard sales on the East Coast. Meaning, the corporation was on the East Coast, not necessarily the yard sales.

The icy blond receptionist ignored the hopeful job applicants as she calmly typed at her computer. Fluorescent lights did nothing for the blond’s pale skin tone, or Krissy’s own, which she had observed in the mirrored elevator doors on the way up. In the conveniently shiny doors, she’d also observed her plump, sensuous lips, her heart-shaped face, and her golden hair that cascaded all the way to the top of her rounded buttocks, except right now it was twisted around her skull into a sensible braid. However, since Krissy never used her extreme good looks to get ahead except that one time with the speeding ticket, she only preened between floors three and twelve.

Now, on floor eighteen, in this impersonal, unsympathetic lobby, she felt as if her extreme good looks might be a hindrance. Certainly the not-quite-as-extreme good looks of the other candidates weren’t helping them. Every so often, another attractive, young female would emerge from the lushly carpeted hallway, often in tears. After each departure, the receptionist would call the number of the next victim and point a blood-red nail at the long passage that presumably led to the world’s worst interviewer.

Needless to say, Krissy was starting to get nervous. She could feel flying insects in her stomach as big as the Ornithoptera alexandrae, the world’s biggest butterfly with a wingspan of twelve point two inches, which she’d verified on Wikipedia so she could better describe the sensation in one’s innards resulting from anxiety without resorting to a total cliché.

The lovely, statuesque black woman next to Krissy had on a power suit, high heels and gold jewelry. A pink leather Cooch briefcase sat on the floor by her feet. Despite being slightly less attractive than Krissy, she didn’t seem nervous. Another applicant was a titian-haired twenty something with reading glasses perched on her snub nose as she read a thick novel by some Russian guy. She didn’t seem nervous either. A third waiting applicant was a blond who could have been the twin of the receptionist, except the two of them didn’t acknowledge one another, and Krissy would think twins would at least nod in a friendly fashion.

The only one who seemed nervous was Krissy, but it was probably because none of them needed this job as much as she did.

She’d stumbled across it in her desperate search of Creep’s List last week. Masculinely Arrogant CEO Seeks Devoted Personal Assistant. The details had been sparse, but the salary listed had been amazing. It would be just the thing to keep her orphaned brothers and sisters from starving as well as allow her extra to donate to animal shelters and buy herself something nice, like a bottle of nail polish, a luxury she’d been denied since she’d shouldered the responsibility of caring for her brothers and sisters after their parents had died in a freak piano-falling accident.

After a telephone interview, during which she was asked basic personal assistant questions like how fast she could type, whether she possessed an air of humble servitude, and how to get ink stains out of dress shirts, Krissy was finally granted the rest of the information about the next part of the interview.

Imagine her surprise when she found out successful phone interviewees would compete to be the eighteen floor personal assistant for the CEO of CEO, Assad Masterson!

While it sounded intimidating, she could do this job. She knew she could. She’d been living a carefree life in law school when her parents had died, and she’d had to drop out to take care of the children. She was knowledgeable about torts and civil procedure, competent with computers, and had Googled ink stains. Her humble servitude could use some tweaking, but she figured she could fake that part.

Krissy heard rapid footsteps coming down the hall and anxiously smoothed her short but tailored black skirt over her thighs. Since little Jenny had needed her long black skirt for a Halloween costume, Krissy had only this black skirt left. As for the panties, well, they were remnants of her law school party girl lifestyle, emphasis on remnants. They were definitely panties her grandmother would have advised against wearing, since you never knew when you might get in an accident…or have one.

But there was nothing Krissy could do about that until after she got her first paycheck. Every item of clothing she bought for herself would have been taking food out of her orphaned brothers’ and sisters’ mouths.

The woman who’d just interviewed burst into the lobby, tears streaming copiously down her face. Her makeup had smeared. She didn’t say a word, simply cast a wet, pitying glance at the remaining job applicants and pounded on the elevator button like she couldn’t wait to leave.

The receptionist speared Krissy with glacier-blue eyes, which is to say, her irises absorbed both red and yellow light so the blue end of the spectrum was all that was left. In case you didn’t know. “Thirteen? Lucky number thirteen?”

Krissy glanced at the stub of paper in her sweaty, trembling hands. It didn’t say anything about her being lucky, but it did say thirteen. “That’s me.”

“Please report to the interview chamber.” The receptionist motioned toward the hallway.

“How will I know which door is the right one?” Krissy asked.

“You’ll know,” said the rejected applicant in a hollow voice.

 © 2013 Jody Wallace