Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit: That Which Destroys Me with The Alternate Ending Read Free Page B

has my old man’s spine straightening. In the most condescending tone I have, I reply, “Smut, huh? I must say, it is utterly bemusing to me how you can allow words like accredit and respect to roll so gallantly from your old shriveled tongue, then - THEN - have the audacity to spat the word smut, at me?!”
    I abruptly stand, causing my chair to crash into the floor-to-ceiling glass wall behind me before stalking around my desk and grabbing this motherfucker by his tie. I jerk him up until our faces are an inch away from one another. “Get the fuck out of this building you old motherfucker. You needed an heir to head this business. Well, here I am. I needed you to at least attempt to take care of my mother, Kathy! My MOTHER . And you never lifted a finger to help us when I was a kid. Well guess what, the roles have reversed. I will take care of my mother. But I would do almost anything to ruin you financially. However, if I do, I can’t take care of the woman that raised me.”
    I smooth his tie out before grasping the lapels of his suit jack et. “You alright, pops?” I smile glacially at him.
    “F-fine. I’m fine.” He stutters.
    “Good,” I say patting his shoulder. “There’s the door. Please do us both a favor and excuse yourself.”
    After he’s been gone for five or ten minutes, Rachel comes in with today’s schedule, rattling on.
    I, however, am still seething pissed. I watch her mouth as it moves and the urge to fuck those red puffy lips isn’t what skates across my mind. My eyes slide to her throat. That, that little fucking neck, is what I want. My hands wrapped around it, choking her until her eyes bulge and she claws the skin from my wrists.
    Chained. DAMMIT. I never called! I need to put a call into Paul, let him know I’m coming. Line up some subs for me. He knows my flavor.
    And it ain’t fucking vanilla.
    I chuckle at my thoughts, but they’re interrupted by Rachel, “Sir? The intern list? I was explaining that I’ve researched the top twenty. Honestly, I can only see one, maybe two, candidates.” She nods to the list on my desk that’s gone unnoticed until this moment.
    I snatch it up with a sigh and look over the names, their degrees, and the colleges they attended. “Which two, Rach?”
    “Well, Christopher Wells; he comes from a long line of highly respectable names. He’s the ‘maybe’. And Jackson Brands; his family also includes an incredible amount of well-known names. And his Master ’s degree is from Oxford, so…”
    I look up from the list of names, blinking dumbly at her.
    “I mean I went through… I researched every name on the list, Wes. What? Stop looking at me like that!” Her giggle instantly reminds me of C-names voice, causing my head to collapse back, hanging over the back of my chair. I shove my thumb and forefinger into my eyes.
    Am I attempting to gouge my eyeballs out? Fuck no!
    My goddamn brains? FUCK. YES.
    Groaning in exhaustion, I remove my hand from its attempts at a digital lobotomy and raise it to shut her the hell up.
    “Jesus Christ, Rach. Stop. Shut your mouth. You realize that this…” I point to the list, “…I am aptly capable of handling? These little pussies…” I glance down to the highlighted names, “…Christopher and Jackson, are not the caliber of interns I’m looking for.”
    “Well, like I said, I went through every name. And those two gentleman,” She starts ticking her fingers off with her reasons—which leads my mind back to wrapping my hands around her throat, “Are extremely educated, come from a long line of some of the best publishers and editors. They each have exceptional references and are without rap sheets .”
    I smirk at this cocky bitch, steeple my fingers and lean forward, “Rachel … I want the ones with the seediest pasts, longest goddamn rap sheets, from families that have no idea how to even spell publishing… That are from the top colleges. That is what I want.” I point to the list, “And if