Chocolate Covered Billionaire Navy SEAL (2 page)

Standing outside the door, Brock closed his eyes and sighed once again. The phone rang and Gloria picked it up. "Yes, sir."

Rising from her desk, she opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of mouthwash. She lifted it, looking closely at the tiny amount that remained in the bottom.
"Oh, no."

"What is it?" Brock asked.

"I'm out. You don’t have any gum or mints or anything, do you?"

"No, sorry.
I'm sure Debbie can pick up something for you when she goes out for lunch."

"That'll be too late. I'm going to need it in…" She looked toward the ceiling, seemingly working it in her head. "Oh, about ninety seconds from now."

Narrowing his eyes confused, Brock asked, "What do you mean ninety… ?" When she raised her eyebrows, it hit him like a shovel across the face.

Gloria replied casually, "You see it only takes him about—"

"No, you don't have to explain." With his hands raised defensively, he gave her a look as if a man with a bloody axe was standing directly behind her. "Please don't tell me anymore!"

"Oh, it's not so bad."

"Okay…" He muttered before cringing.

"And since my divorce I've been really lonely."

He exhaled and gave her a sympathetic look. "I'm serious, no job is worth that. How can you let him do that to you?"

Gloria met him near the door and placed her hand on his arm. "You're sweet. Look, I'm the highest paid assistant on the planet. I've had other jobs… real jobs with real responsibilities and let me tell you it’s not fun. So, if that means I need to swallow every once in a while, well, so be it. "

"Swallow?" He returned a sickened expression.

"Oh, yeah."
With her eyes brightened, she nodded. "If I don’t, he shoots all over my face and hair. It's not a pretty sight." Smiling, she patted him on the ass before slipping into Douglas' office.

Brock shook his head and whispered to himself, "That bastard!"

Stopping at the security desk in the lobby, Brock chatted with Akbar, the company's newest security guard. At six foot three and, maybe, one hundred seventy pounds, fully clothed, Akbar's frame looked to be twig-like compared to Brock's impressive physique.

"How about a beer after work?"
Akbar said.

"Sorry, dude can't I've got to… I've got to go away on business. Yeah, it's a business trip."

"Heading to the gym today?"

"I'll squeeze in a couple miles and just a short workout." Brock smiled. "Will I see you in there?"

"You will," Akbar replied. "You want to have another bench press contest?"

After sharing a chuckle and a first bump, Brock walked off wearing a grin.

Heading to the boiler, Brock strolled onto the floor passing the hundreds of proud workers in the sparkling clean plant. Ogled by the women and recipient of envious look from the men, he made his way past the chocolate dipping station as the dozen workers packaged the line of Fullman's signature gourmet chocolate covered pretzels with varieties covered in nuts, sprinkles and candies.

Turning the corner, he stopped in his tracks. There she was, Stephanie Wright, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, that is, since he lost his love, his soul mate, Constance. If not for the fact that Stephanie and Constance had been best friends since elementary school, he would have asked her out years ago.

Stephanie looked up from her chocolate drizzle machine and spotted Brock. "Oh, hi."

Approaching, he smiled. "Stephanie. How are you?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"I'm okay. How's David?"

"We just broke up."

"Sorry to hear that. He seemed like a good guy. What happened?"

"He found out about…" She shook her head. "Um, well, let's just say it's over for good this time."

"If you need someone to talk to about it, just let me know."

"Thanks." Rolling her eyes slightly, she asked in a tired voice, "So how's Marci?"

"Oh, she's…" He shrugged his shoulders. "She's… good."

"Are you going to happy hour later?"

"No, sorry I've got this thing."

"What thing?"

"The Pentagon just located the compound of the mastermind behind the attack of our embassy last month in Why-the-fuck-are-we-there-
istan and…" Brock narrowed his eyes. "… and I've got to go take care of some unfinished business."

She gave him a sweet smile. "Well, be careful and, of course, good luck."

"Thanks."

They stood in silence for an awkward moment before he turned to go. When he was three steps away, Stephanie called after him, "Oh, Brock."

Turning back, he smiled. "Yes."

"Monday, um, Monday is the three-year anniversary of…"

"Yeah, I know." He frowned and let out a sigh.

"Will you be back?"

"Yes, definitely. I'll be back before noon."

"I'm thinking of going to the cemetery this year."

"Really?" He asked.

"Yes. Do you…" Looking down shyly to the concrete floor, she continued, "Maybe
wanna go together?"

"I do." He nodded with a smile. "Pick you up at one?"

"Okay."

"Have a good day."

"You, too, and Brock…"

"Yes." Widening his eyes, he waited.

She gave him an angry look. "Kill a couple of those terrorist fuckers for me, will ya?"

After giving her an evil smile, he turned and strolled away.

After confirming that the boiler issue was resolved, Brock returned to his office. Walking through the door, he discovered Marci
Scaggs sitting behind his desk with her head buried in a drawer. Dressed in a designer ensemble with a giant cleavage cutout, which accentuated her brand spanking new D-cup breasts, she looked like she could grace the cover of Vogue, on second thought, probably just Penthouse. The office was large and nicely furnished and four types of white chocolate snacks were displayed in bowls around the room. From white chocolate drops, to white chocolate covered pretzels, to truffles and even a bowl of white chocolate M&Ms, the office was a white chocolate lover's paradise. The M&Ms were Brock's favorite even though the Mars Corporation, makers of the tiny delectable treats, was universally hated around the plant and certainly Fullman's most serious and evil competitor.

Frowning, she looked up and growled, "Don't you have anything to eat in here besides white chocolate?"

"There's some tuna."

She returned a sour face. "Seriously, Brock, how can you survive only eating white chocolate and tuna?"

He sighed and slumped down in a chair near the desk. "I eat more than that!"

She gave him a skeptical look. "Yeah, what else do you eat?"

"Um, I had fish the other night and I eat chicken sometimes."

"Uh-huh."

"Oh, and I take all those supplements."

"Great, Brock." She rolled her eyes. "You could try to eat a vegetable once in a while."

He gave her a distasteful look. "I just don't like 'em."

After rising from her chair, she slipped in front of him and got to her knees. "You do have an amazing body for someone with such a poor diet."

"Well, I do like a thousand pushups a day so I can enjoy my white chocolate binges."

She started to unbutton his shirt.

He gently held her hands to stop her. "Marci, don’t."

"I need to see it again."

"Really?"

Nodding, she smiled. "Yes, I still don't believe you were able to do it."

"Okay, but just for a minute. I've got work to do." Leaning back, he looked toward the ceiling.

She unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his
ten, count them, ten-pack abs. She sighed, shaking her head. "It's unbelievable… Taylor Lautner somehow kills himself in the gym and has an eight-pack and he's like one of ten guys on the planet with eight, but you, you're like this genetic masterpiece."

He returned his eyes to her and shrugged.

She rose to her feet while he buttoned his shirt. Picking up her Louis Vuitton handbag from the desk, which of course, matched her shoes, she asked, "What time are you picking me up for that charity thing tonight?"

"I told you I couldn't tonight. I've got that mission."

She pulled a mirror from her purse and checked her face. "Cancel it."

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, yeah, I'll just call the Secretary of Defense and tell him I can't make it."

"Awesome, so, what time?" Looking up, she gave him a bright smile.

"Marci, I'm kidding."

She shook her head and frowned like a spoiled child. "Brocky… I really wanted to talk to you about something important tonight."

"What?"

"I don't want to do it here. It has to be tonight.”

"I can't, you know I can't." He sighed. "Plus, I told you I'm not going anywhere with you again until you stop treating everyone like they're your servants."

She scoffed. "Well, pretty much everyone is your servant, right?"

"No, that's not right, Marci."

She looked at him, confused. "When you go to a restaurant the waiter, like, works for you right? And everyone in this company works for me because my daddy owns most of it… so, they're all my employees."

"Technically, yes, but you can't really treat—"

"They should all be happy to serve me, I mean, what else do they have going on in their pathetic little lives? They're all poor, right?  So, they can't really be happy. And if their tiny little existence can somehow add just a nugget to my happiness, doesn't that make their lives somehow actually worthwhile?"

"No, Marci. There's more to life than money. Just having money doesn't make you happy."

"Sure, if you're ugly you're pretty miserable, too."

"No, that's not what I'm talking about." Shaking his head, he let out a tired sigh.

Suddenly she looked saddened. "Oh."

"What is it now?"

"I just had a thought, how do people who are ugly AND poor get out of bed every day? I mean, that's got to be like the worst."

After cringing and allowing her words to sink into his brain, he tilted his head. "Marci, haven't you ever heard beauty is in the eyes of the beholder?"

She returned to checking her look in the mirror, probably not listening to a word.

He finished his thought anyway. "Your idea of who is beautiful isn't necessarily—"

"I wonder if there's a charity I can donate to that specializes in helping only poor, ugly people?" She waited for his reply wearing a smile.

"I mean…" He lifted his hands in defeat. "Um, No… I'm sure that—"

Her smile widened. "I mean, no one is perfect. Everyone could use a little work here or there even me, well not anymore." She pushed her chest out and tilted her neck down to look at her new prizes. "Hey, you didn't mention them today."

"So do they still hurt?" He rolled his eyes.

"No they're almost fully healed." She smiled up to him, waiting. "How do they look today?"

"Spectacular, Marci." He announced with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

"I know, I love them, too." She returned to gazing at her cleavage. "I'm not sure why I waited so long, I mean, being a B-cup for all those years was a nightmare."

"Your old ones were cute, too. I think women are too hung up on breast size, I've seen—"

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. The door opened and a plain-looking woman in a business suit poked her head into the office. "Brock, we're ready to start."

"Okay, Melanie. Thanks."

Marci's face lit up. "Oh, Melanie, is it?"

Hesitantly, Melanie stepped into the room. "Yes, Miss
Scaggs."

"Can I ask you a question?"

Brock put his hand in the air. "Please don't."

After shooting him a snide look, Marci plowed ahead. "You're
sorta a pretty woman, but have you ever considered getting breast implants?"

"What?" Melanie replied.

"Marci, I don't think this is the time," Brock said.

Marci gave him a tired look. "Brock, I'm just trying to help." Returning her attention to Melanie, she began. "I'm just saying with so many options today, I don’t understand why any woman would deny herself big beautiful breasts."

Brock sighed. "Well, maybe because they're expensive and it's major surgery and potentially dangerous and—"

"Oh, you're crazy." Marci dismissed his comments with a wave of her hand. "Look, Melanie, would you like to touch them? They're new and a bit tender, but I love them. I've never been happier."

"No, that's okay, I'm—"

"What've you got there
… A’s?" Marci's eyes shot to Melanie's chest then she looked back up to her face wearing a sneer.

Melanie's jaw dropped. Her eyes went to Brock's who returned an apologetic look then to Marci, who was waiting with her eyes wide.

When Melanie didn't immediately reply, Marci added, "I mean, your frame could really support much larger breasts… D’s maybe, but definitely C’s"

Melanie shifted back and forth. "Um, well. I thought about it, but I'm about to get married and I—"

"You're getting married?" Marci frowned. "You are?"

"Yes, in June." Melanie smiled brightly. "He's a lawyer and—"

"That's great." Marci interrupted. "You hear that Brock,
she's
getting married."

"Yeah, I know I already told you about this. We're going to the—"

"Imagine how much better you'll look in your dress with something like these." Marci moved toward her until her massive chest was a foot or so from her face. "I insist you touch them."

Melanie looked to Brock seemingly for help. He simply shrugged and rubbed his head. "I would if I had more time, but—"

"In fact, I'm not leaving until you do."

Melanie poked one carefully with her finger then gave her an uneasy smile.

"You see, they feel natural. I love them." Marci walked back to the desk and opened her purse. Pulling a business card from inside, she presented it to her. "Here, call my guy. He's the best and very, very hard to get an appointment with. I'll pay for anything you want to have done. I've been looking for a way to give back and—"

"Okay…" Letting out a loud sigh, Brock rushed over to the two ladies and took the card from Marci's fingers. "I'll just hold this for you Melanie." He placed one hand on Marci's shoulder and motioned with the other toward the door. "Melanie, why don't you just go ahead and I'll be right there."

"Okay." Wearing a dumbfounded expression, Melanie turned and headed away.

He pushed the door closed and sighed, defeated. "You see? This is what I'm talking about." Returning his attention to Marci, he found her turned away and blowing her nose.
"Marci?"

Turning to him, she sniffled. "So she's… she's getting married."

He nodded.

"And when are we going to get married or even set a date at least?"

"What?"

"You heard me, when?"

"Do we have to this now?" He closed his eyes and exhaled. "I've really got to go."

"We've been engaged for over a year now. I think it's time we actually set a date?"

"Marci, we've talked about this. With my military commitment and—"

"You're part-time. How is that even an issue here?"

"Seriously, you want to do this now?"

"I want to do it now. I think I deserve a reason— a real reason. Maybe you don't want to marry me, maybe—"

"Look. I, I just can't think about this right now."

"When can you think about it?"

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Soon, I guess."

"Soon… soon…" She shook her head. "Then I think we should take a little break. Yeah, we should break up."

"What?" His jaw dropped as he stared at her waiting for a response.

"You need to think about how you treat people and decide if you want to—"

"How I treat people?" His jaw dropped open. "You, you…"

"Yes, you.
I will not wait for you forever. I have other options."

After shaking his head ruefully, he opened the door then turned back to her. "You want a break?"

"Yes…" She held her head high. "Yes, I do."

"You got it. Go explore some of those other options." Opening the door, he took off as a smile spread across his face.