The Musician by Leslie Johnson

Author:Leslie Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atrevida Publishing

Nicholas was already gone when I woke up and gingerly rose from bed, my pussy sore from all the hours of vigorous lovemaking. I stumbled into the shower and stood beneath the hot, spraying water, reluctantly washing off Nicholas’ scent from my body. But today was my last day at the museum; I had to pack my stuff, greet my colleagues, and have a small gathering in John Doe’s awesome office before moving to Imperial Palace for a farewell lunch. To avoid uncomfortable situations, John Doe had made our gathering known only to people within the anthropology department.

I was relieved he’d taken the initiative to do that.

About an hour later, Nicholas sent a text message as I parked my car and walked to the museum. Smiling, I eagerly tapped on the screen and began reading.

—Well, it seems I’m flying back to Sydney again. Turns out the patroness changed her mind and now wants to meet me at her Sydney mansion. Can you come with me this evening? My agent would prefer that I go alone, but I want to show you off.

It was like he’d sensed the worries plaguing my mind. The patroness wouldn’t dare to proposition Nicholas in any way, shape, or form with me standing there beside him. I fired off a quick reply.

—Absolutely. What should I wear?

—Something semi-formal. But nothing underneath ;)

The wink almost made me laugh out loud. I began typing again.

—Sounds pretty daring. But I’m game. When can you pick me up?

—I’ll drop by at seven. By the way, I’m going to do this to you tonight ( - )( - )

It was moments like this when I truly felt the age difference between us.

—What the heck is THAT?

—Squashed boobs against the shower glass door.

This time, I laughed loudly as I walked in the direction of my cramped office. Nicholas could be so cute sometimes. I sent one last reply.

—I can’t wait ;)

Still chuckling softly, I entered the office and immediately began packing my stuff. For years, this cramped office had been like my second home. But I wouldn’t miss it. If anything, it felt like a great burden had been lifted from my shoulders.

I pitied the next assistant who would probably spend the next few years slaving away in this tiny, windowless room.

Once I’d managed to stuff everything important into one box and throw out the rest, I lugged my personal items downstairs and placed them in the passenger seat of my car. All my years at the museum, reduced to a single box. I didn’t know whether to shake my head or cry.

When I returned to the second-floor and entered John’s office, the place was already filled with people from the anthropology department. There was an ugly cake designed to look like a Neanderthal female, with “Farewell, Fiona Wad” stylishly written at the bottom.

Who’s the fucker who misspelled my last name?

John Doe, no doubt. The Neanderthal female cake had probably been his idea as well. All signs pretty much pointed to him.

“Miss Ward! You made it.

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