The Plan Read Online Free

He’d tear mine free.
    I would touch his face. He’d wrap my legs around his waist, grind into me. Deep. Hard.
    Even through clothes, it’d be better than any of my real sex.
    One hand at my throat, thumb under my jaw, lips parted and panting down on me, his fingers would tear through my hosiery, slipping, slipping—
    “Emma?”
    Wha—?
    “It’s after five.” Rebecca looks at me questioningly. “Are you having difficulty completing all of your work? I haven’t overloaded you, have I?”
    “I’m fine.” Load-free even. Regrettably so.
    We both turn to the sound of Canon’s door opening. He looks to Rebecca briefly then goes on his way.
    I feel my cheeks burn.
    It’s no big deal.
    One more office daydream.
    Not like I’m going to let myself get even more obsessed with him.
    I clock out.

Day of Employment:
362
    8:11 p.m.
* Day : Different.
* Shit : Same.
* Workload and Course Load : Big, steamy load.
* Consider : Pro v. con of liquid diet.
* Shopping List : One bourbon. One Scotch. One beer.
    M R . T HOROGOOD , Y OU S IR , are a culinary genius.
    Inebriated academia is not in the mix for me. High alcohol tolerance and low fiscal flow preclude sufficient acquisition of libations.
    In summation: What is commonly referred to as “broke.”
    Clara is in my room and, with all her traditional subtlety, suggesting I get gussied up to go out with her and have gentlemen buy our drinks. That’s just not my thing. My bar crawl phase was short, sweet and sour.
    Not to say I no longer have scandalous, wild times now. Example: I routinely spend long, late night hours having as many as four men entertain me in my bed. Men like Fallon, Kimmel, O’Brien, and Letterman.
    “Do you even own fancy duds anymore?” Clara says, scavenging through my barren closet.
    I shrug. Turn the page in my textbook.
    “Emma,” she faux whines. “Let’s get stolen.”
    Stolen? My brow furrows. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”
    “Then you have never been properly stolen.” She sticks her tongue out playfully, then winces. I am pretty sure she just realized she smudged her lip color; however, this setback, much like everything else, doesn’t ruffle her for long.
    “What has become of my fine, feathered friend?” A few hangers slide against the rod in punctuation.
    There is no point in pointing out the ludicrousness of most of Clara’s asides. If it were my job, my 401(k) would be fully vested.
    Further, my personage has not, at any point in my longer-than-I-care-to-admit existence, been either fine or feathered. I may have, however, recently allowed Canon to make me cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.
    Jury is still out on that.
    Ha. See? And they said law school is not a joking matter.
    What really is not a joking matter is the $1,800 in textbooks that, conveniently for the university’s budget, never ever, ever seem to be used by any instructor the following semester. I have given up even venturing to the campus bookstore for buyback.
    Clothes shuffling racket stops abruptly. On the uppermost shelf, a black box seems to hold Clara’s attention.
    “Hey, when is your company’s yearly shindig? In just a couple days, right?”
    My left eyebrow lifts. Clara fishes the box down with a hanger.
    “Oh, no, you do not. Something along the lines of what I wore last year will be quite enough.” Heck the identical outfit as last year, more than likely. It’s not like anyone is gonna notice.
    “People will notice,” Clara says, as if she can hear my every thought. “I know what you’re thinking, Emma.”
    I wasn’t even kidding.
    “It does no good for Emmarella to acquire fabulous shoes if she never wears them to a ball.” One half of a pair of crystal adorned strappy heels is a pendulum from her index finger.
    1:03 a.m.
* Textbook : Pillow.
* Osmosis : Needs to be a viable study method.
    I AWAKE T O T HE S OUND of my bedroom door being knocked on. Well, beaten on. Repeatedly.
    Needlessly, too, I might add as it is wide open.
    Clara bounces