Freeing Clara

8. Luncheon

Flint is confused again and has to lean against the counter to relax somewhat.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Jaime looks over at Najeem then back at Flint.

"Vanessa said she was going to your place last night. She canceled our movie plans. She said you booty called her. She even sent me a picture from your bedroom as proof!"

Jaime pulls out her phone from her pocket. After a moment of searching, she finds the photo and hands it over to Flint.

Vaness is sporting a black corset and matching underwear. She takes the photo using a mirror, the same mirror that sits beside Flint's dresser. In the background is a pair of Clara's shoes.

"Go get clocked in... don't mention this to anyone, understood?" Flint says exhaling angrily.

Jaime nods. "Like, it's none of my business but has she been lying this whole time?"

"What else has she been saying?" Najeem buts incuriously.

Jaime scoffs. "A lot. She's been telling all the girls that you and she are a thing. That it's serious and that you basically worship her but you don't like talking about it or showing affection at work. She has told us stories about you and her... really inappropriate stories."

The bell rings again. Flint shakes his head.

"None of its true," he says under his breath.

Jaime hurries off to the back to clock on and get ready. Najeem begins to wipe down the bar. Flint leaves the bar to go upstairs to the apartment.

He'd have to fire her. That's for sure. What worried Flint was if the stories had gotten to Clara. He needed to reassure her that none of it was true.

Opening the apartment door, Flint calls out for his girl. Her bare feet pat against the hardwood and his eyes perch like a dog as he looks in the direction of the sound.

She walks out of the bathroom, her hair wavy and full. She wore a bohemian style maxi dress in the color red. The neckline was deep but she wore a lace tank top underneath to make it more modest, knowing Flint would argue over it.

"I enjoy the easy access," Flint jokes as he comes face to face with Clara.

"Easy access!" Clara repeats laughing.

Flint kneels down, his hands grasp her ankles and slide up under the dress. His hands rest under her firm backside, he grins when he finds her underwear to be a poor excuse of a Brazilian thong.

He applies pressure to the back of her thighs and lifts her. Squealing for a moment as she is unstable and then suddenly able to rest against Flint. Her arms wrap around his neck, her legs around his torso.

"That's more like it," Flint sighs with content.

He carries her effortlessly towards the couch. Sitting down carefully, Clara settles on his lap, one hand not leaving her backside. Flint pulls her in closer, her lacey tank top is pulled down with his free hand.

"Are you wearing a bra, Mrs. Clara?" Flint nearly grunts.

"Why don't you check?"

His eyes shoot up to hers and he grins. The seductress within her was mind-blowing and took him off guard every single time. He pulls the tank top down more until he is able to see the curvature of her breasts and part of her nipples.

"Fuck," He groans.

"You should look at what's on the bottom half. You felt it but... you should probably still take a look," she teases.