~11~ golden boy

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It’s ironic that a female toolkit defeated Mr Zeepler. I hear his muffled groans. My feet trip over each other in an attempt to run. I scoop my breasts back in my bra. In my rush, I end up stumbling on a box of screws.  Obviously, I land flat on my face. I was always a bad multi-tasker. 

This gives him ample opportunity to catch up with me. He grins triumphantly and offers a hand out to me.

“Why the rush?” he says “I know you liked it. Come, you can serve me at the till.” 

Argh. This man p!sses me off! I can’t stand him. My fingers brush against the pricing gun and before I can stop myself, I smack it against him. Inadvertently, I press down on the button and a price tag appears on his lapel. Mr Zeepler looks momentarily stunned as he studies the tag. 

A slow, roguish grin appears on his face. “I’m worth that much to you. You want to brand me now? I’ll keep this — Erik owned by Amelie.” 

The man saunters off, hands in his pockets, and pauses at the end of the aisle. His bright blue eyes twinkle — he doesn’t seem like a man who only moments ago was fondling me up. Hmm. Who knew Mr Z had a dark side? Fooled everyone, I see. 

“After you, Miss Amelie,” He bows.

Still keeping up his fake gentleman routine. He’s blocking the aisle. And my escape route. Sh!t. I don’t care — I’ll make a run for it. A pleasant smile is plastered on his face. Just as I brush past him, his hand shoots out and pats my bum. Can’t he keep his hands to himself?

Scowling, I look over my shoulder. This man would fit right into Grandpa Van Hoff’s day — Mad Men era. I can just imagine the old codger smiling down in approval at his actions. 

“So eager to please me…” he purrs.


Dad’s laughing with a rotund male customer; smile lines crinkle up the corners of his leaf-green eyes — the same shade as mine. 

I tug at his sleeve insistently. “Dad! You serve Mr Zeepler.”

He apologises to the customer and takes me to one side. 

Dad doesn’t look pleased. “What have I told you about interrupting me when I’m with a cust—”

“He’s waiting—”

“You know how to use the till. How hard can it be? This is Mr Zeepler — regular customer, not a stranger.”

Irritation flashes across his eyes. Dad needs to be told that the banker’s a creep… I’ll tell him right now. Mr Zeepler needs to be shamed. All of Dad’s allusions about him are going to be shattered. I open my mouth to speak — a burst of confidence spurring me on. 

“Mr Zeepler…” That bubble of confidence soon bursts.

“Why, did you upset Erik?” Dad says.

A worried look touches his features. Oh no. That was what I didn’t need to hear… I’ve lost my nerve now. I can’t do it.

Along with everyone else, Dad’s part of Mr Zeepler’s fan club. That man can do no wrong in their eyes. He’s the golden boy. Dad would just say I’m turning into The Golddigger — a femme fatale who believes every man wants her. Even if Dad did believe me, who'd believe us? Mr Zeepler’s wealthy; we’re not. It would just be a confirmation to Dad that his “Rivers of R@pe” speech was coming true. I wouldn’t be allowed to step foot outside the house — ever. I shake my head and head over to the counter.

Mr Zeepler’s not worth the extra hassle.


The banker’s drumming his fingers impatiently against the counter. I scan his items as quickly as possible. His eyes trail over my face. A half-smile of remembered pleasure taunts me. 

I reach out to take his money.

“Where’s your beautiful smile?” His hand grasps mine. Tight as a vice. Unyielding.

“No,” I snap back.

“Don’t be ungrateful.”

The cheek of the man! 

Our hands engage in a mini-battle. Eventually I rip my hand out of his. The coins clink to the ground. I curse loudly. He smirks.

He needs to be butchered alive… 

I bend down to fetch the runaway cash. I’d like to escape from this moment too. As I straighten up, I almost drop the coins again. The tall male figure heading towards the till sends an intense spark through me. 

It can’t be him. It is him. It’s Armand. 

A/N: Please VOTE, COMMENT and SHARE!  You like Mr Zeepler or no? :D Dmitri 

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