Monday, Monday

After the exciting news of yesterday, nothing was going to spoil my Monday, most of all as I had a night with Cleo to look forward to.

Unfortunately I hadn’t taken into account our most difficult client, Mr A.

Mr A is a charming gentleman from the north of England. He has an immense property portfolio, in addition to a reasonably successful clothing business that he is in the process of preparing for sale, which is where we come in.

Unfortunately he also has a penchant for erotic dancers and a very jealous wife.

How do I have this fascinating insight, you may ask, well, it’s what learn on one too many late nights out with your client in some of the north west’s “Gentlemens’ clubs” (that’s a polite name for lap dancing btw).

Now, I may be a long term Sugar addict, but lap dancing has never floated my boat.

Sadly it not only floats Mr A’s boat, but seems to put quite a bit of wind in his sails…

So much so, that it seems this rather energetic 70 year old has indulged his passion for 18/19 year old dancers once too often and has been caught out.

It appears that his ever watchful wife found an earring belonging to, I understand her stage name is Chantelle, in the back of his Range Rover…

So at 9.30 this morning my day took a sharp downward turn.

Mr A was on the phone for what seemed ages, trying to sound calm and rational and achieving neither.

Basically he needs to rush along the due diligence on his business sale PDQ, as a divorce may be upcoming and, reading between the lines, he wants to stash the proceeds somewhere safe.

All I could see was a full day of work madness ahead of me and my date with Cleo at 8 looking a bit shaky.

I marshalled all the skills of delegation and analysis that an MBA is supposed to possess and set to work.

It was 7.30 by the time I had a plan in place and summarised it in an email, thinking that I’d better text Cleo to tell her that as I had to get from Holborn to Kensington, it might be a bit tight for 8.

I arrived at our date, a small sushi restaurant, bang on time, fortunately moments before Cleo.

I really was exhausted, but the sight that greeted me elated my spirits immediately.

Cleo was wearing a tight black mini, heels and a fitted cream silk shirt, she looked amazing.

As soon as we kissed, Mr A, the lap dancers, the insane workload and the vengeful wife dropped away and I was back in Sugarland with my gorgeous Cleo.

We sat at the counter, in front of some highly skilled sushi chef, who was brandishing what looked like the sharpest knife in London, when she leant to whisper in my ear,

“Daddy, I’m not wearing any panties, as you instructed, but I think I’ve been a bad girl”

Thank God for my Sugarbabe 🙂

 

 

 

 

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