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Derek Blake strode into the sleek, silver-glassed building, glancing up at the state-of-the-art digital sign above the door. The lyrics of Hella Dope’s new chart topper Bust It streamed just below the bigger, bolder title announcing the name of the building: Blake Records. As always, he felt a sense of burning pride as he stepped inside the company he’d built from the ground up. As he passed the receptionist’s desk, she looked up with a ready smile and warm gaze. “Good morning, Mr. Blake.” “Morning, Lexi.” He winked and kept walking. He’d fucked her once. Bent her over that shiny black desk she now sat behind, in fact. He could still remember how she’d moaned, so wet and willing. He’d never bought into that “no interoffice fraternizing” bullshit and had been inside damn near every woman in the building in one way or another. If they were willing to spread their legs, why the hell not. The floor-to-ceiling glass elevator...

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took him up the twelve stories to his office. When the door opened with a soundless glide, he exited onto the ultra-modern top floor, comforted by the sparse, high-end furnishings and posh gray everything. It was smooth and impeccable. Just like him. As he walked by the kitted out employee lounge, however, he drew to a stop, the sound of low, feminine voices piquing his interest. His A&R rep Jessica, whose tits he’d sucked on a time or two, was talking to Becca, one of his junior publicists. He hadn’t had Becca yet, but it was only a matter of time before he had her legs wrapped around him, too. “Can you believe Sarah?” Jessica asked, leaning against the counter. “Hard to believe she’s for real. What a bumpkin.” Becca laughed. “I know. When she said she’s never been with…

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