Ambitious People (Book 1 of "On Crescent Street")

By Nicola Nichols

Ambitious people do what it takes to get win. They don’t mind bending the rules and many of them are addicted to the risks that come with pushing the envelope and traveling paths most wouldn’t dare to follow.

The ambitious women and men living together on quiet little Crescent Street share this nearly insatiable lust. Theirs is a sizzling, sex-filled tale of the struggle for power.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

The dental office wasn’t big, but it was modern and upmarket. It sparkled. Sitting there made me nervous.

Across the desk from me was a sour-looking guy named Jerry. He was the office manager, a dentist. I sat there, hands in my lap, watching him reading my job application. The guy moved his lips while he read.

I’d seen an ad for a receptionist on the college bulletin board the day I dropped out of school and got right on it. I called, Jerry said to come in.

School had been a disaster. Actually, school was fine. I was the disaster. I had no interest in any of the subjects.

I’d thought that getting a degree would set me on a path to success. The problem was that I didn’t have any idea what success looked like for me, no idea what path I wanted to take. I wasted a semester searching and pretending. Then I dropped out.

I needed time. I needed perspective and here I was. I didn’t give a shit about dentistry or office work, but I thought an office job would let me meet people who were doing interesting things. I like people doing interesting things.

“Four dentists share this practice,” Jerry told me. “What we are looking for, Crystal, is mainly someone reliable who can answer the phone, keep schedules, and be the charming face our clients see.”

The look he gave me told me that meant sexy and efficient. I was glad I’d worn a dress and heels and put on makeup. I almost hadn’t bothered. I tend toward punk, if you must know. Fortunately, my nose ring didn’t seem to bother him, nor the little rings tattooed on my neck.

“I can do that,” I said.

“If a candidate has the skills and aptitude to take on some of the office work, paying bills, taking care of maintenance issues, things like that, well, that would be in her favor.”

“I took two accounting classes in college,” I said, too eagerly. “I was a business major.” He didn’t need to know that I had hated all the business classes and I’d earned a D average.

I wanted this job. I hated being poor and working here might let me meet people who were successful or on their way to being successful. I might not know what field I wanted to work in, but I was ambitious. You don’t get ahead hanging around with other poor people.

The only other jobs in town seemed to involve working as a server in a restaurant or truck stop diner.

“That’s a bonus,” he said. “And I’d like to offer you the job. Unfortunately, to start with, it would only be part-time. Twenty-five hours a week.”

That sucked. “So no benefits.”

He shook his head. “This is a young practice, and we have to keep the monthly overhead down.”

I knew the rent on this office had to cost a bundle. On the other hand, these were dentists, and my guess was that the money was rolling in. Jerry’s clothes sure weren’t off the rack from a discount store. He struck me as one of those cheap guys who’d use any excuse to keep from paying fair prices.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boruma Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Sep 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005225599

Book preview

AMBITIOUS PEOPLE

On Crescent Street

Nicola Nichols

Copyright © 2022 Nichola Nichols

All Rights Reserved

Nicola’s Note

You have to admire ambitious people. Their desire and passion for success give them the willingness to do what it takes to achieve their goals. But it also means they don’t mind bending the rules. They’ll use whatever they have, do whatever they have to, to win. No price is too high.

In fact, many of them are addicted to the excitement that comes with the risks that come with pushing the envelope, coloring outside the lines, and knowing that they travel paths most wouldn’t dare to follow.

Through coincidence, or maybe fate, an odd group of very ambitious women and men have wound up living in the cauldron that is the apartment building on quiet little Crescent Street. They are quite different people, with differing goals, and yet, their ambition, their nearly insatiable lust, give them a bond that lets them understand each other — very well.

This is their story. A sizzling tale of their struggles for power and hot sex.

I hope it gives you pleasant tingles.

1 — Crystal

The dental office wasn’t big, but it was modern and upmarket. It sparkled. Sitting there made me nervous.

Across the desk from me was a sour-looking guy named Jerry. He was the office manager, a dentist. I sat there, hands in my lap, watching him reading my job application. The guy moved his lips while he read.

I’d seen an ad for a receptionist on the college bulletin board the day I dropped out of school and got right on it. I called, Jerry said to come in.

School had been a disaster. Actually, school was fine. I was the disaster. I had no interest in any of the subjects.

I’d thought that getting a degree would set me on a path to success. The problem was that I didn’t have any idea what success looked like for me, no idea what path I wanted to take. I wasted a semester searching and pretending. Then I dropped out.

I needed time. I needed perspective and here I was. I didn’t give a shit about dentistry or office work, but I thought an office job would let me meet people who were doing interesting things. I like people doing interesting things. Not dental shit, but still.

Four dentists share this practice, Jerry told me. What we are looking for, Crystal, is mainly someone reliable who can answer the phone, keep schedules, and be the charming face our clients see.

The look he gave me told me that meant sexy and efficient. I was glad I’d worn a dress and heels and put on makeup. I almost hadn’t bothered. I tend toward punk, if you must know. Fortunately, my nose ring didn’t seem to bother him, nor the little rings tattooed on my neck.

I can do that, I said.

If a candidate has the skills and aptitude to take on some of the office work, paying bills, taking care of maintenance issues, things like that, well, that would be in her favor.

I took two accounting classes in college, I said, too eagerly. I was a business major. He didn’t need to know that I had hated all the business classes and I’d earned a D average.

I wanted this job. I hated being poor and working here might let me meet people who were successful or on their way to being successful. I might not know what field I wanted to work in, but I was ambitious. You don’t get ahead hanging around with other poor people.

The only other jobs in town seemed to involve working as a server in a restaurant or truck stop diner.

That’s a bonus, he said. And I’d like to offer you the job. Unfortunately, to start with, it would only be part-time. Twenty-five hours a week.

That sucked. So no benefits.

He shook his head. This is a young practice, and we have to keep the monthly overhead down.

I knew the rent on this office had to cost a bundle. On the other hand, these were fucking dentists, and my guess was that the money was rolling in. Jerry’s clothes sure weren’t off the rack from a discount store. He struck me as one of those cheap assholes who’d use any excuse to keep from paying fair prices.

A girl has to eat and pay rent, I said.

He shrugged as if that wasn’t anything important. Once you learn the job, as the practice grows, we can see about giving you more hours.

For several reasons, some of them embarrassingly stupid, I took the job. One big reason was simply convenience—I didn’t have a car and the office was walking distance from the apartment I was sharing with Harold, my ostensible boyfriend.

The apartment was simple, old-fashioned, and nice. It was one apartment in an older wood-framed building on the shaded and pretty Crescent Street. It was just two blocks away from where I worked. Despite being near office buildings, Crescent Street was a small side street with a small-town feel.

So, here I was, taking a job because I needed money and my living situation was tenuous, temporary at best.

I’d been dating Harold. We got along but were definitely not in love. When I dropped out of school and whined about my situation, he offered to let me move in.

Harold wasn’t exciting, but he was nice. At the time, I didn’t realize that for me, nice was a synonym for boring. Not that I’d have done anything differently if I’d known how dull he was—I had few options.

Soon enough Harold and I would be headed in different directions. But for now, I had time.

Harold intended to go to medical school. He applied for scholarships, but he’d missed out on them for this year. Fortunately, he got a pretty damn good job working as a tech in a medical lab. The doctor he was working for promised to help him with applications the next year, maybe pull some strings.

That was good for him. But it meant that by the next school year I’d have to be able to fend for myself. I’d need an apartment I could afford. That meant finding a decent job, a better one than I was starting. But Jerry said the job would grow.

Living with Harold was supposed to let me put away some money and get my life in order.

That was the plan.

I didn’t know what I wanted in a guy for a long-term relationship. I wasn’t even sure I wanted one of those. The attraction of the dentists was, frankly, money. Rich people came in to get dental work done. I might meet some nice guy who was looking for a woman to pamper and spoil. That much I could handle nicely.

Thinking about it more, I decided that if I found a guy who was sexy, fit, well hung, loved to eat pussy, and was stinking rich, I might consider marriage. But I wasn’t sure.

I like a life of variety and being tied to one guy sounded boring, even if he was more exciting than Harold. On the other hand, I didn’t want to get screwed over by a run-of-the-play contract, where I spend my best years with some guy who then moves on, leaving me with nothing.

So, marriage, with a decent prenup, seemed reasonable. If I got the option.

Still, most of my fantasies involved me getting my piece of the pie through some kind of business I owned. I liked being in control. If you were in charge, then success or failure was up to you. You even got to decide what success looked like.

In marriage, two people had to agree on a lot of shit.

So here I was accepting Jerry’s shit offer of a job.

Can you start Monday? he asked.

I could. I would.

I started walking home feeling pretty fucking good. About halfway there I remembered that I’d turned off my phone for the interview. When I turned it on, I had a text message from Harold. He was working an extra shift.

So much for celebrating my good news, such as it was. Not that Harold would be excited for me. I doubted he’d even care. I wasn’t sure I cared.

I pictured myself in a dress and heels, sitting at a desk smiling at people, being polite on the phone. Not things I enjoyed.

The more I thought about my new job, the worse my attitude got. It was, I saw now, a dead-end job. Meeting people was the only good thing about it. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet the people I thought I wanted to meet.

That sucked.

When I got to the house, I saw Jake Travers sitting on the porch. He was a good-looking guy who lived downstairs in that first apartment. I hadn’t talked to him much, but mostly because he stayed busy. He was a few years older than me and friendly.

Now he was sitting on the front steps in a pair of shorts, drinking a beer and smoking a joint. He had nice muscles and when I came up, he smiled up at me. Hello, Crystal. How’s it going?

Shitty. I spit the words out.

He held out the joint. Then I suggest you sit down beside me, have a toke, and get a little perspective on the matters of the world.

Best idea I’ve heard all day, I said.

Grateful, I slumped down next to him and inhaled the smoke, willing it to seep into me, to relax everything. When I handed it back, he reached down to a small cooler and pulled a can of beer out of a small cooler and handed it to me. Thanks, I said.

The beer tasted good too.

Want to talk about it? he asked.

Oddly enough, I did. I told him the sad story of getting a job.

He was nice to talk to, and we passed the joint back and forth as I spilled it out, even saying a bit more about Harold than I intended, or probably should have.

He passed the joint back, and I took another long puff. Well, since you don’t have a car and the job is nearby, it’s got that going for it. And a part-time gig gives you a chance to hunt up something better.

I liked his optimism. What do you do? I asked. You seem to work odd hours.

I saw him looking down at my legs. He didn’t seem to care about Harold, but then I didn’t either. I like that he was looking. Besides, the look on his face as his eyes ran over my legs, pleased me.

He leaned toward me and winked. I sell real estate, he said.

Selling fancy houses?

He laughed. Headed there. I’m just starting out. I’ve been working for a little outfit, but I just got hired by a more upmarket firm—Billie Findlay’s company.

I’d seen her company’s signs around on businesses and in ads. I’ve heard of them.

People have. So I must be moving up.

I wrinkled my nose. I don’t think I’d like a sales job, I said.

Everything in life involves some selling. But if you have the knack, if you can work well with people, you can make good money in real estate.

He put a hand on my knee. It felt almost as good as the weed, but not exactly relaxing. I kept my eyes on him, pretending nothing was going on. And the work is always different, not the same thing day in and out. The slow times are a pain, and not having a steady income means you need to manage your money, but I get to see possibilities.

After a bit, he slipped his fingers under the hem of my dress.

Like what?

He slid his hand further under my dress and I twitched a little. His gentle touch was getting me warm. I want to own some commercial properties, be a landlord. I could start with a place like this one, he said.

You have the money to buy this place?

He laughed. It wouldn’t be my money. No. I’d need to get an investment group together. Get some money people and I’d manage it. That’s part of what I do… property management.

Now that sounds more like a regular job.

Can be, he said, letting his lips brush my cheek and his fingers moved under the leg of my panties. I swallowed as the tingles from his touch lit me up. I leaned back as he slid a finger inside me. He was watching my face and smiling.

Why don’t we go in my place? I promise there won’t be one regular thing in there.

I laughed and nodded.

We got up, and I followed him inside his studio apartment. He had a corner set up as an office with a desk stacked with papers. On the wall behind it was a whiteboard with property addresses on it. I went over to the desk for a closer look. Research for work, he said when he saw me looking.

Then he was behind me, his hands snaking around my waist and undoing my skirt.

And what’s that? I asked.

Research for pleasure, he said. My skirt fell to the floor and as his hand went down the front of my panties, his mouth was kissing my neck, his tongue flicking my earlobe. Damn, it felt nice.

I stood frozen in place, unable to think of anything but the way his fingers felt as he played with my pussy, the press of his body against mine, and the hard bulge of his cock against my ass. I gasped when his finger went inside me, sending a shiver rippling through me. Damn, I’d barely met this guy, and I was letting him feel me up and more than eager for him to fuck me.

That is a sweet and warm pussy, Jake said, whispering warm words in my ear and letting his fingers dance in my pussy.

Then he squatted down behind me, tugging my panties down and letting his tongue taste my ass cheeks. I lifted each foot in turn for him to take them off me, then he put his head between my legs and ran his hot, moist tongue up the inside of my thigh. My breathing grew ragged as he ran it over my pussy.

His hands held my hips and as he stood, I heard his zipper coming down.

Not having even seen his prick, I imagined it. That was erotic as hell. His shorts dropped to the ground. I shivered at the touch of his stiff prick brushing over my thigh. When he spread my legs apart, I bent forward, grasping the top of his cluttered desk as he came close and worked his swollen cock into my wet cunt.

He wrapped his arms around me and held me. With my cunt stuffed full of his prick he undid my blouse and grabbed my tits. Squeezing them, he began rocking his cock inside me. Nice, he sighed.

I agreed with him. Jake’s enormous cock felt glorious moving inside me. He fucked me in slow, steady thrusts. His tongue traced wet lines on the back of my neck.

He was