by Rebel Wild
I didn’t bother taking my phone to help me communicate because I can usually muddle through without it. No one talks to me outside of the mailroom, except for Lyle and Sharon. I don’t think it would have done me much good anyhow. Mr. Dixon didn’t seem to have the patience to wait for me to type on a phone.
I get to the mailroom, grab my phone, and report to Mrs. Stream.
“There was a problem with the mail delivery to Mr. Dixon,” I type and wait for the last word to light up. It lets me know it’s been spoken so I can continue. “He was in a private meeting and I interrupted. He was very angry with me. He took the envelope, but I couldn’t get his signature saying he received it.”
She waits patiently for me to type it all out.
“Did you get the okay from Sharon to interrupt?” she asks me.
“Sharon wasn’t at her desk, but Paris thought it would be okay for me to deliver.”
“Thanks for letting me know, Reagan. I’ll handle it.”
I give her an apologetic smile before retreating to the back room.
I don’t know how long I’ve been back here, or even what time it is because there are no windows to look out of. It could be pitch black outside and I wouldn’t know it. I’m disappointed when the wall clock tells me I’ve only been back here twenty minutes. I still have four hours to go before I can get out of here.
I look up from doing my labeling when I see Buzz Beano sit down beside me. He works down here even though being the IT guy, he’s supposed to be on the upper floor. He says it’s something to do with Gamma Rays filtering into his brain. I figure it’s a geek thing and don’t question it.
“So, you’re on the boss’s shit list,” he informs me. I frown at him. How could he possibly know what happened that fast? It must not be that bad if Mrs. Stream isn’t chewing me out about it. “He just requested I bring up a copy of your file,” he says, waving the manila folder in front of my face. I try to grab for it but he snatches it away. “Oh, no you don’t. This is for the boss’s eyes only. Tough break though, kiddo, but I’m sure you’ll find another job in no time.”
I roll my eyes at his retreating back as he hurries to do Mr. Dixon’s bidding. I can’t believe this. Am I really getting fired over a stupid mistake?
Unfuckingbelievable! is all that runs through my mind while I walk over to my incompetent receptionist.
“Paris, did you just authorize Reagan Montgomery to enter my office while I was conducting a private meeting?”
I watch as she shrinks lower in her chair to get away from me.
“Yes, Mr. Dixon. Sharon told me the meeting was private, but I didn’t think she meant staff couldn’t enter.”
“What did you think she meant?” I’m actually listening carefully because I’m dying to hear the answer to this.
“I thought she meant guests and… stuff.” She starts fumbling around with the papers on her desk trying to look busy. Her neon green nail polish is giving me a headache. I need to get someone on enforcing the damn dress code.
I’m dumbfounded, staring at her as I silently count to ten. What “guests” is she expecting to just stroll on up here without an appointment. The only exception being my family. Speaking of which, my mother would kill me if I ever blew up at a woman the way I’m trying hard not to blow up at this one.
“Call down and speak to Carol Stream. Apologize to her for your fuc… for your mistake.”
“Sure thing, sir.”
“Paris, from now on when I’m in a private meeting, no one is allowed to interrupt.”
“Got it, Mr. Dixon,” she tells me as she picks up the phone to do as I ask.
This is the thanks I get for doing my sister a favor and hiring one of her ditsy friends. Now I don’t even have the luxury of firing Paris without catching all kinds of hell from her. I head back to my office and try to put the debacle of what just happened behind me but I can’t concentrate. All I see are wide, hazel eyes, afraid and staring at me. Normally, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass, but something about them and the girl they’re attached to is bothering me. You just feel guilty for scaring a deaf girl, Dixon. I try to convince myself, but that sure doesn’t explain the hard-on I’m getting from thinking about her.
“Fuck,” I say out loud as images of her tied up and begging to come spring into my head.
I pick up the phone to call Buzz. It’s easier dealing with him than with human resources. He has a way of cutting through the bullshit about confidentiality. He answers on the first ring.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“I want a hard copy of Reagan Montgomery’s file, including all personal information that’s not pertaining to her employment,” I tell him. “You do understand what I am asking for, right?”
“Yes, sir,” he says and I can hear him typing away. “You want me to hack into unauthorized files. Got it. I’ll be up in about fifteen minutes.”
I hang up with him, laughing that he couldn’t give less of a fuck about doing something unethical if he tried.
“The file you requested, sir.” Buzz holds it up as he comes in.
“Is Sharon out there?”
“She sure is,” he says, flashing a goofy grin at the mention of Sharon, his not-so-secret crush. You’d swear he’s never been laid. Looking at him in his damn pumpkin orange sweater vest over his bright red wrinkle guard shirt, I imagine that truly is the case. “I’m sure you’ll find everything to your liking in the file, sir. Is there anything else?”
“Yeah, get some sun,” I instruct him when his ghostly hand gives me the file. “I don’t care if you have to wear aluminum foil on your head. Get your ass out of the basement and get some fresh air and vitamin D for the remainder of the work day.”
“Will do, sir,” he says all too quickly, but I know damn well he’s not going to do it.
I dismiss him to focus on more pressing matters, like trying to stop my dick from pressing into my pants at the thought of the delectable Miss Montgomery.
“Jesus,” I whisper as I open her file and see the security photo of her. Buzz was kind enough to blow it up for me.
I wonder if the little fucker knows I’m interested in her. I dismiss the thought. Knowing him, he probably thinks I’m trying to get rid of her. Normally, he’d be right since that’s usually the reason I ask for these types of files. I put him out of my mind as I study her picture.
Her hair is in the same bun it was in today. It appears she is reading something so her eyes are downcast almost submissively, but I can still see their clear hazel color just beyond her eyelashes. She hasn’t a drop of makeup on and fuck me, there isn’t a blemish on her.
Her flawlessness has me running my fingers along the picture yearning to touch her. I reluctantly turn past her photo as it is doing little to help the thick throbbing rod that’s now my cock. I pour over every inch of her background check for something that will satisfy my curiosity. It doesn’t take me long to find it.
“Bockman High School for the Performing Arts,” I read to myself.
She transferred out at age fifteen to Cottage Grove School for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing. I turn the page hoping there’d be something that says what she studied at the art school but no luck. The fact that she switched to a school for the deaf before she graduated has me curious as to what could have possibly happened. I stop myself from having Buzz hack into her medical files and move on. It doesn’t say anything about sexual preference, not that it should. For a second, I wonder if she’s a lesbian since Lyle seems to be so friendly with her. I sigh, moving on. I flip back and look at the photo of her angelic face once again. Instead of satisfying my curiosity, this has only piqued it.
“What the hell happened to you, Angel?”
I make it through the day without being fired. Mrs. Stream let me know that Paris called down to apologize for the miscommunication, so I hope I’m in the clear. I hop
in my car and make the drive back to my dorm room.
I usually use the time to shake off my workday, but my mind keeps going back to Mr. Dixon. The majority of the women at work swoon when they mention his name and at the same time quake in fear of him. But I never got that vibe from Sharon, so I figured it was just women lusting after the boss. I can relate to that. He’s without a doubt the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen plenty of him on Bay-Hot.
My brother was a big fan of that show and I have to admit I liked it too. Especially watching sexy Reed Dixon running shirtless on the beach rescuing drowning women. I was part relieved and part disappointed when it wasn’t him, but Mrs. Stream who interviewed me for my job. I hadn’t met him in person before today and I’m regretting that meeting. I can’t believe someone so handsome can be such an ogre. Even so, there’s still something about him that has my heart racing, probably those haunting dark eyes that had me shaking when he looked at me.
I get to my dorm room and plop down on my bed. I always make it back before Chloe, my roommate. I get to relax and unwind the thirty minutes it takes her to get home so we can go down to the hall and eat together. I hope they have something worth eating today. I’m sick of having to eat green jello.
I roll over on my side facing the wall. My eyes catch the photo Dad took of me at my first concert when I was ten. I’m wearing a red velvet dress with black shoes and white tights. I remember how much I loved those tights. I had to play Silent Night and I loved every minute of it. I spent days getting the tempo just right. All you see are my braces in the picture from me smiling. Rarely did I show my braces, but that day I couldn’t help it.
Closing my eyes, I think about being at the piano again, fingering every key to make the perfect note. I can almost hear how beautiful it sounds.
I wake to the feel of my bed shaking. Chloe’s standing over me.
“Are you coming down to eat?” she signs.
“What time is it?”
“Almost seven. I let you sleep as long as I could, but we better hurry if we want to make it to dinner.”
The dining hall is nearly empty except for a few stragglers scattered around the tables. We see our friend Arnold and he waves for us to sit with him.
“You look rough,” he signs to me.
I give him the finger, making Chloe laugh.
“Forgive her. She just woke up,” she explains to him. “Her job is wearing her out.”
“Oh, wow, yeah, it must be so exhausting pushing a tiny mail cart around to different cubicles twice a day,” he jokes.
I roll my eyes. He has no idea the type of place I work for.
“I guess those smelly old used jock straps and shit-stained towels you have to pick up from the locker room can be really heavy after the games,” I joke back.
I’ve known Arnold since high school. His father is good friends with the coach of the Angels Baseball Team and gave him a job as Team Assistant. Chloe and I know it’s just a nice way of saying he’s a towel boy.
“Hey, I’m trying to eat over here,” our classmate, Daniel, signs, looking like what he has in his mouth has just gone bad.
“No one told you to look in on the conversation,” Arnold signs back to him.
“I’m sitting right across from you. Where else can I look?”
I apologize to him for my bad table manners. I even go so far as to poke my lip out like I want to cry. He waves me away with a smile and continues to eat.
“Are you coming out with us tomorrow night?” Chloe wants to know now that we’re back in our dorm room.
“I promised the parents I’d have dinner with them.”
“Bummer.”
I nod, agreeing with her even though I’m looking forward to going home.
“Well, say hi to that fine-ass brother of yours.”
I roll my eyes at her description of my brother, Banks Jr. who insists we call him Monty after seeing that movie The Full Monty a few years ago. Chloe met him when he dropped by a few months ago so I could help him fill out his college applications. He’s graduating high school this year. His SAT scores are excellent and he can have his pick of schools. She’s been after him ever since he shared his Go Cup from KFC when I told him it was her favorite chicken. I guess she likes them young. He’s only three years younger than we are, but to me he’s a baby. I prefer older, more distinguished men, not that I’ve had much experience, but if I had, it would definitely be with an older guy.
Maybe like Mr. Dixon?
Okay, that’s it. I’m going to bed. I must still be tired with the way I’m thinking right now. I climb in and throw the covers over my head, hoping that tomorrow will be better, and by better, I mean no mail delivery to Mr. Haunting Dark Eyes.
My alarm is vibrating my bed, but my need to pee has me out of it faster than usual. I normally hit snooze at least three times. I cringe when I turn on the bathroom light. I don’t know why they have it so bright in here. I guess they like to torture us with harsh light first thing in the morning. May as well brush my teeth while I’m in here. I hope today goes smoothly. It’s Friday and I’m sure even Mr. Dixon has to be happy about the weekend. He doesn’t seem like your average TGIF kind of guy, but I hope he gives us lowly workers a break.
Is he really the first person on my mind?
“And we’re mentally kicking ourselves before we’ve even had our Cheerios this morning, I see,” Chloe signs, as she studies me in the mirror. I crinkle my nose at her image, telling her not to start.
The weatherman has warned of rain all week, but it’s warm today even with the overcast. I look out at the ocean as I drive down PCH. It sucks that I have to be at work today when I’d rather be at the beach. If I wasn’t going home, I’d text Chloe to go down and grab a fire pit so we can hang out tonight.
Ready to get this day over with, I clock in for work and go about the business of sorting the executive mail for delivery when I spot a flat legal-sized white FedEx envelope. And just like that, the day’s ruined because I already know who it’s for. So much for a happy Friday. I grab the envelope and my phone this time before voyaging up to the third floor.
Sharon’s already busy at her desk. I point to the envelope, then behind her to Mr. Dixon’s door and she tells me to go on in. When I hesitate, she apologizes for yesterday and assures me that it’s fine. I take a deep breath and enter.
Mr. Dixon’s not at his desk so I quickly scan the room. He’s in the far corner of his office looking out his window at what I’m guessing is the ocean or maybe his shipyard which is a few blocks away. He’s not aware that I’ve entered because he doesn’t even attempt to turn around. I take a chance and continue forward, trying to make what I think is enough noise to get his attention. I get just to his desk when he turns his head to look at me.
Judging by the angry scowl on his face, this was a really bad idea and I’ve just made the same stupid mistake twice. I take a step back thinking maybe I’ve invaded too much of his space coming into the office, but he moves toward me with such a predatory quickness that it freaks me out. I beeline for the door in an all-out sprint. I try to open it again, but it doesn’t budge. I look up to see what’s holding it. He has the palm of his hand pressed firmly into it.
He removes the hand only to reach around my waist, spinning me around to face him. I claw at him to push him away and he shoves me so hard that my back slams against the door. He takes my arms and lifts them in a surrender position, holding my wrists with his large hands. His body is pressed into mine to keep me from moving. I try to get him the hell off me but it’s no use. He only tightens his grip until it’s almost painful. My back is still stinging from the smack of the door, but I barely feel it anymore with my adrenaline kicking in.
Why is he trying to hurt me?
My God, he’s a monster. I’m trapped in here with him and he won’t let me escape.
Chapter
Three
Haunting me. That’s what she is doing. She’s fucking haunting me and it’s worse than when Ryan does it because I like it. She has me caught in her web but how could she? I’ve spent less than five minutes with her when she barged in on me and half that time, I was scaring the shit out of her. It’s my conscience. That’s what it is. My conscience has finally kicked in after all these damn years and now it’s using a scared little school girl to mock me.
Was that your conscience you spent the whole night jacking off to, Dixon?
The hell it was. Reagan Montgomery had me rubbing out more than I could count, but it brought no relief. My dick is still in rigid misery. I didn’t even slightly curb my desire to fuck her and I imagined fucking her in every way possible in every damn room of my beach house.
We’d moved from the dining room to the living room. I had her ass slammed up against the huge projector television in the entertainment room, sprawled out on top of the piano in the living room, finally ending in my bed where I slowly stroked myself imagining her tight body on top of me. If it was just fucking, I wouldn’t be bothered by it so much. What we were doing in those last images in my bedroom was intimate. It was lovemaking. We were in my bed making love and spooning afterward and fuck if I didn’t love every minute of it. That’s the part that’s torturing me.
This is just unacceptable. I’m fantasizing about a damn employee. Not to mention the fact that I’m fantasizing. I don’t fucking fantasize about women; they fantasize about me. I need to get laid, that’s all this is. My body is warning me that I’ve gone too long without a damn good orgasm.
I get to work, grumble a good morning to Sharon, before shooing her out of my office. Reagan’s file is glaring at me from where I left it open on my desk. I toss it into the pile to be shredded, determined to get rid of her once and for all.
