by Jaye Peaches
Curling my lips, I mentally pictured Jason Lucas’s mother holding her baby son while admiring his beauty and wondering if a feckless girl would come along, kiss him brazenly on the lips and turn her child into a frog. Was I going to be the rude princess and taint Mr Lucas with my humble background and origins? The discomfort returned and I drooped physically in my seat. I had no idea what I was doing in his company. He must have had the pick of high society’s glamorous ladies and his address book would be full of names he could pick and choose from according to the occasion. My eyes dropped to the glazed coffee table and my untouched wine.
He cleared his throat with the tiniest of coughs and I lifted my eyes back up. His face gave me a little moment of encouragement and he led me back to him, just as he had with his hand on my back in the concert hall. I had to stop the self-doubt and annihilation of my own well-earned abilities. I was a competent woman, I reminded myself and more than capable of holding my own. My back straightened and I tossed my long locks of hair out of my eyes. I wanted to appear refined in his company: stature and prestige must be contagious. The faintest nod of appreciation on his part made my heart swell. We were ready to begin.
The evening was a whirlwind of talk about my area of business expertise: asset valuation. I gained little insight into Jason Lucas the private man, more the Managing Director and Chief Executive of a monstrous company. He glossed over his rapid rise to being a successful and exceedingly rich businessman. The speed at which he set up a holding company for his substantially lucrative subsidiaries, which were mainly in the areas of finance, accountancy and legal services. He was a man who oversaw the company headquarters and the few hundred people based there. Taking into account all of his UK based businesses and overseas firms, he was nominally in charge of nearly twenty thousand people. I could not stop being in awe of him.
“A small army of people. Quite a responsibility,” I commented trying to appear at ease with him.
“Yes. However, I didn’t inherit that number overnight but over many years, and by acquiring several subsidiaries with their own management structure. I prefer to concentrate on new acquisitions rather than the running of the various business groups I own.”
“Empire builder then. You like power. Why not politics?”
My curiosity was being fostered by his openness. I was been given a chance to interrogate my boss and find out what made him tick. The informal cross-examination was a rare opportunity and I bristled with the honour. I had been on the university student’s gazette for a brief period doing interviews for the student entrepreneur section.
Jason was not put off by my questions. He seemed pleased that I was taking an interest in him and his corporate personality not his looks and the private life they hid. However, I could not stop my heart fluttering and there was this need in me to keep dropping my eyes from his penetrating gaze.
“Politics means winning people over to you, I prefer to win money. Money is tangible and reliable, easier to control and manage. Not that I don’t appreciate good employees and loyalty.”
I remembered Penny’s nervousness in his presence. “And bad employees, what happens to them?”
“Out the door. I don’t suffer fools.”
“A high turnover isn’t good for morale surely?” I could not recall though anyone in his company talking about dismissals or low morale.
“True. My established businesses are robust and have low staff turnover. When I take over another company there are often personnel changes. Necessary corrective measures to improve output or productivity.”
Jason collared a barman as he collected empty glasses and requested refills, as if highlighting his style of management.
“A disciplinarian then, Mr Lucas,” I smirked.
Jason cocked his head to one side and for the first time he seemed to want to laugh at me.
“Perhaps. Although, the employment laws restrict what I can do. An unfortunate oversight. I’m left with a limited pool of penalties, aren’t I?” his voice was laced with sarcasm.
Oh God, did I just blush bright red – penalties - a seductive word for me. Please, change the topic now! I was floundering.
“What do my employees think of me then?” he sat forward with his elbows on his knees. “Well?”
He had suddenly turned the tables on me.
“Oh, you know, high standards, high expectations. That sort of thing...”
He cut me down mid-flight.
“Oh come on, Gemma! No mention of my terrible lack of patience, ferocious bad temper and hatred of time-wasters. But those are the opinions I would expect from the office floor,” he smiled and sat back again.
I crossed my legs and smoothed my dress back down.
“You know your own portrait, Mr Lucas, why ask for my meagre brush strokes?” I said caustically.
Come on, Gemma, I thought, don’t let him brow beat you.
I felt like I was making progress in breaking down his impenetrable face. He actually seemed charmed by my delicate riposte.
“Have I offended you, Gemma? Of course, you should know better. The executives and managers I deal with are naturally ingratiating and sycophantic and they wouldn’t dare be honest and critical of me, would they?”
More sarcasm, it riled me. “Don’t disparage me, Mr Lucas. I’m sure nobody is dishonest with you. I imagine your role requires considerable patience, acquisitions don’t happen overnight. You probably don’t mince your words, that keeps your time productive and I expect you perceive other people’s unnecessary chitchat curtails output. I saw you in action in a meeting. I’ve had first-hand experience of your supposed style of management - it’s abrupt and uncompromising. On the other hand, you were very courteous with me last week, so I think you are very different with those you respect and consider valuable. Like your key execs. Keep them happy and they keep you happy? Yes?”
I ended my mini lecture with a gruff expression. Don’t underestimate me, Mr Lucas!
“Very astute, Miss Marshall. That is why you are employed as an analyst. Though I expect you prefer numbers to people.”
His last comment was accurate, I would rather spend time looking at a computer screen than join in with the office banter. I flinched from those blue eyes. They were back in intimidator form.
“I think I’ve taken the floor for long enough. Tell me about you, Gemma,” he said before taking a mouthful of wine.
What could I have said about my life? My student years were respectable and somewhat boring. My last job should be an easy topic, but then I would have to circumvent the reason I left so abruptly.
“No boyfriend?”
The questioned I dreaded. I decided to keep to a short answer.
“Not currently.”
There was no way I was taking that topic further. Therefore, I mentioned my unexciting family, who were hardworking, typically supportive but unobtrusive, thankfully.
“You don’t see your family much then?” he enquired.
“Not often. They don’t live too far away. I don’t have a car and I can’t afford train fares. Interns aren’t usually paid well or not all,” I pointed out.
“Oh, but think of all the experience you’re gaining!” he chortled and I saw this as my chance to raise my profile. I concentrated on commending my work skills, what I assumed had drawn him to me in the first place, or so I thought. Then I dried up and regretted not having pushed other aspects of my personality.
The conversation had maintained a serious nature to it all evening and it was not my normal style. I liked frivolity, gaiety and witticisms. I could do sombre mature exchanges. I was not a giggling brash girl who harped on about celebrities or spiteful co-workers nor did I hunger for bitchy gossip. Still, I had to let my hair down from time to time and have fun somehow.
“Why me, Mr Lucas?” I plucked up the courage to ask. “This evening’s concert, you could have chosen anyone to take.”
“To take?” he said with a bemused
expression. “It was your evening out as much as mine.”
“Then why gate-crash it with your presence?”
“Unwanted am I?”
I blushed terribly as I realised the direction we were heading in was not my intention. I had made myself sound ungracious.
“Oh no,” I backtracked quickly. “I mean, I’m very grateful for the ticket and your company.”
“You said gate-crash, Gemma,” he was not going to let my foolish word be dropped.
“I assumed you’d have better things to do then keep me company, that’s all,” I said meekly.
“I enjoy classical music,” said Jason cocking his head to one side. “In fact I purchased the tickets a long time ago. My brother was going to join me but he had to change his plans.”
I felt guilty. Had I usurped his brother from the seat and taken it for myself?
“Other plans?”
“Yes, a good coincidence, wasn’t it?” he remarked and I was not convinced he was being honest with me. “The charities, which are benefitting from tonight’s proceeds, includes one I have a particular fondness for. Whether I came or not, the tickets were already purchased.”
“So you wouldn’t have come without your brother? You don’t have any other suitable companions?” I added quickly.
His romantic background remained a mystery. Nobody at work seemed to be aware of girlfriends and the vacuum of information was filled with endless tittle-tattle and gossip.
“I have other family members and friends who could have filled his shoes. Then I heard your little disappointed voice by the photocopier.” He swilled the glass of wine about before swallowing a mouthful.
“You have a little black book somewhere do you?” I chirped up. “My name has been added to your list. Is it a long list or am I a convenient stand-in?”
I was trying to be humorous and somehow I knew I had failed to stoke up the belly laughs. The moment my impulsive mouth shut tight, I wondered if I had offended him. His face remained unchanged by my outburst. Before he could answer I leapt back to apologise.
“Sorry, I’m being rude and unappreciative. It’s just you’re my boss, rich and, well, I ask again - why me?”
He did not answer, instead he pinned me down with his gaze. I was flummoxed for a moment and the pause led me to my analytical place. At what point had he decided to give me the spare ticket? The moment he saw me by the photocopier or the project meeting when we had barely exchanged a word. That brief meeting in his office seemed to have laid the foundation for something more substantial. Did he give me the ticket because of my musical preferences or because he wanted my company?
Shit! I hated having to think about things sometimes.
“What do you want from me, Mr Lucas?” I said taking the bull by the horns. “I’m not a lonely heart in need of solace.”
“Aren’t you?” he said.
“No,” I said adamantly. “I’m quite alright as I am.”
“Indeed,” he pursed his lips and leant forward putting his wine glass down. “Seems to me like you’re in need of something.”
The floor should have swallowed me up and made me disappear. I crushed my legs together and there was that moment of trembling when you know your sexual awakening has been discovered. Was my attraction to him that obvious! He was good-looking and probably expected women to drool over him. He exuded attractiveness and I had responded to him as if I was programmed like a computer. I had probably followed his textbook evening - entertainment, alcohol and then what?
“I don’t have a little black book, Gemma,” he said so softly I could barely hear his voice over the hubbub. “I just know when somebody needs me. Arrogant of me to assume so perhaps. I had a spare ticket and you, with your voracious green eyes and shaking fingers, had tempted me into giving it to you.”
Tempted him!?
“No little black book?” I asked quietly and almost rhetorically.
“No,” he said. “I’ve never needed one. I know what I want.”
I had to pee. It was always the way when my inner thing was activated so successfully. The adrenaline rush was ramped to a high setting and my bladder responded on cue.
“I need to pee,” I said. Did I just say pee! “The ladies,” I added embarrassed.
“I believe it’s the appropriate location,” he said sardonically. “You want my permission?” he commented with a grin.
My mouth opened and nothing came out for a second.
“No of course not,” I said picking up my small clutch purse with those silly shaking hands he had so observantly noticed. Smoothing my skirt down, I went to stand up.
“Are you sure that is all you need?” he asked wryly.
I did not know what to say and practically ran to the toilet.
I never expected sex that night. The prospect seriously had not crossed my mind. After all, I had not been in the company of a single man for what seemed an age. My sex life was in limbo and I had no idea what I needed to do to return it to its normal safe existence. The end of the evening I foresaw was a taxi ride home and then burying my head under the covers with my dancing fingers. I would satisfy my urges on my own as I had done in the past when alone. His face would be plastered on the back of my retina along with his long legs, slender graceful fingers and those damn cornflower blue eyes.
I had served my purpose, or so I thought. I had kept him company and he had satiated his curiosity. At the end of the day, I was just another intern with a decent brain but limited prospects. My ambitions did not really lie with his corporation or for that matter any business in the arena of mergers and acquisitions. I was waiting for my recovery to end and to feel strong on my own two legs again. Physically I was fine, yet emotionally I was a delicate frozen petal and could easily shatter with an inconsiderate touch. Mr Lucas was a dangerous man to play with and I was not up to strength for his games. That was so apparent from the ease in which he flustered me.
Sex had been on holiday in my life for a good reason and I knew it had to be re-established as gratifying and fun. An evening with Jason Lucas had at least kick started my libido and had made me feel desirable. I would be grateful for the effects on my dormant sex drive and go home having taken a few tentative steps towards my goal.
All those resilient thoughts came crashing down when I went to visit the restroom. Looking at my reflection, I reminded myself I was attractive in my own way. Nothing glamorous or splendid but many told me I had a natural beauty which was best served by not being over touched with make-up. I re-applied the faint line of lipstick and ran my tongue along my teeth. My insides were buzzing with the warmth of wine and I was convinced pheromones had permeated my skin and unleashed my wicked side. The hot sexy pulse of my blood flowed eagerly about my body activating all my erogenous zones one at a time until a unison of nerve endings shouted out for pleasure.
I came back from a visit to the restroom and when I sat down, he took my hand again, making my insides go delirious. Perhaps I had been over thinking my situation too much and should simply concentrate on the moment I existed in and not the God awful past.
“I don’t do this kind of thing, Gemma, I find you intriguing and I’m drawn to you like a moth to fire,” his voice, even with the background noise, was clear with a quiet, mesmerising tone. His long steady index finger swept back the hair out of my face. “You’re lonely and quite in need of a good time. Let me finish this evening off for you in a style you should enjoy. What would you say, Gemma Marshall, if I said I want to take you back to my place and fuck you senseless.”
He looked at me earnestly and with unfaltering confidence; a man used to getting his own way. I perceptibly gulped and looked down at my shoes. Part of me still wanted the floor to swallow me up, however, my libido thought differently and she won.
Oh yes, fuck me please!
Then that other part of me shouted from where I had buried her - spank me, tied me up, make me do whatever you like. She had awoken, and I
did not know how to tame her or put her back to sleep. Yes, the moment had come and I was going to live it.
My answer was simple.
“Yes please,” I said mouse-like. “I think I would like that.”
The evening was drawing to an end, as we drove in the darkness, out of the city to the perimeter of the suburbs. The landscape was very open here, picturesque villages chained together by an extensive commuting network. Then we arrived at a set of iron gates, ornate ones that swung open automatically and we sped past a small gatehouse that had a light on inside. Down a tree-lined driveway, which must be a quarter of a mile long. The car halted outside a house, no a mansion. Outwardly, it looked a hundred or so years old, with stone blocks and windows with small arches above them. Ivy grew up around the decoratively carved porchway with the large oak door recessed and imposing like the entrance to a castle.
We had travelled in an interminable oppressive silence, waiting desperately for the strange stillness to be interrupted. Neither of us did the deed though. Both of us shunned speech as if it might ruin the occasion. He might back out of the arrangement or my blabbering mouth might blurt out something inappropriate. My hands had been shaking with anticipation and I could not bring myself to look at my fellow passenger. Nothing transpired between us and the bizarreness of the situation was not lost on me.
How could I be here with a strikingly handsome man and not be talking. Was I making a mistake? I would normally arrange to contact someone if I went out with a man for the first time or leave details of where I was going. Nobody knew I was with him. How could I back out and walk away from the situation with my head held high and my sanity in place. Then the realisation stuck me, I did not want to. My sexual reawakening needed completion and I had to trust my instincts. For most of my life, they had served me very well. The car halted and Jason Lucas climbed out with a swift graceful movement. I shuffled over to the opened door. A calming hand appeared to take my trembling one.
