Wrong Number

by Lucian Bane

  David chuckled, back to stroking himself. “We all have our freakish obsessions. Speaking of, is there anything in particular you can’t read?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, some of my works are… a bit dark.”

  “Well, I read the fifty—”

  “Much darker than that, Princess.”

  She let out a few stuttered breaths like she wasn’t sure what to choke over first. “Do not call me that.”

  “I was teasing.” David squeezed his cock harder, thrilled that she’d taken offense over that and not the much darker issue.

  “I mean… please don’t. Now I’m not sure how to address you.”

  “Well, when we’re not working, you can call me David. But when you’re working, it’s probably best we keep it professional. The standard sir works for me.”

  She cleared her throat. “Of course. Yes.”

  “You can practice if you want.”

  “With what? Calling you sir?”

  He chuckled. “If you haven’t figured it out by now, I do love humor.”

  She let out a sudden laugh, but David heard the unusual tempo in her voice. Her nervous excitement was coming through and he pulled his knees up and let them fall open. “I actually love a great sense of humor. I’m told I have a dry one.”

  “And I happen to love dry humor more than anything.”

  “Are you teasing me?”

  He was, and as he stroked his cock, he imagined briefly what she’d look like tied up while he teased her in other ways. “I am.”

  “You sound… tired, I should let you go.”

  “Okay. I’ll finish the questions in the morning. Glad you misdialed tonight, Lizzy.”

  “Me too,” she exclaimed in a tiny voice of restrained excitement.

  David smiled. “Goodnight.”

  “Night David.”

  David ended the call and stared at her picture until his strokes slowed to a halt. She’d be there in the morning. He would have all the time in the world to have fun with her. He decided waiting would be more fulfilling than the immediate gratification his cock was begging him for.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lizzy’s stomach was in knots and her mind was armed with fifty thousand panic attacks at the ready. She’d not screw this up. $35.00 an hour? Doing what she’d dreamed of doing her whole life? No. No, no, no.

  She walked along the sidewalk with all the soaring buildings. God, if he was in one of these, it meant he was rich. This brought her back to the one piece of information she’d stupidly forgotten to get from him—his author name. If she’d gotten that, she could’ve checked out his work, find out if he sucked at least! But, if he worked here, she had her answer and a bucket load of new paranoia. What could she offer somebody that successful?

  She paused at a building, looking at the address in her little book, then back at the fancy numbers etched into a black granite plaque as tall as a person. Lord, was that a butler at its wall of glass doors?

  She made her way up the ten or so steps to the elderly man in a fancy shmancy suit. “I’m here to see… I’m here for work. An editing job,” she said.

  “Mr. Raze is expecting you, madam. Please take the elevator to his suite on the fifty second floor.”

  Fifty second? And Mr. Raze? Interesting. “Thank you very much,” she said, entering the lavish building. You’d swear Mr. Raze owned the whole building by the way the man spoke. That didn’t help her panic one bit. The idea he might be this successful had her going over every word he’d said to her and she’d said to him. By the time she was on her way up in the fully mirrored elevator, she forced herself to cut the trip down memory lane short. It was too full of cringy things from her end.

  God, what if there was a camera on her? What if he was watching? Something floated up in her memory as soft dings filled the mirrored square box. How he didn’t have a girlfriend. No, the why he didn’t. Because of his work. Something about using her. And sex. And… darker than fifty shades. Shit, why didn’t she pay closer attention to everything? He’d probably told her a lot about himself while she wasn’t really listening. Not listening with her between the lines ears her aunt told her to keep turned on at all times.

  But she’d had a panic attack. Wasn’t exactly the easiest to remember all those rules when you were coming down from that kind of cliff dive. And if she couldn’t quit thinking about it, she’d be on another such dive which would totally ruin her chances at a great job.

  She took in several breaths, measured and not too deep, while eyeing the soft glow of numbers every three seconds. She’d find out soon enough what to expect and how to act. Needing a distraction, she inspected her reflection with a critical eye. The just in case ensemble was, thankfully, every bit as perfect as she’d remembered it. And thank God she’d bought it with high expectations. Go big or go home, that was her motto when shopping for her dreams. She was pretty impressed with how cute she looked, womanly even, in the black skirt and jacket. And she’d decided since she kind of knew David, it would be okay to change up the original outfit to match her mood. She felt… over the top ready for success. So she’d worn the red satin blouse with the matching red heels. And what a great pair of heels they were.

  With the surrounding luxury, she thanked God she’d dressed her little part. Even her lips matched her blouse, and she’d went bold with her eyeliner and mascara, feeling like she needed all the help she could get. Her eyes were really the only strength she had, and she made sure they stood out. Hopefully they’d make up for the rest of her lack.

  But what about him? What did he look like? A huge part of her prayed he was fat and bald. And then there was that other huge part of her, the one buried way, way deep in her boring bones that prayed the very opposite. Especially since he was… no, she shouldn’t even say it. Or think it. He was her boss. $35.00 an hour boss and she’d not ruin that with fictional silliness.

  She smiled at the young, confident lady with the professional ensemble and adorable gold-chained purse. She had to admit it… for the first time, she looked pretty darn easy on the eyes. “You’ve got this,” she whispered to the woman in the mirror and winked at her.

  The elevator finally reached the floor and the final soft ding sounded. Holy hell, the Kraken were officially released in her stomach.

  Her lips suddenly parted with the kind of panic that lead to drowning on air as David had called it. Mr. Raze, not David.

  The door opened and Lizzy’s breath froze in her chest along with the blood in her veins. Her brain collected up all the answers to the questions she’d had about him and each shot through her entire body in the form of electrical sparks. Tall. Black suit. Thick, wavy, jet black hair. Dark eyes but not brown. Dark brows. Full mouth. Grinning at her. Christ, he was a magazine model.

  Her tongue quivered and swelled, and her suit felt too tight and too hot. She felt her mouth hanging open and couldn’t do a thing about it while trapped in those intense eyes staking her to the spot.

  She realized in that split second that it might not be him. “I-I’m looking for um… David. I mean…Mr. Raze,” she all but squeaked.

  He held up a hand with a “Present” while those full lips, framed by a perfectly trimmed beard, tugged at the edges. He lowered his eyes over her, making her bones turn liquid before muttering, “Perfect.”

  Her cheeks and neck boiled at the compliment then decided to warm every other part of her body. “Thank you. You uh…”

  “Look older than you thought?”

  She fought to quit staring into his eyes, knowing full well it was rude and inappropriate. She also fought to think around her hormones running a-mad-muck all over. He’d said something to her. Older. “Not older.”

  “Younger?”

  The hint of a smile pulled more, giving way to more perfection. What a smile. What in the world did she get herself into? A job. $35.00 an hour. Shit, he’d said something again, and judging by the grin he wore, she was screwing up big time.

&n
bsp; “Come in,” he said, putting his hand on the elevator door, holding it open.

  It gave her a chance to break eye contact but now she was stuck on his hand. Large. Long fingers. Thick long fingers. Strong and… tanned. With lots of veins. Healthy veins.

  “Are you okay?”

  She forced her legs to walk but the second step snagged on the threshold of the elevator and sent her lurching forward. His arm shot out and prevented her sure face-plant onto the floor. “I’m so sorry,” she gasped, shame burning up her brain as he helped right her. “Not used to the uh, heels. Sorry.”

  “Not a problem.”

  His hands spanned the sides of her body, near her breasts, seeming to take their time sliding off. Meanwhile, his cologne sent her mind catapulting through the universe as her pores slurped every bit of his scent in. Then she realized it. His voice. All last night this drop-dead gorgeous man and his impossible sex appeal had been talking to her. How could she not know that this was attached?

  She finally looked around and realized she’d stepped into a large corner apartment lined with windows and one hell of a view. “I never got your uh, your author name.”

  “Jack. Jack Raze.” He stretched his hand toward her. “Would you like me to call you Lizzy or Becky?”

  She stared at his hand, her heart in her throat as she forced herself to do all the normal things. But the second his large hand enveloped hers, her brain set off the worst set of chaotic fireworks she’d ever felt. No, had never felt. “Whichever you… prefer,” she whispered, the warmth in his hand seeming mixed with calculated, measured power.

  God, she’d jerked her hand out of his and was now wiping it on her skirt. Her actions didn’t seem to bother him, thankfully. Maybe he didn’t notice. It could be her panic had her thinking he saw everything she felt and thought, that’s how it always worked in her head.

  “Lizzy it is.”

  She nodded, happy with his choice of her proper name, maybe a little too happy. She took in a large breath and focused on the windows, the floor, the ceiling, the walls. Anything but him.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to show you your office and we can get to work.”

  “Yes, of course. Absolutely.” Thank God.

  She followed his graceful stride to the left of the room and barely contained her gasp when she entered a room similar to the first, only a quarter of the size. “Beautiful view,” she said, fighting to breathe.

  “This is your office,” he said, making his way to the far side of the room. “Your quarters are here, should you need to crash.” She followed him into another room the same size, except perfectly appointed with all the essentials of a one room home, complete with a small kitchen on the right, bed on the left, and a vanity with a wall just beyond.

  He pointed to the right of the room. “The bathroom is just beyond that wall. The doors all lock in case I have to leave you for whatever reason.”

  “Okay,” she said, sounding and feeling like a wilted flower.

  He made his way back to the desk where a laptop sat next to a black folder. “Your first assignment awaits you.” He looked at his watch. “If you can have a first edit done by the end of the day, I would kiss your feet. Figuratively speaking,” he said, eyeing her with a slight grin.

  “I knew that,” she said, realizing her feet didn’t. She gave a weak smile, hating herself for not being more normal. She looked at the desk, needing a lifeline out of this terribly awkward first meeting. “First edit. Not a problem. Notes in the margins?”

  “Please, yes. Be thorough.”

  “Yes sir,” she said, moving toward the desk and pulling out the chair.

  “You have a fully-stocked kitchen in here,” he said, gesturing to the wall on the right of her. “Coffee is fresh.”

  “I might need a brandy,” she joked.

  “Sorry, no drinking on the job.”

  “Oh God, of course not, I was…” She caught his grin. “You’re joking.”

  “I was, yes. Try to relax, Lizzy. And if you have any questions, press my name on your phone and I’ll pick up.”

  She glanced at the sleek black phone and nodded. “Sure thing,” she said, sitting then standing. “I’ll get that cup of coffee.”

  “I’ll be back around noon. Don’t leave, I’m bringing lunch.”

  A thrill shot clear to her toes. “Okay,” she said, making her way to the coffee bar. “Have a good day, David,” she called when he was at the door, only to realize it might not be professional.

  “Call me Jack, if you don’t mind. And you too, Lizzy.”

  The door shut as her apology dribbled out of her mouth like a dummy. God, she was screwing up bad, even if he didn’t seem to notice or care. He could be regretting. She released a full breath for the first time, leaning against the coffee counter. Dear God, was this happening? Was she dreaming? It seemed all too surreal.

  Her aunt. She was to call her asap. Digging her phone out of her jacket’s inner pocket, she glanced around making sure she was alone before dialing.

  “Yes?” her aunt answered in her usual sing-song manner.

  “Auntie!” Lizzy hissed. “You will not believe this.”

  “What’s his name,” she cried, dying to know.

  “Jack Raze. I don’t even recognize that!”

  “Me either,” her aunt admitted quietly, but I’m about to. “But we don’t read smut. Have you read any yet?” she asked excited.

  “It’s on my desk! Oh my God, you should see this place, Auntie. It’s like a-a-castle office. And I have my own office with this amazing view! Hold on!” Lizzy pressed her camera on her phone and ran a few steps back snapping pics of the view then her desk. She left out the private suite, not ready to tell her about that. She sent the pics through and put the phone on her ear, laughing when her aunt saw them and squawked like an excited chicken.

  “What is he like?” she asked, back on the phone.

  Lizzy sucked in a huge breath and let it out in a squeak before uttering the tormenting words. “Drop. Dead. Impossibly. Gorgeous. Oh my God. Black suit, and you should see his eyes! And his hands,” she cried, weak kneed again. “I don’t even know what color his eyes are but they’re dark, I can tell they’re not brown though. Maybe they’re a kind of green gray. Is that even a thing?”

  “Holy hello-kitty,” her aunt cried making Lizzy laugh.

  “I have to go, I need to get busy. He’s bringing lunch back at twelve and I’m hoping to be done with the first edit. He’s hoping I get it done by the end of the day, and I want to impress him.”

  “Go get ‘em! I’m so proud of you,” her aunt literally cried now. “Gramma would be so proud of her little Princess. She must be watching over you.”

  “She must be pulling strings upstairs, too,” Lizzy laughed quietly. “Talk to you after work. No more personal calls. Turning my phone off.”

  “Got it. Talk to you tonight.”

  She remembered she might work late. “I may be late. But I’ll call you. Or text you.”

  “Be damn sure,” she said her tone a protective growl.

  Lizzy hung up and poured her coffee then made her way back to her fancy desk with her fancy mug of probably the fanciest coffee in the world. She set the cup down carefully and then sat before the sexy black folder, eager to dig in, all while grinning at the bare desk.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the folder before her and read the first sentence. Then the second. And third. Her hopes and dreams slowly spiraled as she continued on, the dread inside her growing with every sentence.

  Dearest God no! No, no, no! It was awful! The craft, the content, the word choices, all of it had her cringing. There was sex right in the opening like… cheap, sloppy, cracker-jack word porn.

  After ten pages, she shook her head, disgusted. This was… this was not happening. Then the horror of it hit her. She’d have to shatter his ego on the first day. Is this why he paid his editors so high? What if they practically re-wrote the work for him? Please tell me he
doesn’t take credit for people re-writing his crap!

  The idea that he’d be that kind of man jacked up her disgust to an all-time high. A hustler of words, a shyster of-of her most prized pastime. Wasn’t he embarrassed?

  $35.00 an hour. She needed to focus on that. She was given a job she loved, and she’d do it, whatever it entailed. Oh God, but the things it did to his image in her mind! His perfect, amazing, image! Why God, why!?

  She opened the drawers until she located a stack of colored pens bound by a rubber band. Pulling them out, she selected a red one then got busy only to realize she’d need more than one color if he was going to be able to understand. More like fifty colors. Wow, it wasn’t everybody who had to have a rainbow of shades to code the many issues they had. Although, if this was her life she was editing, it would require the same kind of color coding. Probably not enough colors in the world for her crap.

  By eleven o’clock, she had half of it done and her spine was on fire. He must’ve had a second business and writing was his hobby. One he needed to keep under wraps. She decided to go onto Amazon and search his name. Holy heck. He had like… a hundred books! She clicked one and looked at the ratings. Impossible. Some had over a thousand and nearly all 5 stars. Had to be rewritten or a paid ghost writer. He surely seemed to have enough money for that.

  The phone rang on the desk and she yelped, looking at it for several seconds. She hesitated, unsure of how she was supposed to answer. She snatched up the receiver. “You’ve reached Mr. Raze’s office, this is Lizzy speaking.

  “Nice.”

  Her heart plummeted to her stomach then jumped back into her throat. “Mr. Raze,” she said.

  “Just Jack,” he said with a light scold.

  “Oh. Okay. Uh. Hello. How can I help you?”

  “Was just calling to check on how it’s going.”

  “I’m… its going.”

  “How far did you get?”

  “I’m halfway through. I should have it finished by the end of the day.”