Sneaker, Sandals, & Stilettoes: Fairy Tales for the Well-Heeled Princess

by Natasha Deen

  Nessie watched, immobile and inactive, as he and Grace boarded the elevator. The ring of its bell turned cold marble back into warm flesh. Clammy, sweaty, goose-pimpled, about-to-lose-her-job flesh, but at least blood still flowed in her veins. For now. The high probability existed that her life’s force—in the form of her job—would soon be spilled on Leo’s floor.

  Five minutes later, when Plans A through Z: Sub-Section 1-A87 failed to give her a proper framework for an apology, Nessie opted for simplicity. A graceful, eloquent “I’m sorry I called you names and spoke badly about my supervisor” would have to suffice. If he pushed, she would hide behind the shield of her conversation with Nina being protected under a sisterly version of the clergyman-penitent privilege.

  A quick visit to the ladies room to splash cold water on her face and Nessie entered the elevator and went to face Leo—feeling very much the forest twig about to wrestle a chainsaw. By the time she reached his floor, adrenaline had made her shirt damp and her heart beat so hard and fast it could be the percussion section for the next song to be released by New Wave pop band.

  She stepped into the hallway. Recessed neon-blue light lined the top and bottom of the white walls. The posters of V & V’s best-selling shoes observed her halting, slow progress. By the time she reached Leo’s outer office, Nessie was breathless and in desperate need of water. Lacking the requisite courage to push the door open, she once again—and involuntarily—replayed her marble statue act.

  “What are you doing here, soldier?”

  The gruff voice, its decibel level rivalling a cannon, boomed behind her. Had she really been made of marble, the vibrations of marketing guru Archibald Tyles’s attempt at a whisper would have shattered her. As it was, Nessie was sure x-rays would reveal cracked fissures along the slopes of her bones.

  “Archie, keep your voice down.” She cast an anxious glance around the hallway and netted success—Leo didn’t appear from behind the bushes or leap around a corner to confront her.

  “I am,” he answered in a stage whisper loud enough to be heard by orbiting astronauts. Archie leaned his round, meaty face close to hers and asked, “Why did he order you here?” He followed the question by gripping her arm with his stubby, sausage-shaped fingers and propelling her into the reception area of Leo’s office.

  “I’m here of my own accord.”

  “That’s my girl. Face the enemy rather than hide in the shrubbery,” he boomed. Had she matched his gigantic size, then the slap he bestowed upon her back would have felt like a tickle. Being almost two feet smaller than Archie, however, Nessie careened towards the water cooler at Mach 3 velocity. She saved herself from a watery bath by veering left and using the trajectory to crash land on the couch.

  “Thank you,” she gasped, checking her body to see if her suspicion—that she had an Archie-sized hand print cratered in her back—was true. “Why are you here?” She heaved herself from the couch and moved to the water cooler to pour herself a cup.

  “Confronting our revered leader. Myrtle’s missing and I intend to find out why. She was a good soldier, prompt, competent. There was no reason to fire her. I respect authority and the ranks of my commanders, but I can’t surrender to this latest offensive strike.” He launched himself into a chair as though it contained a grenade. The chair groaned and shuddered under his weight, the creaking of its springs sounding with the metallic version of “Get off me, you great big brute!”

  Before Nessie could offer a response—or a suggestion that Archie might prefer to sit on something built for his weight, like the floor, the door of Leo’s office opened. Nessie had never experienced the sensation of time standing still, but as soon as her gaze lighted on him, that’s exactly how she felt.

  The doorway framed his body like a work of art, though even da Vinci couldn’t have painted a more perfect figure. Blond hair lay in waves around his head. The fibres of his red knit jersey seemed to cling with love and devotion to his biceps and chest, and his grey pants fell in perfect lines around his legs. He was gorgeous, glorious, and if Nessie had to face the axe she couldn’t think of a more handsome man to wield it.

  Wait.

  What had she just thought to herself? She rifled through the cabinets of her mind, searching for a “What to Do When Attracted to Your Boss, Who is About to Fire You” file but her mental manila folders were empty on this subject.

  “Miss Helph, Mr. Tyles, to what do I owe this visit?” Leo asked the question in quiet, emotionless tones, but somewhere in the distance, Nessie swore, she could hear the screech of an axe blade being sharpened against a grinding wheel.

  “I can’t speak for this private,” bellowed Archie, speaking in his normal, indoor voice. Nessie had never spent any time with him outdoors, too afraid that his volume level when not surrounded by walls would mean permanent hearing loss and eardrum damage for her. “But I’m here to discuss Myrtle, and I’m not retreating until I accomplish my objective, sir!”

  Leo gave no indication of impatience or irritation at Archie’s demands. Instead, he simply nodded, then turned his eyes on her.

  “What can I do for you, Nessie?”

  A forest of conflicting desires and answers sprang up around her. From ‘kiss me’ to ‘please don’t fire me,’ the thick, double canopy of attraction and career blocked intelligent thought. Once again, Nessie found herself doing the statue imitation. She marshalled every ounce of determination, broke free from the frozen state Leo seemed to put her into, and babbled, “I—you—see.”

  A nod of his head acknowledged her inane response and, with a glance, he summoned Archie. Her friend, his body erect and shoulders thrown back, marched towards the office. Though the size and width difference put Archie at an advantage, the aura of power and control that Leo exuded made Archie look like a bulldog puppy approaching a grown rottweiler.

  Leo stepped aside as Archie barrelled past. With a final glance in Nessie’s direction, Leo followed. She stared at the clock on the wall and counted three seconds of silence before the deep boom of Archie’s voice sounded, though Leo’s oak door prevented her from hearing precisely what Archie said. Her friend’s monologue lasted for two seconds and was followed by silence. The quiet stretched on, growing more eerie and ominous with each sweep of the clock’s second-hand.

  Three minutes after Leo’s door had closed, it opened, the soft click as loud as gunfire in the hushed office, and Archie stepped out. Tears ran down his red face as he heaved great blubbering sobs. She jumped to her feet but, unable to decide if she should to go him or get him a glass of water, she waited for him to move. He stumbled toward Nessie and wailed what she assumed was either a sentence or a question. She rushed to meet him, but midway he halted. He shook his head, babbled another sentence—or question, she still couldn’t tell—and lurched out of the outer office.

  Nessie eyed the entrance to Leo’s office, then regarded the exit door. Pride said that she should stay and face Leo. Common sense said that a pink slip was far less painful than a verbal dressing down, and reality added that if he made Archie cry, then Leo would shred her into little, tiny, irrecoverable pieces. The majority of her emotions sided with a plan of retreat, but she managed only a few steps before the quiet yet commanding voice of Leo, speaking her name, froze her in place.

  She peered over her shoulder, expecting to see him looming just behind her. Instead, he was twenty feet away. Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned against the doorframe of his office.

  “You had wanted to speak to me, hadn’t you?”

  “I—me—you, yes. Speak. I speak.”

  “Now that we know you have a handle on nouns and verbs, perhaps you would like to come into my office and we can work on adjectives, prepositions and subjects.” He uncrossed his arms and walked, with feline grace, to where she stood. The spicy notes of his cologne, sandalwood and bergamot, mixed with the headier scent of sheer, raw, masculine power. With each step he took, every breath, he exuded confidence. She doubted he had ever heard the word “no,
” let alone ever been denied anything he wanted. Nessie was out of her depth, professionally and personally.

  “Nessie?” He swept a hand towards the office. “Shall we?”

  “Yes, sir.” Quaking in her suede slouch boots, she wobbled towards the door.

  “Unless you’re planning to follow that ‘sir’ with a salute, I’d rather you just call me Leo.”

  She looked behind, gave him a weak smile and continued her wobble to the office. Once inside, she found the nearest chair and collapsed into it before her legs gave out on her. Rather than taking a seat at his desk, Leo chose to pull his chair around to her. His leg brushed against her knee as he sat down, and the nerve endings in her leg fired and sparked at the unexpected touch.

  “So, Nessie, what did you want to tell me?”

  Your voice is as smooth and rich as melted chocolate. Can I lick you all over and see if you’re just as smooth and rich everywhere else?

  “I wanted to—” For the life of her, she couldn’t remember. And though her memory and plans of attack could usually be jump-started by a moment of quiet thought, Leo’s presence precluded both quiet and thought. The only thing her brain seemed able to do was to consider all possible anatomical locations for warm chocolate and calculate how long it would take her to lick it off him. “I wanted—” Her gaze flitted around the room, and landed on the doorway—“I want to know why Archie was crying.”

  Leo leaned back in his chair, his long legs grazing hers as a small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “I presume he was overcome by emotion.”

  “But what kind of emotion?”

  He shrugged. “I’m in no position to guess.”

  “Of course you are.” His blasé response replaced her timidity with confidence. “You were in the office with him—surely you can take a guess at what made him cry.” The conviction of her words made her bend towards him.

  Much to her surprise, he turned to face her, and leaned in until their faces were just a few inches apart. The indescribable scent of masculinity and power curled in sensual ribbons around her, binding her to the spot and holding her captive to Leo’s penetrating, sizzling gaze.

  “When it comes to certain people,” he said, and his deep voice vibrated through her bones and made her atoms quiver, “I’m in no position to judge their emotions. I find these people endlessly fascinating. They arouse my—” His warm gaze drifted to her mouth, lingering there and sending a coil of heat spreading through her. “Curiosity.”

  A moment of simmering silence blanketed the room. Graced with this unexpected moment in which she didn’t have to respond, Nessie allowed all her senses to bask in Leo. From the smell of him, the sight of those pale blue irises outlined by a dark circle of indigo, straight through to the deep timbre of his voice and the feel of his slacks brushing against her legs, Nessie’s senses swam in him, drowned in him, and she had no desire to throw herself a lifeline.

  Leo shifted, putting himself no closer to her, but the infinitesimal movement narrowed her focus to his lips. His mouth—oh, boy, his mouth. It was firm and full and made a woman want to nibble, bite and suck it. His lips curved sinfully, sensuously, and if there was ever a mouth made to be kissed, it was Leo Schumacher’s.

  “Nessie.” Deep in her fog of sexual fantasy, her thoughts made clumsy and slow by the perfect male specimen seated before her, she heard Leo’s voice sounding with the perfect tones of an enchanter. Bass timbres of seduction loosened her bonds of inhibition as he said, “What do you want from me?”

  She looked up quick and fast, saw a flash of blue and then nothing as she closed her eyes and dived into the heaven that was his mouth. The moment her lips met his, she felt his body tighten with surprise and shock. And at that precise second, her fog chose to evaporate, leaving her lips on the lips of the man who held her job in his hand. Nessie bolted back from him, scrambling to her feet and knocking the chair backwards in the process.

  Leo smiled. “I’ve had quite a few employees in my office in the past few days. I must say, Nessie, your visit is fast becoming my favourite.”

  “Oh, oh.” She slapped her hands against her mouth until she could figure out something more intelligent to say. Until then, she stood with wide, horrified eyes, staring at her soon-to-be-ex-boss. He, on the other hand, lounged in his chair, licking his lips.

  “Is that watermelon gloss?” he asked. “I didn’t think it would taste so good.”

  Slowly, about fifteen minutes behind schedule, her brain kicked into gear and reminded her that she was here for an apology. Two, to be precise, but she could only deal with one catastrophe at a time. “Sir—Mister—Leo, I’m terribly sorry.”

  “For the kiss?”

  “No, for gossiping about you in the café,” she said, still fixated on the original apology. She frowned, realizing that, technically, her answer should have been ‘yes.’ “Though I am sorry for the kiss. It was out of line.”

  “The kiss?”

  “No, the gossiping.”

  Leo cocked his head and regarded her with an expression between amusement and total confusion. “Keeping up with your conversations is rather like trying to run a marathon with cement shoes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He rose from the chair. “It makes for an exciting change of pace. Was there anything else?”

  After kissing her boss, admitting to pilfering her personnel file from her supervisor didn’t seem like the best career move.

  “That’s it, for now.”

  His gaze ran a quick inspection of her body. “Too bad. Should you have anything else on your mind, my door’s always open to you.”

  “Yes, sir, thank you.” She turned away before the twitching of his mouth could give way to full blown laughter. At the doorway, she glanced back. Leo stood at his desk, his gaze on the scenery outside the window, his fingertips on his mouth.

  ****

  The buzz of hungry men and women hummed in the company cafeteria. A canvas of rain covered the floor-length windows, painting wet patterns against the patio tables and driving the staff of Victor & Victoria indoors for their lunch. Nessie huddled in the food line, the scent of beef soup tickling past her nose. She gazed at the pepperoni pizza and meat pies warming under the red heat lamp, but her appetite—to her consternation—hungered for a meal of a different variety. One that was about six feet three inches tall, was clad in Ralph Lauren clothing and tasted of spice and sex.

  “What you want for eating?”

  She glanced up at Olga and sighed. “I’m not really that hungry. What are your sandwiches today?”

  “Egg, tuna, chicken salad and roast beef.”

  “I’ll take an egg, with fries.”

  Olga had the brawny body of an NFL linebacker and the voice of a gravel truck engine. Rumour had it that she had stowed away to America in the belly of a Russian fishing vessel, while others said she made her way from communism to democracy via KGB connections. The rough angles and grooves of her body and the tight curls of her steel-wool gray hair, however, could not diminish a spirit so sweet that even the angels couldn’t compare. Today she looked at Nessie with that same peaceful countenance and serene smile.

  “You are worried about the layoffs, da?” she asked.

  “It’s on the list of my troubles,” Nessie confessed.

  “People are gone so fast—no time to even wave goodbye.”

  “I know. I heard Myrtle got the axe, but she was gone before any of us could find her to ask what happened.” She shifted closer to the food racks, allowing those behind her to move ahead in the line.

  “You must not worry,” Olga counselled, though with her thick Russian accent and gruff voice, it sounded more like a command.

  “I do worry; I did something rash and stupid, and I have no idea how to fix it.”

  Olga smiled and her monk-like peace washed over Nessie. It calmed her, but it couldn’t clean the anxiety from her soul.

  “You must not fret.”

  “H
ello, it’s me. The biggest adventure my life sees is when the NBC shuffles the television show schedule and I can’t find Dangerous County. The problem isn’t the firing—it’s whether I’ll be able to list this job on my résumé, or—” She thought briefly of Leo’s lips against hers. “If I’ll have to fudge a little.”

  “Fudge?” Olga’s thick eyebrows rose in confusion.

  “Lie.”

  “Ah.” The confusion abated and smoothed out the deep furrows in Olga’s forehead. She turned back to the soup. “You are incapable of making this fudge—you couldn’t even make chocolate.”

  “Thanks…I think.”

  “Come,” continued her friend, “I have fudge brownie. I give you one, and then you go eat and emerge victorious from your troubles. You will come up with a plan. I know this.”

  Bolstered by both the cafeteria woman’s confidence and the mention of a brownie, Nessie followed her friend down the line, took the proffered dessert and waited to pay for her meal.

  “There you are!” Grace’s screech shredded the relaxed hum of the cafeteria. Forks dropped and conversation ceased as every head turned to see the cause of the commotion. Grace streaked towards Nessie in a flurry of silk, hairspray and venom.

  Acid churned its way through Nessie’s stomach. She swallowed the rising bile and faced her supervisor. “Yes? Is there something I can do for you?”

  Grace smiled, her eyes bright marbles. “How wonderful to see you here. I would have thought you would still be in the conference with Leo.”

  Nessie frowned. “There was a conference with Leo? Did you send me a memo?”

  Her supervisor laughed, a brittle, shattering sound. “No, dear. I meant your impromptu meeting this morning.” The hard look in her eyes took on the menacing quality of a bomb about to explode and her voice increased in volume as she added, “I saw you.”