Fifty Days

by Taylor Shade

  Fifty Days

  Book One

  of a hot new dirty serial

  by

  Taylor Shade

  Copyright 2014 D2Rev Publishing / Taylor Shade

  First edition

  November 12, 2014

  Promotion: Mark My Words Book Publicity (markmywordsbookpublicity.com)

  Cover design: Romantic Book Affairs (designs.romanticbookaffairs.com)

  Editing: Missy Borucki (missyborucki.com)

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  All characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Special thanks to Morgan Black, Brina Courtney, Rachel Marks, Missy Borucki, Letitia Hasser, all the amazing bloggers who promote my sordid tales, and everyone who reads my books and cheers me on. I so appreciate you.

  INTRODUCTION

  I know you. I know what you want, what you secretly desire.

  You walk through the world hiding your true self, all covered in clothing that only slightly reveals the real you. You make yourself up to look so pristine. You follow all the social cues to make sure you’re acting like a “proper woman.” A good girl.

  Most men don’t know.

  But I do.

  I see right through it.

  It happens when I first look you in the eyes. I know what you really want. You say you want a “nice guy,” a man who will wait while you try on a thousand outfits in the dressing room, who will pick you up and drop you off.

  But really...

  ... deep down...

  I am what you want.

  Because you know I won’t do any of those things.

  And I scoff at those wusses.

  You know what kind of man I am as soon as you see me. You know you should be sickened by a man like me, even repulsed.

  But you can’t help it. Your pussy fires to life at the first penetrating stare of my blue eyes. You can almost feel my long, thick cock inside you as you read this, stretching your inner walls in rhythmic delight. Your body doesn’t lie. No amount of logic or words can stop it. It’s primal, animal, coming from your deepest most private space.

  Yes... you know. You know I am the man who will soon fulfill your darkest desires. The one who breaks down your resistance, who leads you into complete surrender.

  Your heart beats faster in anticipation. A droplet of sweat forms on your lips as you think about it. You long to give yourself to me... relishing every moment of being at my tantalizing command.

  Because it’s all about command.

  You want to give me command of your body. Teasing it. Pleasing it when I want. Using it for my own pleasure. Keeping you on edge.

  Yes, you are my dirty, filthy slut and you know it. You will do nearly anything I ask. You want a man who can take you fully, who can do things to you that you wouldn’t even tell your best friend... because to actually say it to another human being means you’re admitting who you really are.

  Which you can never do.

  Even though I know.

  And you know.

  You’re my dirty little slut.

  And you know what else I know?

  You love it.

  Yes.

  You do.

  Shhhhhh.

  It will be our little secret.

  ONE

  Sloane

  “Fifty days,” I say to myself, repeating Ronson’s words. “Fifty days.”

  Then it’s over and I get my cash.

  I get out of the cab and take a deep breath.

  Here we go. Day one. I can do this.

  God, it’s a huge building. My neck hurts as I crane my neck to see the top of it, stark and sharp against the white sky.

  I walk to the security desk, a low but steady stream of people moving past me flashing their IDs.

  “Good morning,” I say to the man at the desk in the blue blazer. “My name is Sloane Kenner. I’m here to see Matthew Hamilton.

  Without saying anything, he taps a few keys on his screen and what looks like a supermarket receipt prints. He hands it to me and motions me to the security turnstiles.

  The guard there takes the receipt, makes a mark on it with a big brown marker, hands it back, then nods to signal me through.

  I join several other people heading toward the bank of eight elevators, four on each side. Evens are on the right. Somebody has already pressed the Up button.

  One opens and about four hundred people jam into it ahead of me.

  I look at my watch. 8:20. I’m early, so I decide to wait for the next one. I press the Up button again once the door closes.

  I check my hair and shoes in a mirror across the lobby. Hmm, looking good today, I’ll admit. I’m wearing a brand new suit I bought just for this job. Black with a white lacy camisole and black shoes.

  An elevator opens and I step in, all alone this time. I press 44. The doors begin closing, but a strong-looking hand surrounded by a crisp white cuff stops them. They re-open and in steps possibly the most devilishly handsome man I’ve ever seen.

  He wears an expensive, dark gray suit, a white shirt with fine stripes, gold silk tie, and handkerchief. God, he’s gorgeous. Black hair, strong jaw, commanding forehead. Oh, and tall. So tall.

  He reaches to press a button but sees that I’ve already pressed his. He turns and smirks at me, nabbing my eyes with his piercing gaze.

  “Forty-four,” he says.

  “Yes,” I say, a light tremble of nervousness filtering through me.

  “Concord Hamilton Dandridge.” His voice is a dark gravelly sheen. It fills the tight space with resonant power.

  I feel a little electrical charge pass through me. “Yes.”

  As the elevator rises, he stares at me. Then he continues to stare at me, looking me up and down like he’s considering buying me.

  Performed by almost any other man, this would be creepy. But from this sleek god, it almost feels appropriate. I can’t seem to move as his glare melts my inhibitions.

  Then he steps forward, directly into my space and moves his face down next to mine. All the hairs on my neck stand on end.

  I want to say “What are you doing?” or “Stop that!” or “This is inappropriate!”... or anything, for God’s sake!

  But I don’t.

  I just allow him put his cheek right up next to mine, feeling the heat of his body while inhaling the scent of musky cologne with a hint of pine. A spark fires up between my thighs.

  He moves like he’s going to kiss my neck. My knees tremble. He inhales deeply, his presence a half-inch away from my cheek. We’re nearly touching, but not quite... a closeness that sends me into a whirling zone of sexual images, a place I haven’t been in a while.

  Then he pulls back to within an inch of my face, drilling his gaze back into me, again with an I-own-the-world smirk.

  “You smell delicious,” he says. “I’m certain you taste good, too.”

  Ding!

  The door opens on floor forty-four and he turns, striding out like I’m not even here.

  I watch him breeze past the reception desk. The young Asian girl says something to him as he passes and disappears from sight.

  The elevator doors are about to close, but I put my hand in front of them and walk out, my breath coming in short bursts.

  I hadn’t expected that. I had been all focused and composed. Now, I’m sweating and trembling. My legs are weak.<
br />
  What just happened?

  I clear my throat, trying to shake it off. I walk past the silver names Concord Hamilton Dandridge hanging on the wood-paneled wall.

  “Good morning,” says the receptionist.

  “Good morning,” I say. “Sloane Kenner to see Matthew Hamilton.”

  “Yes, he’s expecting you. Go right into Conference Room B, right over there.”

  “Thank you.”

  I attempt to push the elevator incident from my mind as I walk through this fortress of rich wood paneling and iridescent glass with backlights. Sleek pillars frame large windows that look out onto an airy landscape of other skyscrapers. The gray Hudson River rests behind them.

  Partners, associates, paralegals, and secretaries swirl around in a busy Monday-morning whirlwind. Coffees are being placed on desks. Sneakers are being replaced with shoes. The place almost vibrates with kinetic energy.

  You can also smell the money.

  I walk to the door of Conference Room B and gasp. There are about twenty other girls sitting around the long table, all dressed professionally like me.

  Most are drop-dead gorgeous. I get nervous when they all smile at me as I walk in the room. Behind some smiles are daggers. I knew I looked good today.

  What is this? I’ve been in situations before where I was a part of a group of two or three other paralegal temps, but this is ridiculous. As I sit in the only empty leather chair left between a green-eyed buxom redhead with big red lips and a stunning brunette, I feel like part of a harem. Directly across from me is a girl in a frilly office dress who is visibly nervous. Our eyes meet and she quickly glances away. Her hand shakes as it rests on the table.

  The second my ass touches the chair, in walks a skinny, short man with fluffy, blond hair and beady, little eyes. He’s not wearing his suit jacket, his shirt is rumpled, and he’s holding a manila folder stuffed with papers.

  He shuts the door behind him and plops the folder down at the head of the table.

  Then he looks directly at me.

  “What is your name?” he says.

  “Sloane Kenner,” I say, my pulse quickening.

  “Miss Kenner, if you are tardy again you will be replaced.”

  I can hear my heart beating in my ears now.

  “Um,” I say, “the agency said eight-thirty. It’s eight twenty-five right now.”

  “Here at Concord Hamilton Dandridge, we have a rule that we are thirty minutes early for everything. Every meeting, every task. This is the standard to which we hold ourselves. It was in the email we sent to you directly.”

  His little sneer, combined with such a nasty condescending tone, sends a flash of anger through me. I picture stabbing my fingers into those beady little eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, “I didn’t receive any–”

  “Seeing as this is day one, I’ll give you a pass. But, if it happens at any time during the next fifty days, you will be terminated immediately.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The dagger-eyed girls glare at me like I should be burned at the stake. The nervous girl across from me is almost in tears, biting her nails.

  “Now,” says the little man, “my name is Matthew Hamilton. I will be overseeing you for the next fifty days. I want you all to know how this works. Everything goes through me. You do not go to the ladies’ room without my permission. You do not cough without my permission. You are here to do one job and one job only – to review the Dawson briefs. As you may or may not be aware, Thomas Phillip Dawson of Dawson Software is being indicted on a series of fraudulent charges, including securities fraud and witness tampering on a previous case. It is our job to find the evidence needed to clear him. You will be working in our research library on the fiftieth and fifty-first floors. You will sit at tables with a space between you. You will get two fifteen-minute breaks and an hour lunch. When working on the briefs, you will not talk. This means no gossip, no calls, no text messages. You will be supervised by two junior associates who will guard the doors. If you don’t like these conditions, you are free to leave right now.”

  We all look at each other, a palpable sense of fear permeating the room.

  “Nobody will hold it against you,” says Hamilton. “You can get up and go now. If you have any doubt that you’re going to be able to handle this, then this is your chance to leave.”

  The nervous girl across from me, shaking with tears in her eyes, takes her bag and gets up. She avoids eye contact with Hamilton as she passes him and nearly runs out the door.

  Hamilton folds his arms, looks down, and shakes his head. He’s about to say something, but goes to the door, leans out, and shouts at someone sitting at a desk across the way.

  “Jenny!” he says. “The one that just left. Did you see her?”

  “Yes,” says a beautiful blonde girl as she stands up from the desk at which she’s seated.

  “Get me her name,” he says.

  “Yes, Mr. Hamilton.”

  He walks back into the room, visibly agitated. The door closes on its slow spring.

  I gulp.

  Shit, this is not going to be fun at all. If I weren’t getting Ronson’s fee on top of my paycheck from the temp agency, I’d walk out too.

  Hamilton opens up the manila folder and takes out a stack of stapled forms. He divides it in half and hands each one to the first girls on either side of him.

  “Pass these down,” he says. “I need you to fill out these forms. I know you don’t normally do this, but the work you’re doing here is very sensitive. You will be exposed to private information that cannot leave this firm, so we need you to fill out the questionnaire and sign the non-disclosure agreement.”

  As the stack reaches me and I take my copy, the tall dark man from the elevator walks past holding a coffee.

  As he passes, he looks directly at me.

  I feel a flush rise upward from between my legs, past my face, and over my head.

  Oh, God, those eyes are dangerous.

  Then he’s gone.

  He looks out of place. Attorneys are usually soft and pudgy. The tall man has a feral energy, like he should be something else. Like an assassin. Or a fighter of some sort.

  Decision: I have to stay away from him, whoever he is. He must be one of the associates, even though he walks and acts like he owns the place. Or the world.

  I begin filling out the questionnaire, which is a standard series of questions about my ability to keep things confidential. I’ve filled these out before.

  I’m about halfway down the second page when the door opens and the tall man walks in, again looking directly at me.

  My heart skips a beat.

  “I’ve got this, Drake,” says Hamilton.

  “Hello, ladies,” says the tall man in a panty-melting voice, deep and dark. He smirks at the table.

  I can almost smell the bursts of wetness as all nineteen girls look up at him. One even lets her mouth hang open at the chiseled god of a man standing in front of us.

  Movie-star looks don’t even come close to describing him. His carved head is perfectly square with high cheekbones and a powerful forehead over stunning dark eyebrows. His eyes are beams of blue, catching and reflecting the gray light from the November sky out the window.

  “It’s okay, Drake,” says Hamilton. “I don’t need you. I’ve got this.”

  “I just want to inspect the troops, Matt,” he says. “Relax.”

  Hamilton scratches his neck and scowls.

  “Ladies, my name is Drake Concord,” says the tall man. “I’m the senior partner.”

  “I’m a senior partner, too,” says Hamilton.

  “Yes, but I’m the senior partner. In command.”

  Oooh, I like the way he says in command. I uncross and re-cross my legs while clearing my throat.

  Drake Concord begins walking around the table, looking into the eyes of each girl. Like he’s sizing us up, inspecting again.

  Damn, I’m sweating now. Suddenly it’s quite ho
t in here.

  As he passes behind me, his hand grazes the back of my neck ever so lightly. A super-charged tingle passes all the way down through me to my feet.

  Oh my God, did he just do that?

  He continues his silent swagger around the room, passing the now-empty seat directly across from me. His eyes fix on mine again.

  My pussy pulses inside my suit as his wolf-like eyes penetrate me. Then he moves on.

  My breathing is coming in short little pants that I’m trying to keep silent. I attempt to focus on my questionnaire again, but I can’t see the words right in front of me.

  I look up. He’s back at the door, having completed his circumnavigation of the table.

  But shit, he’s still looking directly at me. I feel the eyes of a couple of the other girls on me too.

  “Ladies,” he says, “don’t let Matt Hamilton here get to you. His high-pitched yap is worse than his bite.”

  A muted laugh spreads around the table. Hamilton blushes and shakes his head.

  “Enjoy yourselves, ladies,” says Drake Concord as he walks out the door, shooting one more eye dart into my soul.

  The room is pungent with girl aroma now, nineteen streams activated and flowing.

  “Please continue with your questionnaires,” says Matthew Hamilton in an annoyed tone.

  We all snap out of it and put pens back to paper.

  TWO

  Drake

  God, those eyes.

  I can’t get the vision of them out of my head as I work on my caseload.

  I normally don’t go for blondes, but this one made my cock twitch in the elevator the first time I saw her. Stunning blue eyes. Luscious thick lips with just the right shade of lipstick to match her complexion. A strong but feminine chin. A smile that says I’m your dirty slut.

  Oh yes, you are.

  I always know. My dirty sluts have a certain look.

  Then later in the conference room, I knew they all wanted me. That goes without saying. But the blonde wants things the others don’t. She wants to be commanded, dominated, controlled.