The Position

by Izzy Mason

  The Position

  Vol. 2

  Izzy Mason

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Izzy Mason

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

  The Position

  Vol. 2

  Chapter One

  Lazarus’s words seem to hang in the silence. He watches me, waiting to see what I’ll do. Isn’t this what I wanted? He has finally noticed me. Big time. But I’m not sure about this Lazarus. His usual lightness is gone. The kindness is gone. The gentle, nurturing mentor—gone. This Lazarus is dark and serious. He seems unpredictable.

  Suddenly, I’m aware of the enormity of our building. From the outside it reaches high into the night sky, a few lighted windows twinkling in the darkness. But from the inside it feels empty and abandoned. I’m terrified. Calm down, I tell myself. He’s a world famous architect. He’s too high profile to hurt you. But then I flash on Liz’s warning. The lawsuits. What did he do to all those women? What is he going to do to me if I close the door?

  But there’s also a strange new me emerging; a Michaela I’ve never known. This Michaela isn’t the tough survivor I’ve been all my life. This one is weak. She feels helpless under Lazarus’s lustful stare. She is tired of being ugly, of being bullied and ignored. This Michaela wants to be wanted. She’s drunk on Lazarus’s desire. She wants him to touch her more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life. And if he does, I know she’d be willing to do anything and everything he asks.

  I cross the room very slowly, unsteady on my trembling legs. The hallway outside is dark and silent. I stand at the threshold, uncertain. The moment feels charged, as if there’s no going back. My heart does sprints in my chest, not knowing where to go. But my choice is made. I close the door.

  I take a deep breath and turn around. With a gasp, I see Lazarus is right there behind me. I don’t have time to think or react. He puts his hands on my waist and pushes me hard against the closed door. His body presses against mine. It’s warm and rock solid. Heat explodes inside me. I want to put my hands on him, to touch him everywhere. But I’m too nervous. I can feel his hard bulge on my leg and it makes me light headed. He wants me. Jude Lazarus wants me. His breath is hot on my neck and I can smell the brandy. I tremble uncontrollably.

  “Is this why you did it?” he breathes into my ear, his voice ragged with hunger. “Is this what you wanted?”

  I’m dizzy. It’s like I’m floating. “Yes,” I whisper.

  Lazarus narrows his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Michaela.”

  I shake my head. I don’t care what I’m doing. My breasts crush against his chest and I try to memorize the feel of his body on mine in case it never happens again. His hands plunge into my hair. The fire inside me is almost unbearable. Why do I feel so hot? So weak? It’s all so new. Suddenly, lightening quick, Lazarus grabs a fistful of my thick, black locks and yanks my head back. I yelp, startled. But it doesn’t hurt. In fact, it sends an unexpected bolt of pleasure straight through me. What the fuck?

  The sound of my panting breath fills the silence. He pulls my head back further, forcing my chest to thrust forward. His free hand glides slowly over my breasts, his fingers exploring their shape, circling the hardened nipples. I let out a breathy moan, astounded at the sensation.

  He’s touching me. He’s really touching me. Lazarus teases my right nipple, then pinches it as hard as he can. Holy shit. Another bolt of pleasure rips through me and I cry out.

  My mind has blurred and dimmed. It’s as if all that is left is my body and this overwhelming, baffling pleasure. I can’t get enough of his hands on me. I want him to pinch me again, to pull my hair and slam me against the door. A shrink would have a field day, I know. But it’s the most narcotic sensation I’ve experienced in my life and I want it to go on forever. But just like that, it’s over.

  Lazarus releases his grip on my hair and steps away. He pushes past me and throws open the door. Before I can say a word, he has rushed down the hall and disappeared into the darkness.

  Chapter Two

  There’s no getting to sleep tonight. As hard as I try, my mind and body are constantly tussling for my attention, replaying the events at the office over and over again. The memory of his hands on my breasts is so visceral that I can close my eyes and feel their weight and heat moving over me. But I can’t understand how enthralled I am by the roughness. I’ve never been with a guy before, but I always imagined I’d like a loving, gentle touch. I thought I wanted someone to make me feel safe. Maybe I do. But over and over, the thought of Lazarus pushing me hard against the door takes my breath away.

  Finally, I give up trying to sleep. I know what I have to do. I pull on my jeans and shoes and climb into the drivers seat. It’s very late and a full moon glows behind a thin veil of clouds. The streets are nearly empty. I roll past the sleeping houses and empty parks, making my way to the city’s seedy industrial zone.

  I can’t stop my mind from spinning out of control. My life has been fucked up enough. I don’t need to go looking for head cases now. All I should be focusing on is getting a place to live. Getting stable. Not losing my shit over anyone, much less my own boss. Get it together, Mickey, I scold myself. Pull yourself together. You can’t afford to fuck this up.

  I decide I’ll dress down again tomorrow morning. Maybe things will go back to the way they were. And if they do, I need to grow up and drop the infatuation. But even as I tell myself this, I know it’s impossible. It’s not just an infatuation. Though it makes no sense, I’m beginning to understand that I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with Lazarus.

  Beyond the skyscrapers, the buildings become low-slung and ugly. Sprawling warehouses. Storage facilities. Auto mechanics. The back roads are unpaved and my car bucks and sways through potholes. I catch sight of the highway overpass and wend through a maze of streets until I hit the encampment. Tented canopies and makeshift shelters sprawl along beneath the bridge. I recognize Captain’s ratty blue tent set up on the outer edge, as usual.

  There’s no doubt that Captain saved my life. I’d moved out to Colorado as soon as school ended, not even sticking around for my graduation ceremony. Who cares about a square hat and a piece of paper when there’s no one in the stands whooping and clapping for you? But when I arrived in Boulder I had nowhere to say, and the police were all over me every time I tried to park and sleep. So I spent the summer in Denver.

  It was a sucky time in my life. I was scared and completely alone in the world. It was a strange city and I had no money and nowhere to live. Captain pegged my situation from a mile away when he saw me discreetly looking for food in garbage cans near Denver University. He didn’t need to see my boney little body to know I was starving. He told me I had Hunger Eyes. Not only did Captain keep me alive that summer, he kept my dignity intact as well. Every day he’d take me to a new restaurant or bakery that had a policy of giving left over food to the homeless. All we had to do was show up at the right time.

  Little by little I lost the Hunger Eyes. I never forgot what he did for me, even when I had my housing and food covered at CU. Sometimes I’d drive into Denver and spend an evening sitting in a park, listening to his nuggets of wisdom.

  I park the car and wander down the gentle slope to the tent city. Even though it’s late, there are several people sitting around a fire talking, their grizzled, sunken faces flickering with orange light. I know that Captain will still be awake reading by f
lashlight in his tent. I crouch down beside it and clear my throat so he won’t be startled.

  “Captain!” I whisper loudly. “It’s Mickey!”

  I hear the rustling of the sleeping bag inside followed by a phlegmy cough. “Mickey?” His old voice rasps.

  The zipper opens and Captain’s head pops out. His crazy white hair is flattened on one side and there are specks of food in his beard. “You don’t look like Mickey.”

  I let out a mirthless laugh. “Well, I’m a professional big shot now. I have to look the part.”

  Captain’s eyes widen. “You get a place, sweetheart?”

  I shake my head. “But I’m saving for it.”

  Weird as it sounds, Captain is the closest thing I have to family. I sit on the ground in front of the unzipped door, as if it were a little porch. He crawls gingerly out of the tent and sits beside me.

  “It’s awful late, Mickey,” he croaks. “You should be long since asleep.”

  I push my heel through the dry leaves and keep my eyes on the ground. “I’m all fucked up, Captain. I wanted to see you.”

  He smiles and looks at me, his watery eyes cloudy with cataracts. “Well, even fucked up,” he says, “you bring a right ray of sunshine to this piss hole. What’s keeping you from sleeping?”

  I shrug, embarrassed, even though I’ve never been embarrassed to tell Captain anything before. He’s been through hell and back. There’s nothing he hasn’t seen or heard. You just can’t shock the guy.

  He grunts with laughter. “Already got the love bug.” He half leans into the tent and gropes around, finally emerging with a bottle of clear liquor. “Ain’t nothin’ to be done, darlin’. When it comes to matters of the heart, you’re either fucked or you’re screwed.”

  My face flushes, but I don’t deny it. “Even worse, it’s my boss.” It feels good just to say it. I’m in love with my boss. It’s fucked up but it’s true.

  He takes a swig and coughs again, but his eyes are twinkling. “Playing with fire!”

  “Pretty much.”

  Captain tries unsuccessfully to clear the phlegm from his throat. He winks at me and shrugs his shoulders. “Then again, fire can keep you warm at night.” I sit silently, grateful for his lack of judgment. He gives me a look of warm empathy and takes one of my hands. His hand is withered and boney, like a grandfather’s hand should be. “Is he married, this boss?”

  “Girlfriend.”

  Captain raises his eyebrows and releases my hand. He pats it gently, as if soothing a small child. I look up at the sky where the moonlight has blasted away the stars. Captain looks up as well. It’s a moment of almost overwhelming serenity. The air smells of damp earth and campfire smoke. Soft voices drift peacefully through the night. Above us, the occasional semi-truck rumbles over the bridge. This is all I needed, to feel like myself again.

  “I should get back,” I say, finding my feet and stretching my legs. “The sun will be up in a couple hours.”

  Captain nods and takes another swig from the bottle. He holds out a hand and I help pull him to his feet. He gives me a grandfatherly smile and pats me on the back.

  “My dear,” he says in a low voice. “This boss man will hurt you.”

  I nod. My head begins to throb with fatigue. Of course he will, I think. He already has. And yet I love him still. Captain sighs and shuffles back to his tent. Before he crawls back inside, he turns to me one last time.

  “But everyone gets hurt, Mickey. If it ain’t this guy, it’ll be some other joker.” He looks up at the sky again and seems to be studying the moon. “So fuck it. You might as well throw your heart in the fire.”

  Chapter Three

  By the time I leave the encampment, it’s only two hours away from when I normally get up. So instead of going to sleep, I drive to a Denny’s and drink coffee. Soon, it’s time to head to the Y to shower and get dressed. Though I’d promised myself to tone it down, I just can’t bring myself to pull out the frumpy clothes again. Instead I choose an attractive pair of black skinny cords, a pretty, but not even remotely slutty blue silk blouse, and a pair of flat, black knee high boots. I leave out the contacts and wear the frameless glasses instead. And rather than leave my hair long, I pull it into a loose bun.

  I’m halfway to the office when I remember the meeting. Lazarus has a big presentation at the Four Seasons conference room, and I’m supposed to be there early to set everything up. I get to my feet and pull the stop chord. It seems to take forever, but finally the bus lumbers to the curb and opens the doors. I leap out, holding my computer bag to my chest, and start waving for taxis like a maniac.

  I’m amazed that the very first one to approach slams on his brakes and pulls over. The driver is a middle-aged guy with a mustache and a flat cap. He turns to greet me with a wide grin. “Where to, gorgeous?”

  I stare at him for a moment. No stranger has ever spoken to me like that. But there’s no time to think about that stuff.

  “Four Seasons,” I mutter, groping around in my bag for my phone. If all goes well and we don’t hit horrible traffic, I’ll still have ten minutes to set everything up.

  “Where’s a pretty little lady like yourself heading this morning?” he asks, smiling at me in the rear view mirror.

  Good God, I think. What am I, a twelve-year-old girl? Who talks like that? No wonder pretty women feel dumb all the time. I look down at my phone to avoid the driver’s eyes and mumble, “I’m sitting on a panel of neurologists.”

  I wait for his reaction. It takes him a minute to digest what I’ve said. He furrows his brow. “A what?”

  “I’m an expert in neurology and Nano science,” I say with a sigh, as if it were just the most boring thing ever.

  The driver goes silent and I smile. Just then, a text pops up from J. Lazarus. My heart skitters and slams into my rib cage. Seriously delayed. Please cover for me. Will be there as soon as I can. I stare at the text, trying to understand what he’s asking me to do. Cover for him? How the hell am I supposed to do that? Suddenly, the anxiety I feel about seeing him after last night is eclipsed by the panic of his crazy request.

  When I reach the hotel and find the conference room, there are already dozens of people standing around drinking coffee. They are all shareholders of a company that wants to build an insanely expensive building for their Singapore branch, and Lazarus is one of the top contenders. What the hell am I supposed to say to them? Is Lazarus out of his freaking mind?

  My hands shake as I set up the laptop and pull up the usual files that show off his blueprint designs, photographs of the finished buildings, and even some interpretive images to give the potential clients a sense of his architectural philosophy. I’ve seen the whole presentation several times now, but I sure as hell have no business stepping in for him. I glance at the clock. We’re already ten minutes late. I take a deep breath.

  “Everyone,” I announce, forcing confidence into my voice. “We’re going to get started, please.”

  The crowd of rich looking faces turns toward me and I feel my chest tighten. I watch them take their seats, coffee cups in hand, and look up at me expectantly. I turn to face them, take a deep breath, and jump.

  “Mr. Lazarus has been delayed but will be here shortly,” I announce, watching the displeasure reflected in most of the faces. “And so I want to begin with a look at his architectural philosophy and talk about…”

  I continue on, reaching deep into my crusty, sleep-deprived brain for every description and explanation I’ve heard Lazarus give in the past. I’m so exhausted, I almost feel as if I’m outside of my body watching the whole thing. But as I go through the slides, the grumpiness slowly fades from the faces, replaced with genuine interest. I even surprise myself. I’m actually sounding coherent. Perhaps even articulate.

  Just as I begin to run out of things to say, I notice a figure at the back of the room, leaning against the wall, coat draped in his arms. It’s Lazarus. He’s watching me with a strange expression on his face; like a mix of pain a
nd pride. Our eyes lock for a moment, and then he looks away, ashamed.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he announces to the room, his voice faltering slightly. Then he clears his throat and turns on the charm, striding confidently to the front. “Does anyone have any questions for me?”

  I excuse myself with a quick nod and head to the back of the room. I get a cup of coffee and collapse into an empty seat in the last row. Lazarus calmly launches into a presentation of his ideas for the project. He doesn’t once look my way.

  It’s surreal. Last night I was showing Lazarus my panties and he was feeling me up. Now it’s like we’re total strangers. Maybe it’s better this way. Less complicated. Less dangerous. Less of a threat to my emotional stability. And yet, even though I try not to, I can’t take my eyes off his perfectly sculpted face. I imagine the feel of his strong muscular body beneath the dark trousers and sports coat. My heart quickens thinking of the way he felt pressed up against me. I try to push the thoughts out of my head, but I can’t. They’re unstoppable.

  After he finishes the presentation, I collect the computer and clean up the coffee cups scattered around the room. Lazarus holds court with a few of the most senior members of the board. Just as I’m ready to head out the door and catch the bus back to the office, I hear his voice calling me.

  “Michaela?”

  I turn around. Lazarus is shrugging into his coat. He doesn’t look directly at me as he gathers up his things and shoves them into his satchel. “Let me give you a ride.”

  Chapter Four

  We’re both silent in the car. Lazarus seems lost in his head. His jaw is working the way it does when he’s anxious, and I notice for the first time that he has a shadow of whiskers. I’ve never seen his face anything but smooth and clean-shaven. The whiskers look rugged and ridiculously sexy. I turn to stare out the window, trying to play it cool, but I’m so tired I feel drunk just smelling his cologne. When I realize that we’re not going in the direction of the office, I glance over at him. But Lazarus doesn’t look at me.