Penthouse Perfect: BBW Erotic Romance

by Carolina Moon

  “Good morning, Mr. Blake.” He had tried to get her to call him Jared but that, along with the primping, was just too weird for Lia.

  “Did you finally make it to work, Lia? You know we depend on you here.”

  You only depend on me because you hired Classy out there for her boobs. She can’t do anything else. The woman’s real name was Chelsea, but Lia seldom called her that. In fact, she seldom spoke to the woman at all.

  Unfortunately, Lia was pretty sure that she had been hired for her boobs, too. She was nicely endowed, and they were real. She just got bonus points for being able to actually do the job. Hence, she did the work of two people – two people who constantly stared at her breasts the whole time she was trying to talk to them.

  She slumped in her chair a little. “Sorry, Mr. Blake. It couldn’t be helped.” What was he going to do? Fire her? The thought of losing this income scared her, but it sort of excited her to think about a fresh start, too.

  Maybe it was time to move on, after all.

  He slid a sheet of paper across the surface of the desk. “I need you to dig up some case histories for me, Lia. You can find them a lot faster than I can.” He put his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, closer to her chest. “I’ll need them this afternoon around five.”

  She bit her lip to keep back the sarcastic remark that burned in the back of her throat. She wasn’t technically even his employee – he had hired Classy out there, who was currently doing her darndest to sneak out early for a date with the tanning bed. Lia worked for Marcus Bailey, who wasn’t much better, but still…

  She hurried out of the office before she ended up in worse trouble and headed for the stairs that would take her to the storage room in the basement, her black heels clicking her progress. She loved these heels, even though the day she had shown them to her mother, the woman had tsk-ed at her.

  “What?” Lia had asked.

  “A woman your size shouldn’t wear such high heels, Lia. They’ll destroy your knees.”

  Not the vote of confidence that every girl wanted to hear from her mother. Even now, five years later and with her mother gone, the remark still stung. Lia didn’t let that stop her from wearing the sexy shoes, though.

  On her way down the second flight of stairs, she swung around a turn and ran smack into Chelsea, who was still trying to sneak out of the place. Lia groaned from the impact, and then again when she saw that the contents of the girl’s purse were strewn all over the stairs. Papers, makeup, and hair accessories scattered around their feet.

  “Lia!” Chelsea whined, and for the slimmest of moments Lia wanted to slap her. “What are you doing?”

  Your job. She almost said it, but didn’t. It wasn’t Chelsea’s fault that her bosses were morons, or that Lia was feelings more frustrated than usual this morning. She let it go.

  “Let me help you,” she said, then bent and began to gather up the papers from Chelsea’s purse. She couldn’t help but skim over what she was holding: receipts, overdue bill notices, pay stubs, and -. Hey. She makes more money than I do. A lot more. As in, a couple of thousand dollars a month more.

  Anger shot through her. She hurried to finish helping Chelsea, shoved the papers into the girl’s pale, perfectly manicured hands, and headed back up the stairs.

  How dare they? How could they pay that girl so much to do nothing, while she worked her butt off for almost half the pay? It wasn’t fair, and she intended to get a few answers. Her nostrils flared and her fingernails bit into her palms as she went.

  She knew she needed to calm down and keep careful track of her tongue, but she wasn’t sure that was even possible at this point. She hit the landing almost at a run, heading for Marcus Bailey’s office. It was in sight, and she hadn’t slowed down a bit, when a man stepped out the door.

  “Are you Lia Davies?” he asked. That brought her to a screeching halt.

  “Yes. Why?” The guy was chubby, around her age and dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and scuffed sneakers. He didn’t look very official. What did he want?

  “Could I speak to you? Privately?” he asked.

  She glared at her boss’s door, but nodded and followed him to a bench near the top of the stairs. He sat very close, forcing her to back up a little, and leaned in toward her.

  “I have information that you were with Mr. Joel Cortran this morning. Is that right?”

  She wasn’t sure what to answer, and it was surprising to hear his name in connection with her own. Was he in trouble somehow? Had she unwittingly made herself an accomplice or something?

  “Who wants to know?” she asked finally, scooting back a little more.

  “Oh, sorry. I work for the Post.”

  “The Washington Post?” She stared.

  “Yes, ma’am. Were you with him this morning?”

  “Briefly. Why?”

  “Well, ma’am,” he said, then his voice dipped even lower. “I believe he wrote something down for you. I believe that it was his personal number. Is that correct?”

  Bailey & Blake were momentarily forgotten, and alarms were going off in her head. She remembered Joel writing down the number, now tucked safely away, and the way he looked when he asked her to keep it to herself. She had promised.

  “I’m afraid that I can’t respond to that, Mr…”

  “Ian. Ian Orson,” he said. “And before you say no, I’m prepared to offer you a large sum of money for the information on that card.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  He shook his head, pulled out a pen, and wrote a number on the palm of his hand, making Lia feel like she was in an old spy movie. The number itself, though, made her feel more like she’d won the lottery. It was enough for her to live on for a year, at least.

  She could tell Bailey & Blake to kiss her behind. She could buy a new car. She could even go on vacation. Maybe to the ocean. She hadn’t been there since Gran died and left her the apartment, nearly three years ago.

  Joel’s face flashed in her mind again. She had promised.

  “I’m sorry, but no. That information isn’t for sale.” She didn’t ask the thousand other questions running through her mind, like why would they offer so much? How had they even known she was with Joel? How had they known how to find her?

  She shook her head. “Is that all you needed?”

  Ian looked upset. “Are you sure? My boss will be upset if I can’t get that information. I can offer a bit more, if that will help.”

  She stood up, afraid of her own thoughts. It was so much money… “No. I’m sorry. Why don’t you contact Mr. Cortran himself? Make an appointment?”

  Ian looked away. “Maybe. Sorry to have taken up your time.”

  She felt bad for the guy, and even worse to be letting that much money just walk away, but she had made a promise

  To a stranger.

  He’s not exactly a stranger.

  Yes he is. You think he cares about you at all?

  Not really, but a promise is a promise. Get over it.

  You need a new car.

  I need a new car. A new life. A new plan. So what? Selling out Joel is off the table.

  No. It would be lying, it would be small and mean, and it would make her feel horrible.

  Joel probably had reporters hounding him constantly, and she felt oddly proud of helping to protect him, even just a little. Even if he would probably never know.

  She was suddenly exhausted, too tired to even yell at the men behind the closed doors across the landing. She walked back to her desk and sat down, then just put her head on her arms. She would deal with them tomorrow.

  She knew one thing, though. She couldn’t sit here for another minute. She got up, stuck her head into Mr. Bailey’s office without knocking, and said, “I’m sick, and going home for the day. Tell Mr. Blake to have Chelsea find the files he needs.”

  Marcus Bailey looked up, blinked at her through his thick glasses, and waved. “Oh, OK. See ya tomorrow.”

  “Maybe,” she muttered, and
closed the door hard

  ***

  A soft knock on his office door brought Joel’s head up out of the spreadsheets he was studying. It had been a long day already, and it wasn’t even eleven o’clock. He had signed off on the permits for the new factory in Pennsylvania, checked the accounting figures for this quarter, and now he was in the middle of figuring out how to restructure management tiers without firing anyone.

  His office, normally a comforting place for him, was starting to feel claustrophobic. He reminded himself that he always got that way when he was about to make an important decision, regardless of where he was.

  A happy sight greeted him from the doorway, though. “Miffy!”

  He got up and swung around the desk to hug his grinning ex-secretary. She was so little that he was afraid he would accidentally crush her, and her springy gray curls tickled his face as he bent down to kiss her cheek. She smelled like lavender. “How are you? How is retirement?”

  “I’m bored out of my mind!” Miffy stomped a tiny, Nike-clad foot. “This screw-brained idea isn’t going to work. I keep telling Harry that, but he won’t listen. Do you miss me yet?”

  Joel laughed. “Every day, Miff. Every day.”

  She glanced past him to the stack of papers on his desk. The highest one was almost as tall as her. “You need to hire someone.”

  “I’m holding out for you to leave Harry and come back to me,” he joked, but squeezed her delicate shoulders one more time before letting go. He had kept Miffy on when he had taken his father’s place, so she had been personal secretary to two of the three generations of Cortran men. She had also saved his behind more than once with her vast knowledge of the business, and proved herself invaluable time and time again while dealing with particularly testy associates. Just as she did with him, she made them feel like they were being scrutinized by their grandmother.

  “Well, you know I’ll never leave that old codger, but I’d love for you to take me to lunch,” she said, grinning up at him. “It will feel scandalous!”

  “My pleasure,” Joel said, laughing, and reached over the desk for his jacket. “Where would you like to eat?”

  She waved a hand. “Oh, you choose. I choose anywhere that’s not my house.” She lowered her voice. “It feels like the walls are closing in sometimes!”

  He laughed and shook his head. Just as he reached for the door, it opened, and Ian stuck his head in. “It’s a go, boss. Oh, hey Miffy! Didn’t know you were here.”

  She gave him a wave, but didn’t interrupt their conversation.

  “Really? That’s great news, Ian. I really wasn’t sure this time.”

  “Nope. She didn’t even hesitate. You got a keeper.”

  “Thanks, Ian.” Joel felt a massive amount of relief for some reason, far out of proportion to the situation. “Want to join us for lunch?”

  “No thanks. I’m meeting Kat.”

  “Tell her hi, and tell her I’ll be at the wedding.”

  “Got it. See you later, boss.”

  As they stepped out into the hall, Miffy looked up at him. “A keeper, huh? What was that about?”

  “Company secrets,” he said. “You aren’t an employee, so if I told you I would have to…”

  She didn’t let him finish. “Kill me? Ha! Harry hasn’t killed me yet, and he’s a bigger handful than you.”

  “OK, then. I met someone this morning that might just be good enough to fill your legendary shoes.” He ushered her onto the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor.

  “So you had Ian check her out?”

  “Yep, and apparently she’s trustworthy.”

  Miffy stopped in her tracks just inside the main doors and squinted as she searched his face. Then she smiled. “What’s her name, Joel?”

  “Lia. Lia Davies. She lives in my building.”

  “Hm.”

  “What?”

  “I know that look.”

  “What look?”

  She grinned. “The same look your grand-dad got on his face when he met your grandmother. She applied for my job, first, you know.”

  Joel shook his head. “I know. Quit trying to play cupid, Miff. I just met the girl.”

  Miffy just laughed and asked where they were going for lunch.

  ***

  Lia walked home, but regretted it by the time she got there. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and she felt the need to burn off the tension that was crippling her thoughts. Besides, she had walked home from work before – just not in the middle of a summer day. On the way, she played a game of What if… What if she had taken the money? She would be set for a little while. On the other hand, she would lose both her self-respect and any chance at a friendship – or more – with Joel.

  She was thirsty and sticky by the time she got there and she headed straight for the shower and then stretched out in bed, feeling deliciously decadent to be taking a nap in the middle of the day.

  Just as her head hit the pillow, she had another thought. Should she contact Joel? To make sure that he knew to watch out? If reporters were stalking her, she’d want to know. Then again, reporters were probably always stalking him.

  You just want to talk to him again.

  No – this might be important.

  Hahaha.

  Seriously.

  It’s a good excuse, anyway. Go for it.

  No… Well, maybe. Would it seem too forward?

  More forward than letting him give you a bath, like he did in the elevator this morning?

  That thought made her shiver.

  See? You just want to talk to him again.

  So?

  Have you seen the women in the tabloids? The ones draped over him like extra jackets?

  You’re right. I don’t fit that particular mold.

  She sighed, gave up on the idea of calling him, punched her nice cool pillow, and tried to fall asleep.

  Fifteen minutes later she was wide awake and mad at her brain. She needed it to shut off now, but instead it kept showing her pictures: Chelsea sneaking out, that flash of pay stub, Joel’s face when he smiled at her this morning and asked her to keep his number a secret. Her emotions were a roller coaster at the moment, and she didn’t know how to make it stop. Maybe if she ate something…

  Scuffing to the kitchen in her socks, she found what she was looking for – cookies. She poured a glass of milk, sat at the tiny kitchen table, and tried to figure out what to do.

  First of all, she determined, he was going to ask the B-boys for a raise. It would probably end in a fight, and maybe unemployment for her, but she was going to ask. She owed it to herself.

  Second, she was going to run into Joel again soon, and this time she would not talk to herself in his presence. Also, she would try to be filth-free.

  Which brought her to her car. She needed to get it fixed, but winced at the thought of using her credit card to pay the bill. Still, she couldn’t very well carry a car battery home on the bus, so someone would have to bring it here.

  Suddenly, she missed Gram terribly. The old woman was funny and smart, and she always managed to solve Lia’s problems and make her feel better at the same time. If she were here now, what would she say?

  Lia had no idea. That little mind trick never worked for her. Suddenly feeling sluggish and fat, she tossed the last of the cookies in the trash can.

  She found the number of the guy she had used before, and asked him to come and put a battery in her car, dreading the bill but refusing to walk anymore. He promised to come by as soon as he could.

  With that done, she looked around the apartment, wondering if there was any food in the house that could become a grown-up meal. She doubted it, but rummaged around anyway.

  You always do this, you know.

  Do what? Eat?

  Well, no. You always try to overhaul your whole life at once. You get dissatisfied about something and decide to change everything.

  So?

  It’s not really healthy. You’ll fai
l – you always do – and then you’ll be miserable for weeks.

  How do you know I’ll fail?

  It’s too much. The job, the car, the apartment. You need to slow down and change one thing at a time.

  I can’t. What if I see Joel again?

  What if you do?

  I would like to seem a little more in control than I did this morning.

  Good luck with that.

  She sighed and went to wait for the battery guy.

  Twenty minutes later, when the stupid elevator finally got to the garage level, he was just pulling in in his big yellow truck.

  Five minutes after that, she was staring at him with her mouth open as he told her, “Lady, there’s nothing wrong with your battery. It has a brand new one, in fact. See if it starts.”

  She did, and it started just fine. The little Jetta hummed along perfectly, as if it hadn’t betrayed her less than eight hours ago. It ran a lot more quietly, too, for some reason. A battery didn’t fix that.

  Weird.

  She shut down the car, paid the man, and turned toward the elevator, just in time to see Joel’s limo pull into the garage, moving slowly so it didn’t drag on the curb. She paused.

  Did she dare wait, so that she could talk to him again? Or did that look too desperate? She stood there, not sure.

  A few minutes later, she found out that it didn’t matter – he wasn’t in the car. Of course, he wouldn’t be – he would have been dropped off at the main entrance. She headed for the elevator, not sure if she should be disappointed or relieved.

  As the elevator began it’s slow hum back to her apartment, she looked in the mirrors again and sent a thankful prayer skyward that she hadn’t seen him, after all. Surveying herself, she wrinkled her nose at the baggy pajama pants and t-shirt that she’s thrown on. She looked like an under-dressed bag lady. Her hair, which usually fell straight to her shoulder blades, was kinked from lying on it while it was still damp, and without make-up, she looked pale and sickly.

  Also, there were cookie crumbs on her t-shirt, which she eyed guiltily before swiping them away.

  Just as she finished taking this grumpy inventory, the elevator chimed.