by Ami Snow
Piper woke with a start, bouncing up on her mattress, the creases of her forehead pooling with sweat. She reached over to the framed photograph of Nana Cabot on her bedside table, her bottom lip trembling as she brushed her grandmother's cheek with the tip of her finger. The corners of her mouth subtly curved upwards, studying Nana's goofy grin, a pair of oversized, “2008” glasses lopsidedly perched on the bridge of her nose. Piper planted a kiss on the grainy image, her heart swelling within her chest.
“I miss you more and more everyday, Nana. Wish you were still around.”
Piper placed the photograph back on her bedside table and collapsed onto her pillow. Before long, she found herself wallowing aimlessly in a long, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Two –
The lanky regular with a milky glass eye fixated his gawking stare on Piper's rich, creamy cleavage, twirling the ends of his Stalin-esque mustache. The words “Eddie's Diner” were emblazoned across her shirt, the novelty typeface distortedly stretched over her insatiably ample bosom. Piper pulled up the scoop neckline of her uniform, centering the dangling drop pearls embellished on the vintage, layered necklace that once belonged to Nana, over the tempting groove of her cleavage. She tapped the bind of her order pad irritably, shifting to the side, his unblinking gaze tailing her treasured bounty.
“Come on, Mr. Turner, I ain't got all day,” Piper grouched, her flinty expression darkening, “Why must we do this dance every morning?”
“Sorry, doll,” grinned the flannel-cloaked man, shrugging, “Couldn't help myself. I'll have my usual club sandwich and home fries, with my morning cuppa – but no –”
“No onions, no lettuce, extra bacon, cheese, mayo, honey mustard, easy on the tomatoes, and home fries – extra crispy,” finished Piper, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the horrifically cholesterol-charged meal he demanded almost everyday for the past three years.
“You know it,” he winked in reply, noisily clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“Coming right up,” grumbled Piper, turning on her heel.
Piper massaged the biting roots of her velvety, strawberry-blonde tresses, twisted in a tight bun behind her head. She adjusted the claws of her glittery hair-clamp as she headed behind the counter, slipping her head into the serving hatch, reciting Mr. Turner's long-winded, specific order. The languid, grunting replies from the devitalized line cooks cemented the tediously unremarkable working atmosphere of Eddie's Diner, one of the extremely limited eateries of their small town of Chestwood, Utah.
Piper sighed, leaning against the counter as she observed the overly-acquainted faces of the chattering town folk, speckling the bright, under-stuffed booths. She glimpsed towards the chiming front door of the diner, cocking an eyebrow at the fashionable young woman strolling in, her impossibly-tall, seven inched stilettos clunking against the dull, checkerboard tiles. Her eyes brightened, recognizing the small birthmark below the woman's bronzed, smoky eye.
“Courtney!”
Piper ran towards her cousin, Courtney Fairchild, enveloping her in a lengthened, tight embrace. Courtney had lost a tremendous amount of weight since the last time the close relatives crossed paths, which was two summers ago at a family barbecue. She ruffled Courtney's short, asymmetrical hairdo, the natural carob-browns of her hair highlighted with light, ashy blondes. Piper took a step back, tilting her head to the side as she studied Courtney's slender silhouette, dramatically defined by the cinched waist of her silk blazer.
“Oh my god, Courtney, look at you!” Piper beamed, clapping her hands against her cheeks, “You look amazing, and wow, you've lost a lot of weight, are they feeding you right, now that you've gone all Hollywood on us small-towners?”
Courtney waved a hand dismissively, the fluorescent-pink sheen from her lipgloss glittering as she spoke, “Don't even worry about it. All us city girls are the same size. Plus, I've never felt better – I look and feel amazing. Anyway, it's so good to see you, Piper! It's been forever – I can't believe you're still working here.”
“Yup,” intoned Piper in response, “Eight goddamned years. Can you believe it? Came in at seventeen looking for a summer job, never left.”
Courtney smeared her finger across a dusty, discoloring poster of Dion & the Belmonts and flicked off a chipping flake of daisy-yellow paint on the walls. Her eyebrows peaked, shaking her head, “I was gonna ask what's new with Chestwood, but I think the evidence speaks for itself.”
“I hear ya,” agreed Piper, gazing at Courtney's designer tote bag with a flicker of envy in her eyes. She shook off the unwanted twinge of jealousy, the smile on her face broadening, “Can I get you something to eat? We've got split-pea soup and strawberry rhubarb pie on the specials –”
“I'm good, I'm not sure how my stomach would handle the grease of the food here – I'm on a strict diet,” declined Courtney haughtily. She thrusted the large paper bags into Piper's hands, “And these are for you.”
Piper's eyes widened as she rummaged through the paper bags, her fingers grazing against the silken fabrics of the stylish garments. She picked up an off-white, embroidered knit top with angel sleeves and held it against her, admiring her murky reflection from the glass window.
“Courtney!” Piper gasped dreamily, “These are gorgeous!”
“I know. Do I know you or do I know you?” replied Courtney, winking, “So how're you holding up? How's Aunt Lily?”
“It was pretty tough when Nana passed last year,” admitted Piper, “I mean, she's better but she still tends to go off her meds. Thank God for your mom – Aunt Rita's a godsend. She's the only one equipped to deal with Mom's dysfunction.”
“Good grief, Piper,” Courtney frowned, drumming her mountain-peaked french tips along her bottom lip, “Life's just an endless, rolling cluster-fuck for you, isn't it? So, Pipes – I've talked it over with my mom, and I'm thinking of bringing you up to Los Angeles with me. There's an opening for a secretary position at Maxwell Creative – with a little bit of refining and glamming up, you'd sail through the interview, no problem.”
Piper snorted, rolling her eyes, “Very funny, Court. I can think of about five things wrong with what you just proposed off the top of my head – for starters, my mother –”
“My mom's here – she'll check in on her everyday, which is essentially what she does during the day when you're here at work – she'll just have to make a few more trips every week. Come on, Piper. There's so much out there. Your whole life you've lived on the sidelines, just giving and giving – it's about time you took back a little something of your own.”
Piper's rapid-fire thoughts muddled as Courtney looked back at her with an upbeat look of unbreakable optimism flashing in her protruding set of intense, pickle-green eyes. She glanced around at the antiquated surroundings, the insipid, repetitive milieu of the diner patrons. They were the very same faces piling in and out of the unchanging, degenerating establishment, day in and day out, spewing their dreary, redundant chatter. Piper shuddered, locking eyes with Mr. Turner, ogling at her from across the room. He chomped into his sandwich, chewing with his mouth wide open, exposing the churning, mushed horrors, bits of bacon clinging to the hairs of his disturbing mustache. Piper screwed up her face in disgust. She heaved a deep sigh, turning to Courtney.
“You know what? I think I'm gonna do it. I'm finally moving the hell outta here.”
Chapter Three –
Piper lay on her bed, bandaged in her sheets. She stared at the clock sitting atop her new bedside table, highlighted by the paltry glow of the corset lampshade Courtney had gifted her, the base dipped in gold plating. She grinned, the clock trilling as the small hand ticked seven. She sprung out of her mattress and pounded the brass button to silence the ringing. With her silk bathrobe swathed around her, she tiptoed out to her shared kitchen with Courtney.
Piper bustled about in the kitchen, whipping up an extravagant breakfast of french toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon. She experimented with Courtney's state-of-the-art c
appuccino machine, leaving two cupfuls of aromatic morning brew to settle on the stove before heading into the shower.
Courtney was hunched over the kitchen counter, munching on a piece of french toast, struggling to keep her eyelids from drooping. She flashed Piper a thumbs-up as she sauntered into the room, sporting her polished, “first day” outfit. Piper twirled, posing dramatically in her improvised catwalk.
“How do I look?” Piper patted her interlinking, double-plaited bun and pouted her glossy, cinnamon-kissed lips.
“You look great, Pipes. Knew you'd fit right in with us city girls. You're aware the interview starts at ten, right?”
“Yes,” replied Piper breathlessly, her cheeks glowing with pink eagerness, “Sorry – I just couldn't wait–”
“Not complaining,” grinned Courtney, “Especially if that means I'm gonna start enjoying these Martha Stewart breakfasts from now on. These marigolds are a nice touch – real cute – you alright, Pipes?”
“No – yes – just nervous, is all.”
“Don't even worry about it. You're gonna kill it.”
White – that was the first word that sprung to mind as Piper stepped through the spotless revolving doors of Maxwell Creative. The esteemed talent agency, swanking a vast, international array of superstar clients ranging from musicians to models to movie starlets, did not disappoint. The immaculate walls were painted seashell white, graced with stately, floor-length portraits of their most celebrated, well-known clients. The cream motif was enhanced by the modern furniture, including lavish, all-white leather couches, eccentric glass tables and wall-shelves displaying bizarre statuettes and art pieces. Piper consciously wired her mouth shut as she pressed on after Courtney, who was advancing towards the row of elevators.
Piper frowned, her eyebrows knitting nervously as she peeked around at the women congregated by the elevator on the far end, prattling away as they awaited their ride. The realization of Courtney's spectacular change in appearance finally dawned on her. The women were tall with electrifyingly lengthy legs, which they flaunted in various states of undress, barely covered by flimsy, yet exquisite fabrics.
“Courtney,” hissed Piper, her eyebrows shooting up, “These women cannot be for real, can they? They look like the offspring of goddesses and swimsuit models.”
“That's LA for you,” monotoned Courtney, lowering her eyes to the screen of her phone, careful not to pay the women a shred of attention, “We're on the ground floor. Trust me, you ain't seen nothin' yet.”
The pair disembarked on the thirteenth floor, the clink of their stilettos muted by the plush, geometric-patterned carpet beneath them. Courtney escorted her to the end of the hallway, stopping in front of a conference room. Piper swallowed, her palms moistening with sweat as she peered through the textured, blue-glass windowed door. She took a deep breath and rapped against the grainy glass with the back of her fists.
Piper tailed in timidly as Courtney pushed open the door. The conference room was simply decorated with warm colors, centered with a long, exotic wooden table, surrounded by identical, stuffed black chairs. Piper ogled at the stunning, clean-shaven man seated at the end of the table, pinching her flesh-toned pantyhose quirkily. The hawk-nosed man with the dark, brooding features seemed to be slightly older, with hints of gray sweeping up the mid-length sideburns of his gelled back, frosted-brown hair. He was radiating charm and sophistication, donned in a perfectly-tailored, italian cut, ebony suit, paired with a dark red tie.
“Don't think I've seen you around here before,” chirped Courtney, cocking an eyebrow. Piper cringed internally as she watched her cousin bat her feathery lash extensions at the unknown man, hoisting herself up on the table. She crossed her legs, leaning towards him, “Where are all the others? Are you one of the interviewers? Cause darn, where were you for my interview?”
The man raised his eyebrows, his stony expression unperturbed. “I'm the sole conductor of the interview today. Are you here for the position?”
“I've been at the accounting department for two years now, silly,” continued Courtney. She twirled her finger towards Piper's direction, “My cousin Piper's here for the interview – she's from a small town like me but trust me, she's a hard worker, and –”
“I think I'd like to hear from Piper herself,” stated the man unblinkingly.
“Right,” muttered Courtney, flustered, hopping off the table.
“Close the door behind you, please. And for future reference, I'd prefer it if my staff referred to me as Mr. Maxwell, understood?”
Courtney froze, her grip on the door handle tightening. She gulped, nodding briskly as she slipped out of the room quietly.
“Yes, Mr. Maxwell, sir.”
Chapter Four –
“Take a seat. Piper, is it?”
Piper nodded silently, her throat dry as she plopped down on the seat next to him. She cleared her throat, accepting his extended hand with a trembling handshake. She took a deep breath, forcing a wobbly smile, “My name's Piper Cabot.”
“I'm Seth Maxwell, the co-founder and CEO of Maxwell Creative. I see you're interested in the secretary position that's just opened up.”
“Yes, very much so,” assured Piper, handing him a manila folder, “Here's my resume. Sorry, if I may ask, for whom or what department would I be working for, exactly?”
“You would be working directly under me,” explained Seth, a small smile playing on his sexy, full lips, “Is that a problem?”
“Oh, I – no,” stuttered Piper, tugging her bottom lip with her teeth, “Not at all, Mr. Maxwell, sir.”
“So I see you're from Chestwood. I actually love The Golden Coral Cineplex, something about the old-timey décor really hits home.”
“The Golden Coral?” blurted Piper, “I didn't think anyone even knew our town existed.”
“I've got family up in Chesapeake County. So tell me, Piper, have you ever worked in an office setting, or have had jobs with responsibilities pertaining to secretary duties in the past?”
Piper's face fell. She fumbled with her thumbs on her lap, her mouth twitching, “No, to be perfectly honest, Mr. Maxwell, I've been a waitress at our local diner since I was seventeen – but that shows loyalty and dedication. I'm observant, a fast learner, and I do really well with instructions –”
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” Piper persisted, the tremor in her voice dissipating, “I'm confident I've got what it takes – I've never been blessed with an opportunity like this before – all I'm asking for is a chance, that's it. You won't regret it, Mr. Maxwell.”
Seth leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes in deep thought. He slanted his head to the side, inspecting the eager-to-please young woman seated next to him, who had swiveled her chair towards him as a result of her clearly unbridled enthusiasm. She was nothing like the perfect-ten models that grazed his offices day in and day out, yet there was something about her feverish willingness to accomplish and to please that intrigued him. She was certainly beautiful in an unconventional way. Seth found himself magnetically drawn to her generous, luscious curves, his eyes casting fleeting glimpses of her weighted, buxom chest, threatening to explode out of her sheer button-up.
Seth flicked his pen furtively, the costly, antique fountain pen rolling off the edge of the table. He licked his lips in approval as Piper leapt off her chair, bending down to retrieve it. The tiny slit between her buttons expanded over her chest, exposing the overflowing shadow of her irresistible cleavage. She flashed him a sweet, cheerful smile as she placed it on the table, before settling back in her chair.
Seth cracked his head to the side, the pole between his legs stirring, “Would you say you're one who follows orders? Do you do what you're told, no questions asked?”
“Of course,” nodded Piper. A shot of static sizzled up Seth's arms as she meekly touched the side of her face, her fingertips playing with her simple, gold-studded earlobes.
Seth punted his pen down the length of the room. Piper gasped,
the pen soaring through the air as if time was sped down. She blinked at Seth, her eyes rounded in puzzlement.
“What –”
“Fetch.”
Piper's mouth dropped open, her brows furrowing as she slowly rose from the chair. She started to walk towards the fallen pen, jolting in shock at the sudden, forced baritone in his voice.
“On your knees, bitch. I said fetch. No hands.”
Piper trembled, her heart battering against her chest as she crumpled to the ground on all fours. Seth leaned further back into the cushion of his chair as he stroked the emerging bulge on his crotch through the fabric of his slacks. The exaggerated apple-shaped curves of her cheeks were enriched through her form-fitting pencil skirt, her white panties peeking out at him. He grunted, unbuckling his slacks and unleashing the fully-erect rod in his pants. He spit into his hands and slathered it over his shaft, beating off to the tantalizing, taboo view.
Piper clenched her teeth around the pen, the buttons on her chest bursting as she bent towards the ground. She gasped, the crotch of her panties soaking, her milling thoughts subsiding. She could feel his yearning, thirsting stare on her body, filling her with a surge of buzzing arousal. Just like that, she not only realized, but succumbed to her role wholeheartedly, the unyielding desire to please, flowering within her.
Her neatly-painted lips pressed down on the pen as she turned towards Seth. She prowled towards him slowly, her confined breasts jiggling, captivated by her visible, daisy-white bra. Seth's features were contorted in a glowering look of pleasure, stunned by the delicious contrast between her fresh-faced, girl-next-door features, and the womanly globes of her heavy, peachy-cream breasts enrapturing him with their natural bounce. She glanced up at him innocently with her round, twinkling blue eyes, nuzzling his knee with the tip of her nose.
