Into the Flames

by Multi-Author

  He turned and gestured at me to shut the door. I did, sighing, knowing I wasn’t really in the mood but acknowledging if anyone could coax me into the mood, it was my boss. “I need an explanation for this.” He returned to his desk, touched his keyboard and pointed at the giant screen. “I don’t know what you’re playing at with this asshole, but I don’t think the condition of my rental properties are any of his business.”

  I looked at the email message, unable to grasp its point for a few seconds. Then I noted the attachments from the fire marshal and the city inspector declaring five properties owned by Harrison’s holding company unfit and unsafe. They were slapping him with thousands of dollars in fines unless he remediated outdated electric systems, built fire escapes to code and did enough shit to them that it almost made more sense to rip them all down and build new structures in their place. My gaze ran down the list, noting my current address at the top of it. “I…um…don’t know.”

  “Bullshit.” He leaned over and glared at the message again. “How could he know anything about these places? Who let him in? I’m guessing it had to be you, at least into this one.” He pointed to the street name and number of the giant loft I occupied with my friend. “I’m guessing he’s been in there enough times to really study the place, eh, Jane? Has he been in my building?” Harrison’s tone turned ugly. I frowned at him.

  “No, as a matter of fact to my knowledge he’s never been any closer to your building than the front door.”

  He glared at me. I met him halfway. “Well, he’s about to cost me a ton of money.”

  “Well,” I parroted him, irritated beyond belief that as a licensed real estate broker he’d allow such crappy, unsafe conditions in his properties—including the very one I’d occupied for the last few years. “Maybe you should have thought about that when you skipped the certificate of occupancy process, huh? I mean, how did you think you could sell the Powers building without one?” I named my building, the one he wanted to unload after the strip club vacated.

  “Fuck this guy,” he muttered under his breath, taking a seat and waving me away a little too dismissively for my taste. “It’s none of his goody-two-shoes business. He needs to stop sniffing around my property.” He looked up at me. His eyes flashed with a challenge I rose to without hesitation.

  “Your property, huh?”

  He frowned then focused on whatever he was typing in response. I leaned over him and hit the off button on his Bluetooth keyboard then spun his chair around so I could put her hands on the hard leather armrests. He narrowed his blue-gray eyes at me. “Defensive much, dear?” His emphasis on the last word made me grind my teeth and remind myself this was my boss after all. Anything I might say would definitely be taken as, at the most, insubordinate and at the least inappropriate. But I shoved that worry right out of my head with the quick memory of how inappropriate my words to him had been the night before, in this very office. The man loved dirty talk. Oh boy did he ever.

  “I am not your property. And if you use that euphemism once more referring to your goddamned, falling down, rattletrap buildings, I’m gonna bite your nice, hard dick off the next time you think I’m headed that way for a blow job. Got me? Boss?”

  I kissed him then, not even sure why, shoving my tongue between his lips, tasting his anger and loving it for some perverse reason. He grabbed my hips and pulled me down before shoving his hand up my blouse and unhooking my bra with one practiced flip of his fingers. Keeping our lip-lock, I reached down and unzipped him, tugging his erection through the slit of his jockey shorts.

  “How hard is it for me, huh, Harrison?” I whispered into his mouth as he slid forward so I could get my legs spread and take him inside me with one shift of my hips. I ground down, gaining the friction I required as he pinched my nipple, gripping my ass with his other hand.

  “Hard as a rock, Janey. Goddamn, yes,” he hissed, thrusting up as I lifted off and dropped down again, knowing he loved it when I did that.

  “How long, baby?” I cooed, threading my fingers in the silky silver strands of his hair. “How long have you been sitting in here thinking about this?” I tightened my lower muscles, making him groan into my neck. “Wanting to fuck me? Hoping somebody watches?” He shoved my shirt up and latched on to my nipple, sucking hard as I rubbed against him seeking release but finding it just out of my reach.

  Harrison grabbed my ass with both hands, using his obsessively gym-toned body to stand with me still connected to him and turn so I was lying on his desk where he could pound into me the way he wanted. I put my fingers to his lips to keep him quiet and let him do what he wanted, giving up on my own orgasm and wondering how exactly this made my point about not being his property. Finally, he grunted and shuddered, then stared down at me, his eyes taking on that dreamy, sleepy look they did after he came.

  “Sorry,” he said, moving back and helping me sit up before zipping back into his trousers and handing me a tissue.

  “You’re not done yet,” I whispered, taking his hand and pressing it between my legs. He smiled and obliged me, giving me a small modicum of relief in a few seconds but leaving me feeling like a hollowed-out, useless, slutty shell of myself instead of empowering me like our quick and dirties usually did.

  Empowering. There was an odd word.

  I tossed the tissue I used to wipe off into the trash in his private bathroom, my thoughts back on the deal I’d been working on that would net me somewhere near six figures if I could pull the thing together. I watched him as he downed a bottle of water from his fridge, checked his phone for messages from his wife then dragged a hand down his face.

  “I’m moving out of the Powers building,” I said, shocking myself. “It’s a firetrap.”

  “No it’s not,” he said, the annoyance creeping back into his voice. “You’re overreacting. It’s a great location. You’ll never find the same space for the amount of money I’m—”

  I held up my hand. “Lucy is getting married at the end of the summer. I need a smaller place and one where I don’t pay rent to my…boss.” I raised an eyebrow with the last word and let my gaze travel down his now wrinkly shirt.

  “Jane,” he said, his voice softening. “Honey.”

  “Don’t call me honey. Get those damn buildings up to code. You and I both know you should have done it years ago. I have work to do.” I opened his office door, winked at his secretary, and sauntered back down to my office, tingly between my legs, and with a lightness in my chest I could only attribute to my upcoming apartment hunt—one where I didn’t have to worry about the largesse of a horny boss.

  I’d come a long way since then and had plenty of money in the bank. I hoarded it actually, living small and pretty cheap apart from the clothes shopping sprees I liked to embark on—and those were usually to outlet malls or other discount-style places. I could afford whatever I wanted really but knew my position within the company was pretty damn precarious. Harrison was a lot more proprietary about me than I’d figured. I should watch myself, string him along a bit longer, make a few more bucks and bolt.

  “Hey, Jane.” The sales secretary’s voice hit my ears as I was settling in with a post-sex coffee to peruse the contract and figure out a way to get the damn deal to the closing table. “There’s a Mister Lattimer here to see you.”

  I got up, knocking the coffee cup to the floor with my elbow. “Shit,” I said when the hot liquid hit my foot. “How long… I mean…”

  “He’s been waiting about fifteen minutes,” she said, handing me a paper towel. “Um…the buttons…” She pointed to my shirt. I glanced down long enough to realize the damn thing was buttoned up crooked and had been the whole time I was traipsing around, all smirky and satisfied, in front of four or five other agents plus secretaries. I groaned and dropped into the seat. Somehow, every time George Lattimer emerged into my life, something about me went haywire.

  I fixed the buttons, tucked my shirt into my skirt, and shooed the girl out, telling her
to make him wait another five minutes then buzz me before she let him in. I paced, drinking stale-tasting water from a half-empty bottle. When I turned, he stood there in a pair of dark jeans and a soft blue shirt, his broad shoulders, square jaw, and dark eyes bringing every single one of my most recent, fevered, erotic dreams roaring up to the forefront of my consciousness. I gripped the back of my chair. “What do you want?”

  The man hadn’t communicated with me except for a single email acknowledging the receipt of his bottom-lined purchase of the old firehouse in Corktown. That had been the Sunday I’d come in here desperate for something and letting Harrison fuck me standing up in the deserted hallway, then again on the sleek, modern, uncomfortable couch in his office. I’d spent an inordinate amount of time trying not to think about George Lattimer, to un-remember our one strange encounter. It had manifested itself in the very fevered dreams I could now picture as if they were a movie unspooling in front of my eyes.

  “Nice way to talk to a client,” he said, flopping into a chair opposite my desk.

  “How can I help you,” I asked, not moving, not trusting myself around him.

  “Just checking to see if your broker received my email and if you’d moved out of that building yet.”

  I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again before slapping it shut. I pushed away from the chair and leaned on the filing cabinet disguised as furniture, wondering how in the world this total stranger, who’d been in turn rude, bossy and sexy with me, could reduce me to such a near-blithering idiot. Right then, I hated him, with a clear, bright spike of icy disgust at myself at the same time.

  “Why’re you asking me? His office is down the hall.” I sat in my chair, aware of the dampness between my legs, my wrinkled blouse, and the distinct odor of sad sack office sex emanating from every single one of my pores.

  He cocked his head to one side. “You don’t look happy, Harriet. Bad day at the office?”

  “It wasn’t until about five minutes ago.” I kept my gaze on the computer screen. When he stayed quiet, not moving, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “Do you have something to discuss relative to your purchase? I’m pretty busy.”

  “No. I’m good to close.”

  I frowned at him. “When did you do an inspection, and why wasn’t I there?”

  He glanced down at his watch. “The Monday after you sent me the contract, actually.”

  I rose from my seat, heat climbing up my neck and into my face. “How in the hell did you get in there? You can’t do that.” I resisted the urge to stomp my foot, but only barely.

  “I have connections. Surely you’ve googled me by now and figured that out?” He unfolded himself and got to his feet, his movements slow, easy, fluid and unnerving.

  “I don’t care enough about you to Google you. Or do anything else to you for that matter.” I crossed my arms over my chest, brain spinning with my own lameness for not staying in touch with him, for letting my base need to avoid him keep me from doing my due diligence with his real estate deal. I shut my eyes for a split second. When I opened them I already knew he’d be in my personal bubble, the damn tease.

  He thumbed my chin and turned my head left and right as if checking me for bite marks. I wanted to put some space between us but found myself incapable of movement. His smell rolled up in my head, curling around and comforting me, calming my racing pulse in a way I had no frame of reference for. I could hear the office noises behind him—phones, chatter, laughter. Then a silence descended, deafening me. He leaned close. I anticipated the touch of his lips with a quivering need completely out of proportion to the moment.

  “You smell like sex,” he whispered in my ear, letting his hand slide down my arm to my hand. He put something in it, brushed his lips across mine like a ghost, then turned and headed for the door.

  “Ah, just the man I was looking for.” Harrison’s voice boomed down the hall. “Please join me in my office, George?”

  “No, thanks, Harry,” he said, making an irrational giggle rise in my throat. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at me. “I was just visiting my agent. I’ve been advised not to talk with you alone.”

  “Advised…by whom?” Harrison now stood at my door, filling the frame, puffed up like a toad guarding his pond. He glanced at me then back at George, who stood loose-limbed and lanky with fingers tucked in his jeans pockets.

  “By Charlie, you know, Charles Drummond of Drummond, Drummond and Hall?”

  He named the managing partner of the biggest, oldest, and most reputable law firm in southeast Michigan. Harrison flinched then rallied, ever the consummate, unflappable salesman. “Ah, I see. We have attorneys involved now. That’s fine. Pauline?” He called over his shoulder not taking his eyes from George. “Get Ted on the phone for me, will you?”

  George’s grin widened. “Pauline,” he said. “You can tell Ted to contact Charlie Drummond, but be warned, you’re dealing with the full force of the Detroit fire department, the housing authority, and the city council now. It’s out of my hands I’m afraid. Once they got a load of that Powers building…” George made a tsk-tsk sound. “Really, you ought to know better. It’s a damn good thing that wank shop masquerading as a titty bar didn’t go up in flames, taking the upstairs tenants with it.” He glanced back at me. “If you check your email again, you should have the official notice that the city’s taken possession of three of your five buildings. I bought two of them, actually. Quite the bargain.”

  Harrison took a step into my office and shut the door quietly. He turned to George. “If this is about her” –he jerked his chin in my direction—“then you’re wasting your time. If you think you can win her over with some kind of play about her safety, then you’re a sadder sack than I figured you for.” He hooked his fingers around the word ‘safety.’ I saw George’s jaw tighten. “That’s right, Mr. Lattimer, I did a bit of research and know a lot about you now—everything, including your recent stint at an upstate New York mental hospital. Your second visit with them I’m told.”

  George raised an eyebrow in that way he had. “I’ve never hidden anything from anyone here,” he said, holding out his arms.

  I looked down at that moment and saw the paper he’d handed me had the words ‘eviction notice’ in huge letters at the top. I crumpled it in my fist and stepped between the two men. “Harrison, call your attorney and start writing checks or whatever you have to do to bring those buildings up to code. I have to go find a new place to live, apparently, thanks to you. Oh, and to you.” I turned to George and put my hands on his chest, giving him my brightest, sweetest smile. “I don’t care if you’re Howard Hughes rich and just as batshit crazy, mister, you need to stay out of my life.”

  “Jane,” Harrison said, moving closer to me and putting that proprietary arm around my waist. “You don’t have to move. I’ll get going on that building…”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, you missed the bit about it not being your building anymore,” George said, pulling me toward him. I resisted it.

  “Get your hands off me. I leave you both to your chest pounding. You know how to reach me but it’d better be a giant fucking emergency. I’ve gotta find a new apartment and get moved, like, today.”

  George touched my arm as I breezed by him, but I ignored him, grabbed my purse from the peg on the back of the door and threw the door open, relishing the loud bang it made hitting the wall.

  Chapter Eight

  “Here’s to you, wonder woman,” Lucy said, raising her wine glass and touching it to mine over a makeshift table consisting of a giant, cardboard box labeled “Kitchen crap.” Dante joined us and we sipped. I looked around at the place I’d located, procured financing for, and moved into within the span of ten days from receiving my eviction notice. During that time, I’d taken a leave of absence from the office, noting Harrison’s distinct lack of protest. When I allowed myself to really focus on the world around me relative to where I should live and what the hell I ought to do ne
xt with myself, I felt as if a giant rock had been lifted off my shoulders.

  “Yeah,” I said, looking around at the place half the size of the loft over the strip joint but all mine, lock, stock, and mortgage payment. It was one of the newer renovations in Midtown near the university, and as a result, more expensive than a bunch of places I’d seen, calling on favors with realtors to get me in on short notice, promising a sale within the month if I could find something. It was on the top floor of a five story renovated building, had a tiny but nicely updated kitchen, and the requisite tub in the bathroom—not a claw-foot, but a girl can’t always get everything she wants.

  It also came with a clean certificate of occupancy including the required fire marshal’s blessing. I wished I had the nerve to reach out to George and thank him for giving me the freedom to pursue this but I knew he’d just gloat and we’d get all weird again and I didn’t have the energy for that.

  I’d used every favor I’d stockpiled in my last few years in commercial to get my mortgage, the movers, the utilities including the cable and high speed internet, even some new furniture, done and moved and set up in record time. And now, I had the keys, the Wi-Fi, and the boxes stacked to the ceiling waiting for me to put the place in some kind of order. Tears spilled down my cheeks.

  “Oh, sweetie,” Lucy said, coming around the box/table to give me a hug. “It’s gonna be all right.”

  “I know,” I said, wiping at my eyes. “I’m crying from happiness. For you and your perfect future with that sexpot doc over there.”

  She laughed and kissed my nose then grabbed the wine to pour us another glass. After an hour, we were well down the road to sloshed. Dante had switched to water after his one glass since he had an early morning shift in the ER the next day. We made a stab at putting away some of my clothes only to collapse in a giggling heap on my bed, covered in silky scarves and a whole box of bras I’d upended trying to figure out where they’d all come from.