Maybe by the way she seems so focused and dedicated. It’s as if she doesn’t care to even pretend to be like the rest.
I can tell I’ve got my work cut out for me. I need to keep close track of her.
I ordered the construction on the wing of the associate floor that contains Madilyn’s office before she was scheduled to start work. I knew there would be no choice for anyone to put her anywhere else but in the paralegal’s cubicle section, which, ever since a data breach in a big case a few years ago, has a video- monitored security system and also has keyloggers installed on the computers.
I have her right where I want her. Where I can see her, where I can watch her, where I can know what she’s doing and— to the best of my ability— what she’s thinking.
And where I knew to walk by this morning and find a reason to chastise her. I knew that made her fucking hot. I could see her cheeks flush and hear her breath quicken.
I know that after I walked away she went to the bathroom, even though she thinks I had stopped watching her by then. I bet she couldn’t help but play with her undoubtedly beautiful little pussy while she thought about my huge cock fucking her in and out for the very first time.
Oh yeah.
I also know that she’s a virgin.
She doesn’t advertise that fact on Facebook of course.
But I just know these things. From the way she carries herself to the way she looks at me with eager anticipation, I know that she still has her sweet juicy cherry and she wants me to pop it. And I plan to do just that.
Right now I can hear her breathing in and out, just inches away from my desk. She smells like lightly scented lavender perfume mixed with the coffee I saw her drinking earlier.
She’s obviously curious about what I want from her but I don’t want to reward her disregard of my instructions with any kind of clarity. She’ll find out soon enough what I’m all about, if she doesn’t already know.
“Madilyn, I’ve put together some files I think you should start working on,” I tell her, nodding to an accordion file on a chair to my right, which has about five thin files in it as well as a manila envelope.
“These are all client matters for which I think you’d be well suited to help me,” I explain. “Each of them contains explicit instructions for what I’d like you to do. I think you should begin looking them over this evening, and we can talk more tomorrow.”
“Yes, Sir.”
She says it firmly yet cautiously, looking at me as if she’s expecting more.
Good.
I always leave them wanting more.
We’re off to a good start, although a bumpy one.
I raise my eyebrows at her to remind her that she’s forgotten something.
“I mean, Boss,” she says. “Yes, Boss.”
She takes a sharp breath inward and I can tell that she likes saying it.
Yes, Boss.
Please, Boss.
More, Boss.
I want her to say all of those things and more.
I want her to say take my virginity, Boss.
I want to hear her scream that while I’m making her moan and beg for my big cock.
“Very well,” I tell her. “Our official training begins tomorrow. The instructions in the file contain everything you need. Welcome to the firm.”
She hesitates and then nods. Her tongue briefly licks her full lips. I can’t wait to bite them and suck on them. But I have to time things right. I don’t want to jump the gun. I already feel myself getting a little too excited about this one for my own good so I have to hold back.
She walks over to the chair and bends down slightly to pick up the file folder. All morning as I gave my presentation I had the pleasure of staring at her breasts. Like her lips, they’re full and inviting. And now I’m able to get a good look at her ass. Curvy and perky.
Perfect.
“Thank you, Boss,” she says, once she has the file in her hands.
“You may go now,” I tell her, waving my hand at her and looking back down at the work on my desk.
I want so badly to watch her as she walks out but I don’t. I know there will be plenty of time for me to see everything I want to see, soon enough. I just have to remain patient and fight this feeling of instant attraction and desire that’s so strong it seems it wants to consume me.
I will take Madilyn St. Clair and make her mine. But I won’t let her fucking make me hers. I don’t belong to anyone but myself. I just need to fucking remember that.
Chapter 14 – Madilyn
That’s it? That’s all Asher wanted me to come to his office for? To give me these files?
I’m at home, with the files spread across my kitchen table, and I can’t stop wondering why he seems so mysterious. He felt cold, distant. Like he was punishing me for something.
Sure, he was professional enough, but something obvious was lurking beneath the surface, with many telltale signs.
The way he instructed me to lock the door— this time and every time I entered his office. The way he told me to call him “Boss.” The way he made me walk to the side of his desk and pick up the files. I know he was watching me, even if he doesn’t know that I know.
I remove a folder from the accordion file and look at the clock above the kitchen stove. Jimmy is usually home by now. I don’t want to get too engrossed with work before we have the chance to talk, but I also don’t want to stall too much, just waiting for him.
I’d come home earlier than I’d planned, since this morning I’d promised him we’d talk after work. I want to make sure we’re on the same page this time, so that he stops blowing up my phone when I’m at the office.
I’d wanted to rehearse a nice but firm speech in which I explained to him once again that we’re over and that it’s for the best. But I’ve been so busy thinking about Asher that I just haven’t had the time.
Now I’m wondering if Jimmy actually took my advice and is spending the night at his brother’s. It doesn’t appear that he took any of his stuff. But maybe he just decided to leave with the clothes on his back.
I open the folder and I’m immediately impressed at the caliber of the first case that Asher wants me to work on. It’s a commercial litigation case between the owner of a technology firm and some of its disgruntled former partners and shareholders. It’s definitely not a typical first year associate type of garden variety automobile accident or landlord/ tenant dispute case.
There’s a note in the back of the file, written in the same neat, purposeful handwriting as the note that Asher had dropped in front of me earlier and it’s on the same folded piece of expensive, personalized stationery.
Madilyn –
Please review and type up a brief summary of the case proceedings to date, based on the docketing statement. Tomorrow we will go over your understanding of the case, and I will provide further instructions and specific assignments.
– Asher
That’s pretty short, sweet and to the point. And it’s something I can easily do.
So why do I feel disappointed?
I guess I was expecting more of a challenge.
Write a twenty five page motion by 8 a.m., maybe.
Or maybe something less professional and more personal?
Stop it, I will myself.
It’s good that he’s keeping things professional. Good for both my professional and my personal life.
I open the firm billing software on my laptop to enter 1/6th of an hour for reviewing the “memorandum” from Asher. I know that a top priority at the firm is billing, and I want to impress the partners with my billable hour entries on my first day.
I notice that Asher has already added six files into the billing system and approved me to bill to each one. I’m glad that I already have so much work, although I feel a little nervous and overwhelmed at keeping up with six cases from Asher, let alone whatever cases other partners choose to give me to work on.
I open the other files. Each are equally impressive cas
es. And each has a very similar, handwritten note on the same stationery with the same instructions.
I enter .1 in each case to bill my time.
All right. So five cases to review and summarize by tomorrow.
I’m not sure what time tomorrow, so I’ll have to assume he means first thing in the morning. Then once we discuss my thoughts, I’ll presumably have time to start working on new assignments for the rest of the day in my office— I mean, my cubicle.
That’s quite a bit of work to do tonight, but not an impossible amount. I knew what to expect when accepting a job offer at a large firm, with a correspondingly large salary as compensation for all those anticipated hours. And I’m glad that Asher is helping me to hit the ground running by assigning me good cases and instructing me to get up to date on them right away.
I take a moment to reflect on things. The cases were purposefully chosen, as if to impress me. The notes were written up with advanced care, as was the note he’d put in front of me earlier. He’d obviously chosen me as his mentee some time ago and put a lot of thought into it.
So why me? What exactly does he want from me? And what is the sixth case?
Each case was entered by its client name and matter number, but the sixth case is only marked with a “P.” It’s empty except for that.
I look at the manila envelope, the last item in the file for me to open.
A chill runs down my spine. I have an idea that things are about to get interesting.
Chapter 15 – Madilyn
I look again at the clock. I’m inviting a delay, a reason to put off opening this envelope. But Jimmy still isn’t home. And I have a lot of work to get started on.
My hands tremble as I reach for the envelope. I slide out the contents, feeling soft mesh under my fingertips, just as I’d somehow expected.
It’s black lingerie. And not just any lingerie, but some sort of BDSM outfit. I’ve never seen anything like it. The bra portion and the panty portion are held together by skinny straps; the same sort of straps wrap around the neck area.
The bra has snap- off openings over the nipple area, and the panties feature the same sort of contraption covering the crotch area. There are also mesh stockings, with a garter belt and leg garters to hold them up.
At the bottom of the envelope is Asher’s trademark note on the folded over piece of engraved stationery.
Madilyn –
Please wear this with another of your conservative yet well-fitting skirt suits and come to my office at 7 a.m. tomorrow for further training sessions. Bring your memorandums as explained in the instructions for the case files. Please bill all your time and work to this project under the “P” file.
– Asher
My heart pounds, with a mixture of emotions I have never felt before. I shove the lingerie back into the envelope, and try to name each feeling, to make some logical sense of the chaotic emotions cluttering my mind.
Anger.
How dare he think he can order me around? Tell me what to do?
Defiance.
Is my job dependent on wearing this crazy lingerie? What will he do if I don’t? I’ll show him I’m not some sort of floozy trying to sleep my way to the top.
Confusion.
What kind of time and work does he want me to bill to the “P” file? What does the “P” file stand for?
Flattery.
The Barbies would be pulling out their perfectly- styled hair if they could see me right now. Asher really did choose me over any of them. He must like the way I look.
Embarrassment.
He wants me to wear this? To work? He wants to see me in it? I could never!
Excitement.
But what if I did wear it? How would I feel when he wants to see me in it?
Naughtiness.
He wants to do things to me that Jimmy never has. I can only imagine what he’d do to me when he sees me in this outfit…
Suddenly, Jimmy bursts through the door, adding fear to the mixture of emotions I’m feeling.
I jump. Then I shove the envelope into the accordion file and stuff the other folders in the file as well.
I try to look nonchalant. I remember I’m upset with Jimmy. I remember he has no business barging in on my life. And that whatever is going on with Asher has nothing to do with him.
But I also remember that we’re supposed to talk, and talking to Jimmy is the last thing I want to do right now. My head is still spinning from Asher’s latest and most interesting instructions. I know I have to deal with the issue that’s in front of me but all I really want to do is think about what Asher wants to do with me in that outfit.
Chapter 16 – Madilyn
Jimmy sits down in the chair next to me, seeming not to notice the files or what I was doing, thank goodness. He doesn’t say anything, likely expecting me to ask him where he’s been or what he’s thinking.
The old Madilyn would have done that. But that was before we broke up. I don’t want to lead the conversation for once. He’s the one who was calling me incessantly at work. He’s the one who wanted to talk.
“Madilyn, I know you didn’t want me to be here tonight, and I tried to stay away, but I just have to talk to you,” he finally says.
“Okay. Go ahead,” I tell him.
My mind is set; I don’t want his words to soften my resolve. But he has to hit me where it hurts.
“Do you remember the day we met?” he asks.
Of course I do. The day I met him was the worst day of my life and, back when things were kind of good between Jimmy and me, I also used to think it was the best day of my life too.
My father had just died. On Valentine’s Day, of all days. Being single, I was in the grocery store buying sweets to comfort myself with when I got the phone call from my mother. He died from a completely unexpected heart attack. Just the kind of thing fate likes to deal out as a cold, cruel twist.
My father was always very athletic and healthy. He ran marathons and would constantly tell me I should watch my weight, slim down a bit, eat less and exercise more.
To be honest, it was annoying. I’d tried to tell him I accepted myself for who I was and that I felt he judged me based on appearances instead of health, since I’d never had anything wrong with me medically. But he always insisted I should try harder.
I think he wanted a skinny, pretty daughter who liked to work out and cared about looking like some fashion model. I would never be that type of person. And it hurt, because in every other way, I wanted to be like my dad.
My father had a successful career as a financial planner. I admired his ambition. He always encouraged my education and career goals— unlike my mom, who was a homemaker who thought women should stay home with their children, and who questioned why I was even going to college.
My dad was always proud of my educational achievements and professional aspirations, but clearly they weren’t enough for him. He also wanted my physical appearance to be different. To be his definition of “perfect,” which isn’t as objective as getting straight A’s or being first chair in the symphony.
I resisted all attempts of being something I’m not physically. But I guess that’s why I’ve always worked so hard at school. I had to prove to myself that I was worthy for other reasons aside from looks. I had to prove my dad wrong. And it’s hard for me to give up any control because I always need to be the smartest, brightest and best at anything that I do have control over— namely, my intellect and ambition.
But regardless of our differences, I loved my dad. And that day in the grocery story, my mom wailed into the phone.
“He had just run a 50 mile race,” my mom was saying into the phone. “I always told him he was running too much. That couldn’t have been good for his body, his heart. But he never listened to me. Your father was so stubborn and pig-headed…”
“Mom!” I’d interrupted, leaning against a display full of reduced priced items and grasping a metal rack to steady myself.
To this day, I remem
ber how the shelf felt cold and sturdy in my hand, and how I was relieved to focus on that texture instead of my mom’s words. I know it’s stupid, but the rack just felt steady compared to the whirlwind news my mom had just delivered. I felt lonely, sad and afraid, and I never wanted to let it go.
“Mom. I’m in a store. I can’t really deal with hearing about your resentments towards Dad right now. Can I call you back once I’ve had a chance to…”
“Oh, you can’t deal with hearing me talk about it?” she’d exploded, yelling at me through the phone. Despite my best efforts to hold back my tears, they started flowing. “You’re not the one who has to live in this house after he up and died on me like that, without ever thanking me for all the things I’ve done for him. You’re not the one who devoted your life to him for thirty-five years!”
If I hadn’t been so upset, I would have rolled my eyes. Leave it to Mom to be overly dramatic and make everything about her.
Here she was claiming to have devoted her life to him. Even though she and my dad had had a tumultuous relationship for most of my adolescence and adulthood. Even though each of them was always complaining about the other to me and both of them had told me they would get divorced if their religion allowed it.
I could see right through her. I knew that she stayed with him not only out of obligation but also out of fear. She had never worked anywhere, never knew how to save or spend money, didn’t even know how to balance a checkbook. She would have no clue what to do without him.
And he stayed with her out of financial fears as well. He had admitted as much when he told me he’d gone to see a divorce lawyer but was advised that he’d have to pay her alimony and half of his retirement savings. And so, with religion being his ostensible excuse or not, it made more financial sense for him to stay miserably married than to divorce.
I never wanted to be like them. I didn’t want to have to depend on anyone for my financial survival. Nor did I want to have to financially support someone I didn’t love.
Four Billionaires for St. Patrick's Day Page 73
