by Susan Arden
“Good call, cowgirl.” Brett’s husky laugher rang out.
She walked around her desk and peered out the window. The afternoon skies were bluish grey and a few snowflakes peppered the air, swirling in chaotic designs impossible to follow. She glanced across the street. No one from the neighboring buildings could see into her office if she adjusted her blinds—she doubted anyone was in any of the offices two days before Christmas. But just in case, she spun the wand, adjusting the blinds until she shut out the outside world.
Slipping off her panties, she dropped down onto the sofa and set the phone on the small side table. God this was so unbelievable. What if Dr. P decided to come back? Holy crap, that would be something untenable and quickly she wiped the thought from her mind. Easy when her phone chirped and she picked it up, and nearly dropped it. “Cowboy, that’s a lap I’d like to dance on.”
“Baby, I’ve got a pole and it has your name on it. Exclusive like.”
Cory stared at his fully erect cock. The one he fisted and she rolled her eyes. Between her legs, she felt so hot and wet she couldn’t hold back. “What next? Please, babe. I’m so ready!”
“Sweetheart, I’m the one who calls the shots. Are you seated?”
“Yes. On the sofa.”
“Open those beautiful legs of yours and finger your pussy. Think of me as I stroke my shaft. Tell me what it feels like. Now, Cory.”
Oh. My. God! She shivered as she swept her fingers through her slippery folds. “So good. Feels like I’m falling off a cliff,” she moaned the words, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Fuck yourself, baby. God I wish I was there, giving you my cock. Getting soaked by your juices. Faster. And harder. Make yourself come for me, beautiful.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. She leaned down, until she reclined on the sofa and rubbed her finger over her clit. Back and forth, she flicked across her pert nubbin as her heartbeat ramped up. When she felt ready to splinter, she finger fucked herself until the room spun. Her flesh darted with pinpricking pleasure and each of Brett’s hoarse grunts landed like a thrust of his cock inside her. She arched as he told her what he was doing to his hard-on and how fast and rough he thrust into his own hand.
Together they were headed for the brink and then, she cried out, “Brett. God, Brett.”
Her voice reverberated off the walls of her office and for seconds, only the thudding drone of blood hammering in her ears surrounded her as she floated on a golden, glowing climax. Waves of pleasures washed over her as her stomach muscles bunched. Never had she been this keyed up or come this undone in a round of phone sex.
Christ on a cracker! What would they be like together face-to-face, if this is how out of control they were miles and miles apart?
“Baby,” he breathed out. “Holy fuck, Cory. That was…”
“Intense?” she supplied.
He grunted, “Very.”
For several seconds, she couldn’t do more than close her eyes as her body recalibrated from being akin to boneless, light as a feather, and coming down from her post-orgasm bliss. Slowly, her breathing became less erratic and she focused on the space beyond the sofa.
The pastel green walls of her office came into view. “What are you doing?” she finally asked Brett as she rolled onto her elbows.
“You mean besides fantasizing about you?”
“Yeah.” She laughed, sitting all the way up, and combing her fingers through her tangled hair.
“Guess I’d better get up. We’ve got a training session today. Coach wants to go over the plays before Sunday.”
“Your coach is a tyrant,” she mused.
“He wants to win. Another Super Bowl and we’ll be set. Seriously, Cory. With you coming home. I don’t have to keep playing.”
“You mean you’d retire.” She rose and scooped up her panties from where she’d dropped them and leaned against her desk, cupping the phone between her shoulder and cheek as she pulled her undies over one boot, and then the other. Wriggling her hips, she hiked her panties and when the lace touched the space between her legs, she shivered from her still sensitive flesh, and gripped the phone.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I don’t want us to be apart. Not anymore. Maybe I’m just tired.”
“Listen babe…” She tilted her head to the side, considering what to say. Gosh, she’d never imagined for a moment that he’d stop playing ball. Not that the idea of him staying in Dallas was a problem…far, far from it. More like a dream come true. But Brett had supported her dream of coming to Paris. He’d rented an apartment for them to share and came as often as he could. If anything this was her moment to listen and support him. “I want what you want. If you retire, I’m one hundred percent in back of you. And if in five minutes, you decide that you’re staying for another year…another ten years in the NFL. I’m with you. All. The. Way!”
“God, I love you, cowgirl.” The sound of his voice and his words filled her heart until she was giddy and wore a huge smile, pulling at the corners of her lips.
“Back at you. I love you, Brett Gold. Always! Now, you’d better get a move on or Rollins is gonna nail your posterior end to the wall.”
“Catch you later,” he replied. “Call me when you get to the airport.”
“I will. Seeing you means more than anything in this world. Love you, babe!”
Chapter 3
CORY HUNCHED over her desk and clicked open UCLA’s directory. She had her iPod powered up and “I’ll be Home for Christmas” poured out of her earbuds as she hummed along. After typing in her login and password, she gained entry into the shared cloud files of her department. She scrolled down until she found Dr. Peterson’s research folder and double-clicked the icon, then waited while the computer cursor spiraled. And spiraled. She tried to exit, double-clicking her mouse but the cursor didn’t respond; it was caught in a loop.
“Dang it!” she said, rebooting her computer.
Her screen reopened and her cursor was still looping and looping. She tapped the space bar, clicked her mouse, and glared at the screen. Nothing worked and here she sat, staring at the computer without an option to click out of the cloud. What the hell was the cloud? No one she knew could explain that damn thing. She glared some more at her monitor, willing the cursor to do something other than spin. The tendons in her neck knotted as she worried over what to do. Sometimes the Wi-Fi connection within the office was less than stellar when the weather conditions worsened.
Cory opened her blinds and gritted her teeth. From a few snowflakes, the skies were now a blanket of thick grey and more and more snow was falling fast. Good thing she’d be back in Texas and then on to L.A., enjoying moderate winter weather. A whole lot better than the subfreezing temperatures that were threatening Paris. She picked up her phone and tapped on her weather app. Holy Moses! There was a weather bulletin for ice storms in London but so far, only precipitation—snow—was predicted for Paris.
She tapped the space bar and finally, the cursor stopped moving like a whirling dervish and she exhaled in relief. The screen blinked, went to black for a second, and when the directory title reappeared at the top of her screen, all the files were gone.
“What the…?” Cory stared as a few of the files reappeared like cards being shuffled onto a table. A few but not all. This was why she’d always been a little suspicious of storing documents in a place no one could define. No one knew where the cloud existed and now the damn thing had lost a majority of their department files. All their work. Hours and hours of research findings would have to be reconstructed.
Oh dear Lord! What if the research program director blamed her? Officially, she was the last person to log in. She hadn’t done anything except gained access to the directory and clicked on Dr. P’s folder.
“No! No! No!” she groaned, crossing her arms on her desk, and lowering her forehead.
Someone had to have a backup for the backup! Okay, first things first. Sendi
ng Dr. Montagne the email as Dr. Peterson had asked. She’d simply forwarded the one her advisor had sent to Frederick to herself, and from her email, she sent it back to Montagne. That had ‘easy’ spelled out as she quickly executed the necessary commands. When she received a confirmation that her email was sent, she huffed out a puff of air in relief. Short lived for she immediately recalled the fiasco of the cloud directory. She’d have to let someone know.
Removing her earbuds, she turned off her iPod, picked up her phone, and dialed Dr. P’s cell number. “Hello. What’s up?” her advisor inquired cheerily on the fourth ring.
“Just wanted to let you know that I sent the email…” she began in a halting voice, wondering how big an issue this was, considering the files still hadn’t reappeared on the UCLA~HEC directory. “And there’s a situation.”
“Come again?” Dr. Peterson asked.
An abrupt clanging rang out along with choppy bits of voices that spilled from the earpiece of Cory’s cell and made conversing a challenge. Probably some airport announcement as well as the nonstop chatter of holiday travelers in the background. Obviously, it was hard to hear for both of them, worse when Cory spoke in a near whisper.
She marshalled her courage and spoke up. “I said we’ve got a situation…here. In the cloud. It’s acting unusually weird.”
“The cloud?” Dr. P snorted. “Jesus, I don’t know anything about the cloud. Do you?”
“Yes. Our files are missing!”
“Missing? Are you logged in to the system?” Dr. P asked, this time her voice had an edge that pricked Cory’s awareness, confirming this ‘situation’ warranted concern.
“I am. All the way inside our program directory. A few minutes ago, I watched as the cursor went into some kind of loop, then suddenly stopped. The screen blinked, and when the system came up again, the subdirectory files were gone.”
“That’s impossible. Information doesn’t just vanish—not from the cloud.”
“It did. I swear. I didn’t do anything besides what I said,” Cory explained, her face heating as her pulse pounded in her temples, ramping up, and she felt the familiar tug of having to defend herself. For a lifetime, she’d lived sticking up for herself, or so it seemed. In the past, she’d made decisions, some not the smartest, and she’d gotten into a habit of feeling the burn of other people, casting judgment over her actions. To diffuse the raised eyebrows, she’d stopped waiting to be judged, and aggressively jumped to explain—or convince others of her innocence. A kneejerk reaction—she realized she’d better curb—but no matter how hard she tried, she tended to get hot under the collar first, and rational second.
“Hey, I’m not saying you did,” Dr. P replied, her tone softer. “You’re one of the most organized and conscientious people I know. That’s why you’re part of this research team, and working on this project. It’s some IT glitch. Don’t worry about it. Okay?”
For what felt like a week, she couldn’t respond. Gradually, she swallowed the expansive bubble of frustration clogging her throat. She nodded, her chest banded by worry. “Yeah. All right,” she said hoarsely. “I’d better let IT know.”
“Cory, I hear the wheels spinning in your head. This isn’t something you can fix.”
She drummed her fingers along her desk. “Maybe if I log onto the main campus and our department’s computer system. We store all our files there and it won’t take but a few minutes to reload the files into our system here.”
“Wrong. You can’t. You need to leave and begin to make your way to the airport. It’s starting to snow and you know what it’s like when the weather is pristine. Factor a few flakes or raindrops and the people around Paris act like it’s NASCAR.”
“I checked the weather and I’m good. I’ll just take a peek and then I’m out. On to the airport. I have a few favorite holiday movies just waiting for me to watch. I could use a good laugh after this fiasco.”
More clanging rang out. Then a man’s voice. “Embarquement immédiat. États-Unis. Los Angeles. Vol 1621.”
“That’s the ticket. Oh, and that’s my flight. The boarding call was given. That’s the second time.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up—” Cory exclaimed.
“Hush. I’ll see you Sunday and Merry Christmas.”
“Right, Dr. P. Merry Christmas to you. See you soon!”
* * *
FOR AN excruciating hour, Cory sat there flipping between UCLA directories. The one from the main campus in L.A. and the cloud utilized here in Paris. She’s located their IT person, Claude Dubois, and over the phone he explained all she had to do was enter a few codes and voilà. She could copy the directory as if it were child’s play. Except Claude failed to explain, she could only copy one file at a time. There was some idiot security firewall in place, limiting the amount of information that she could upload to the cloud.
For fear of bringing down the damn digital universe, she didn’t balk, but shuffled between directories, clicking and clicking until one-by-one a majority of the files were back in place. She sent a program-wide email, alerting everyone that an IT malfunction had occurred and the main campus directory still contained their Paris program files—fine for UCLA personnel. Not so great for the HEC Paris staffers with limited access. God, she hated to sound the alarm, especially when someone like Dr. Montagne might take cause with this, raise a stink, and the resulting fallout might possibly impact Dr. Peterson.
She glanced at the computer screen and her eyes widened. A snap of electricity pierced across her skin and anxiety twisted her already pitching stomach. There were not enough dammits in the world for this one!
This hadn’t just been an hour spent in hell, she’d been in some time warp, and instead of a bleep, she’d managed to get lost for over two hours, leaving her twenty-two minutes to hightail it to the airport. She bolted out of her chair and sprinted straight to the coat rack, grabbing her coat, her scarf, her purse. She hoisted her carry-on and hooked the strap onto her shoulder. Pivoting, she pulled on her door, cursing when she had to stop and unlock the knob. She rushed in a full-on sprint into the corridor. Her heart jackhammered against her ribcage as she raced past the program doorway, down the hallway, skidding to a stop in front of the elevator. She mashed the call button, shifting from foot to foot as the doors opened, and she bolted inside. More button slapping, and when the car began descending, she gave herself a pep talk. In reality, the airport was only thirteen miles away. Traffic was bound to be less hectic downtown—businesses were closed. She’d exit the building, catch a cab, and run like the wind until she made the gate. I can do this!
She repeated her mantra, slipping on her coat and arranging her scarf as she watched the numbers click down. When the elevator doors finally opened, she was sweating bullets, and raced across the veined marble floors of the mezzanine. The tap-tap-tap of her heels bounced off the walls and added a staccato beat to the sound of her blood pounding in her ears. This level of distress she’d never felt—well not since she’d run out on Brett that time in Dallas. Twice.
Holy crap, if Dr. P or her family got wind of this act of crazy, they’d never let her live it down. She blew through the side entrance door used for after hours, and was jarred by a blast of arctic air hitting her face. The dots of perspiration immediately froze on her skin. The bite of the cold wind hit her, and whipped her hair across her cheeks. Snowflakes went beyond dusting the sidewalk, to pelting down around her. There were at least two inches of fresh powder on the ground, a blanket of white covered everything for as far as she could see.
Cory skittered forward, her booted feet compacting the crunchy snow with each footstep taken. At the curb, she squinted, clawing at the hair on her face and waving her arm. Cars, trucks, and even motorcycles zoomed by. Forget NASCAR, this was a Parisian traffic drag race gone wild. And with her winter ensemble, wearing white boots and a white coat, she melded into the background, making the definitive art of hailing a cab—a French cab—a joke.
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Only her red scarf made her visible she bet and it was buried under her coat collar. Another cab flew by, but she wasn’t about to give up this soon. She’d learned early on how to stand her ground in garnering a taxi.
“Oh no you don’t!” She scurried to the corner, banking to attract more attention in the snowstorm that had overtaken the city, realizing she needed every advantage.
Within the four lanes of traffic, cars wove and dodged each other, crossing the non-existent street markings, and she straddled the curb with one foot on the curb and the other firmly planted in the street. A cab approached and she leaned to the side, waving her arm. The taxi barreled past, but in doing so it careened into a puddle of icy water and splashed Cory, delivering a muddy and jolting sheet of humiliation.
“Jesus H. Christ!” she howled when she finally could take a breath and exhale. In her coat and boots, she now resembled a Dalmatian. A big patch of dark spread out over her hip and the rest of her was sprinkled with a random pattern of dark mud.
This was the cherry on a sundae of all-too-messed-up! In the middle of her trek to a meltdown, her phone buzzed. She stepped back onto the sidewalk, adjusted her carry-on, and pulled out her cell. “Brett,” she wailed. “Hey, babe!”
“Corinth McLemore, for the love of God, please tell me you’re at the airport, preparing to board your flight!” he semi-hollered.
Cory scissored her legs faster along the icy sidewalk, flailing her free hand at cab after cab. None slowed let alone stopped. “I’m running a little bit behind,” she panted, heading for the Métro entrance.
“Darlin’, are you or are you not at the airport?”
Her target lay up ahead: the wrought iron doorway and circular sign housing a capital ‘M,’ leading to a subterranean staircase and mass transit. She’d be at the airport lickety-split and although she disliked this next part, she had no choice but to own up. “I’m going to have to book a later flight.”
