by Cheri Wood
I follow him down a side corridor, a few steps behind him as his legs are longer than mine and I can’t help but sneak a glance at his butt. Firm and fit by the looks of it. Which means nothing as I’m never going to look at it again, let alone reach out and touch. I might need therapy.
“How many offices are on this floor?” I ask as we pass a couple of doors.
“Just mine. And yours.”
“You have a whole floor to yourself?” I can’t help but ask, astonished.
“You think that’s wasteful of me?” he asks and I look over to see if he’s smiling or frowning, but his expression is blank. I have no way of telling how he’s feeling. He must be an excellent poker player.
“I think you have earned the right to do as you please,” I say easily. Poking bears – or tigers or panthers – has never been a tactic of mine. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s in the other rooms?”
“Well, I tend to work late, and so I have a bedroom, living room and bathroom. Then there’s a utility closet and a kitchen. And, of course, your office,” he says and pushes a door open. It’s a smaller version of his office, but there are floor-to-ceiling windows letting in as much daylight as the city can muster.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, a little breathless. A large desk faces one wall and on the opposite side of the room there’s a little seating area.
“As my personal assistant, you’ll need to be available at all times,” he says, walking over to the desk and picking up a cell phone of the latest model. “I expect you to keep track of my meetings and trips, and if I’m on a business trip and need a taxi, I will be calling you to arrange it. No matter the time difference. Is that going to be an issue for you?”
I take a beat to consider my reply. It sounds like I’ll be signing away my life if I take this job, but it won’t be forever, will it? If he expects this kind of service, surely he’ll be paying me well. But I can’t keep my phone with me during my meetings.
“Callie?”
“I don’t know how to respond.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” He crosses his arms and leans against the door.
“I’m thinking you’re asking a lot.”
“I told you, I have high standards.”
“I just… I have a husband. A life. I’m not saying work isn’t important, but-“
“Go on.”
“I can’t be available 24-7. It’s just not possible. I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time, but I think you’d be better off with someone younger and unattached.”
“I disagree.”
I blink. Did he not hear me?
“I think you’re exactly what I need.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Callie, I run a multimillion dollar corporation. I’m perfectly capable of calling a car service if need be. Yes, I require you to carry your phone with you at all times, but I don’t expect you to put your life on hold for me. It’s a job and you’ll be compensated for your overtime, but I’m not a slave driver.”
“But you just said-“
“I wanted to see how you’d handle it. I don’t want someone that just lies down and takes it. If I’m pushing too hard, I need to know you’ll push me right back. No-one ever got good at something surrounded by yes-men.”
I blink. Nick Astor really has a poker face.
“That’s… rare,” I comment.
“Then you’ve been spending time with the wrong kind of businessmen,” he says with a wink.
Ain’t that the truth… “I guess so.”
“So, will you stay?”
I look around the room that is to be my office, take in the stunning view of the city, and weigh the cell phone in my hand.
“Yes.”
GCS
By the end of my first week at the Nova Corporation, I’m exhausted. Not so much physically as I am mentally. How can I expect this to work in the long run? I spent the most part of my lunch hour on my knees in conference room F at GCS and had a tortilla wrap on my way back to the office. Basically, I’m living on fumes.
Madam Director said she’d been in touch with a couple of evening regulars to see if they’d agree to meet with me instead of their usual girls, but so far, there are only a few takers. Who could blame them? I’m the oldest one on staff, probably close in age to many of the clients’ wives. They want fantasy, not realism.
Frankly, I could do without most of my clients, but every time I think about telling Madam Director to hire a new girl to take my place altogether, my thoughts drift to Mr. Hush. I can’t let go. Not yet.
IV
I’m in the middle of cooking dinner when Tom comes home. He doesn’t come find me in the kitchen; instead he goes straight for the bathroom. We are drifting apart. Correction, we have already drifted apart, and there are sharks in the water, circling the wreckage. We haven’t had sex in months – not with each other. More specifically, two months, three weeks and two days. Not that I’m counting or anything. I only remember the date because it was a celebration. Tom had helped close on a big case and he took me to see a show and we stayed over in the city. I also remember it because it was bad.
Maybe it had always been like that between us, but I’d never had much to compare with. I was a late bloomer and Tom was my first. I can no longer call him my only. I now have plenty of cocks to compare his with – different colors, sizes and curvatures. None compares to Mr. Hush’s.
I shake my head at my thoughts. If I want this marriage to last, I have to put some effort into it. Clearly, Tom isn’t going to take the initiative, so that leaves it up to me. My mind made up, I turn off the burner and put the saucepan aside. It’s time to give my husband a proper welcome.
The shower is running in our en suite and I strip down before entering. Steam is fogging up the mirror and I close the door behind me to stop the heat from leaving the room. I slide the frosted glass shower door aside to join my husband and he turns his head to look at me.
“What are you doing?” he asks. Not the most encouraging welcome, but I’m not going to let it deter me.
“I wanted to say welcome home,” I smile and step under the spray in front of him. “Welcome home.”
“I’m having a shower.”
“I can see that. I thought I’d help you clean up.” I purr seductively and slide my hands along his chest. It’s no work of art and I’d prefer a waxed chest if I had my choice, but this is my husband and it’s up to me to make him happy. He’s not looking very happy, though, so I lower myself to squat in front of him. He’s flaccid, so I start pumping my hand around his shaft to get the blood flowing. It’s a slow rise, but it’s there.
“I’m tired, Callie,” Tom groans and I can’t help but be offended. I’m tired too and I’m doing all the work here. I lean in to wrap my lips around him and he backs away. “Jeez, enough!” I look up to see Tom glaring at me. “Can I finish my shower, please?”
I’m utterly humiliated and I cover myself as I rise. He makes no attempt to comfort me as I hurry out of the bathroom; I only hear the rattling of glass as he shuts the sliding door to the shower space.
GCS
The next morning, Tom is apologetic. He says I can take care of his morning wood if I want to. I respectfully decline by slamming the door to the bathroom. When I return to the bedroom after my shower, he’s gone.
I head into work and pass Nick’s door without announcing myself. He always seems to know when I get in, anyway.
True enough, the intercom buzzes while I’m booting up my computer. I press the button to listen.
“Good morning, Callie. Could you come to my office, please?”
There’s no explanation why or any instruction on what to bring, so I grab a legal pad and pen as well as my work phone. I knock twice on his door before pulling it open.
“Good morning,” I say with a smile. It’s not Nick’s fault that my husband is a dick, and if I brought my personal crap into my work life – no matter what work I was doing – I would be out of a job.
“I’ve agreed to do a seminar for a trade association next month, targeting start-up businesses. I need you to coordinate with the organizer, handle the scheduling of my other appointments, put together a Power Point presentation to introduce the Nova Corporation, and keep track of the guest list to see what kind of businesses are going to be represented. I also need handouts of the presentation, and talk to Marketing about promotional material.”
I nod, writing fervently on my legal pad.
“I’ve already forwarded you the email from the trade organization’s representative.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll send you a copy of my resume and some notes on what I want you to include in the presentation. Keep it professional. No floating balloons or falling snow in the background.”
I look up at him, frowning. I’m not completely clueless.
Nick can obviously read me like an open book, because he laughs. “You’d be surprised how many interns and assistants have sent me drafts like that.”
“No wonder you were looking for a new assistant.” I smile and finish up my notes. “Anything else?”
“Right. The seminar is hosted at the Marquis and there’s a banquet afterwards. I need my dry cleaning delivered to my room. Also, I’d like you to come with me.”
I look up from my notes, trying to figure out if he just asked me to go to a banquet at the Marquis with him.
“I-“
“You’ll be paid overtime, of course, and you can put any clothes you need to purchase on the company account. I understand you live outside Manhattan?”
“Long Island.”
“The banquet is likely to go late. I don’t want you driving or taking a cab. Book a room and bill it.”
I nod. There’s no point arguing, and maybe a night away from Tom will do us both some good.
GCS
I’m in Nick’s office with papers for him to sign when his phone rings. All his calls are automatically directed to me during office hours, but as I’ve left my phone in my office, it’s gone through. He pointedly looks at the phone and then at me.
“Mr. Astor’s office, how may I help you?” I answer, shooting Nick an apologetic smile for not catching on sooner.
“Uh-“ The man on the line sounds surprised - he probably thought he was being connected directly to Nick - then clears his throat. “This is Tom Norton, calling for Mr. Astor.”
I suck in a breath. No wonder he sounded confused, he must have recognized my voice. Nick looks at me questioningly and I ask Tom to hold. I mute the microphone before telling Nick, “it’s my husband. I mean, Tom Norton, calling for you.”
“Put him on speaker.”
I hesitate but do as he says.
“Mr. Norton, how are you today?” Nick says, unsmiling.
“Mr. Astor. Nick,” Tom says, still sounding confused. “I was just calling to follow up on our meeting.”
I look over at Nick, surprised. He said he’d decided against hiring Tom’s firm. Why were they meeting?
“Ah, the VIP room. It’s been, what, two months?”
I get the feeling Nick just made that comment for my benefit, especially since he’s looking right at me.
“Yes. Well, I’d like to schedule another, a proper sit-down. I could bring a couple of my team members-“
“Well, Tom, as intriguing as that sounds, I’m afraid my schedule is pretty full. If you’ll email a couple of meeting times I’ll see if I can squeeze you in.”
“That would be great, thank you.”
“My assistant handles my calendar, so it would probably be best if you email her directly.”
My eyes widen. He can’t be serious. He’s hanging me out to dry, obviously well aware that Tom hasn’t got a clue I’m working here.
“I’ll do that.”
“Good, good. Callie, would you be so kind as to give Mr. Norton your email?” he says, pointing at the phone to take it off speaker and bring it with me. I grit my teeth and say, “certainly, Sir.”
He nods and I snatch the phone, walking out of his office.
“My email address is [email protected],” I say with a resigned sigh.
“Callie? What the hell? What are you doing working for Nick Astor?”
“It’s a temporary assignment,” I lie. So far, Nick has given no indication of letting me go anytime soon.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“No. For how long have you been working for him and lying about it?”
“I haven’t been lying. I never discuss my assignments with you. And it’s not like you ever ask.”
“How long, Callie?” I can practically hear his teeth grinding.
“Since just after the charity dinner.”
“Two months! He hired you after that night? Are you screwing him too?”
“What? No! What’s wrong with you?”
“He certainly looked like he wanted to fuck you at dinner. He was all over you. Maybe you were jerking him off under the table!”
“You’re talking crazy, Tom. I’m not having an affair with Nicholai Astor.” I may be having an affair with Mr. Hush, though. But my other job isn’t up for discussion here. “Can we talk about this tonight when I get home?”
“Don’t bother. I have a client meeting tonight. I might spend the night in the city.”
“Tom-“
“Enjoy your overtime.”
My hands are shaking when he hangs up the phone and for a minute, I just sit and stare at the black screen. Then I realize I’m holding Nick’s phone and that he might want it back. I smooth down my skirt and head back to his office. The door is open and I wonder how much of the conversation he heard.
“Your phone,” I say and put it down on his desk.
“Callie, I’m sorry.” He sounds genuinely remorseful, but he still did it out of spite. I’m not quite ready to forgive and forget.
“All part of the service,” I shrug, avoiding eye contact.
“It was a dick move and I’m sorry,” Nick says, rising from his chair and reaching out to touch my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I can work late tonight if you need me.”
“No. But you can stay here if you don’t want to go home. There’s a TV in the living room. I’m headed home in a little while, so you can use the bedroom if you like.”
“Thank you, but I think I’ll just head home myself.”
“At least let me get you a cab.”
I nod, not really feeling like driving. “Thank you.”
GCS
I’m halfway home when my cell phone rings. It’s the agency. Weary, I pick up.
“Yes?”
“Callie, it’s Amber. Listen, Mr. Hush called and asked to reschedule tomorrow’s lunch meeting.”
Great, just what I need. Further proof I’m worthless.
“He wanted to know if you were free tonight for an ABC conference instead.”
I sit up straight in the back of the cab. I’m tired, but I also have the feeling this is exactly what I need tonight. “I’m free. I can be there in…” I check the display for the time, “45 minutes.”
“Great. Oh, and the gag order has been lifted on that account.”
My lips part in surprise, probably making me look like a fish. I can talk to him? Is it just for tonight because of the nature of the meeting or for good? I’ll take what I can get. “Good to know,” I say, tamping down my excitement.
“Change of plans,” I tell the driver. “Could you take me to West 18th Street, please? The Carlton-Wiener Building.”
V
I’m bubbling with excitement as I ride up in the elevator and pass through the employee entrance. I’m going to be in conference room B, and I head for the dressing room to shower and primp. On the dressing room table there’s a note and a blindfold. Curious, I pick it up. Please wear this when you enter the room. The note is printed, not handwritten, and I don’t know if Mr. Hush or Amber has done the actual typin
g. Even so, I pick up the blindfold and realize it’s different than the one I usually wear for him. This one is made of black lace and I can actually make out my surroundings, if a bit distorted. Meaning I’ll be able to see him for the first time.
My stomach is in knots, with butterflies pulling at the ties. What are the odds that on one of the crappiest days of my life, I’m also getting something I’ve been yearning for? I slip on the silk robe and put the blindfold on before climbing the stairs to conference room B. I take a deep breath and push the door open.
He’s already in the room, standing over by the bar and pouring champagne. He’s wearing a crisp dress shirt that’s open at the throat, a pair of black pants that hug his butt nicely, and an untied bow tie. To complete the look of mysterious tall, dark stranger, he’s wearing a black mask that covers his eyes and most of his nose. I’m going to get to have sex with this man, and I get to talk to him. I’m shivering in delight already.
He turns with his hand outstretched in my direction, a champagne flute on offer. I walk over to him and take it. Between the lace blindfold and his mask, I can’t make out his features, but there’s no denying he’s attractive.
“Thank you,” I say and my voice sounds foreign. I’m so used to not speaking to him that I seem to have forgotten how to when I’m in his presence. He inclines his head and raises his own glass. So, the lifting of the gag order only applies to me, then? I’m a little disappointed, but maybe this is just the first step in a really good direction.
I sip the champagne and then he takes the flute from me, setting it down on the bar. His hands go to my face, gently caressing my cheeks with his thumbs. Then he leans in and kisses me. I kiss him back. How can I not? With my hands unbound and unrestricted, they take on a life of their own, smoothing over his chest, his broad shoulders, his neck – mapping him in my mind.
I’m supposed to be at his service, bringing him pleasure however he’ll have it, but in this moment, I’m just reacting. I’m not performing for a paying client, I’m taking my pleasure from him. He doesn’t seem to mind, because he backs me towards the bed, sliding the robe off my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. When the back of my legs hit the frame, he lifts me onto the covers.
