by Harley Fox
Copyright 2016 Harley Fox
Edited by Edit Me Kindly
Cover Designed by Silver Heart Publishing
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is intended for adult audiences only. All sexually active characters depicted are at least 18 years of age. All sexual activity is between consenting, non-blood related adults. All characters and activities appearing in this work are fictitious. This book does not endorse or encourage illegal or immoral activities. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Content warnings: This book contains swearing, sex, gang-related activity, coercion, and murder.
Sign Up For My Newsletter
Want to know about the latest release by Harley Fox?
Don’t want to miss out on the next promotion?
Interested in becoming an Advance Review Copy (ARC) reader?
Then sign up for my newsletter at eepurl.com/bVtbSn
Rough Rider
by Harley Fox
Merryn
Oh my God, why are these fucking Word files not in folders?
My heartbeat races as I double-click to open a document. I can feel the sweat trickling down from underneath my arms, no doubt staining my blouse. I stare into the blinding glare of the computer screen and move my finger over the scroll wheel on the mouse as I scan through literally thousands of Word documents. Will says they need the fifteen Amberson proposals printed out and stapled for the client meeting today. Oh, and by the way: the meeting starts at two o’clock sharp. Ten minutes from now.
It’s been almost six months since I became a temp at PharmaChem, which means I’m almost through my six-month probation. Once I reach that date, circled on my calendar, HR will call me in to their office, sit me down, and we’ll have a formal little interview where they’ll ask me what I think of the job and tell me where I’m doing well and where I need work. And then they’ll tell me whether I have a career here at PharmaChem, or whether I’m going to get kicked out on my ass.
I hope I remember to bring a pillow.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Lindsay, one of the other temps, walk over to my desk. I spare her a split-second glance up from my screen, and even then I can register the pitying look on her face.
“Hey,” she says in a soft voice when she reaches me. “Anything I can do to help?”
I give my head a quick shake.
“Don’t think so,” I say. Found another one, I think as I double-click to open it. I’m up to twelve now.
“You know why Will’s being a dick to you,” she says, her voice even softer now. I nod.
“I know,” I tell her. Found another. I double-click.
“But hey,” she goes on, and I’m just able to register the smile on her lips, “tonight’s going to be awesome. I hear this new bar is the bomb.”
Inside I feel myself already starting to relax, but I reel it back in and hold onto it tight. We’re not getting drunk at a bar just yet, I tell myself as I double-click on another file. But when we do, we’re going to go fucking crazy.
Of course, I don’t expect anything’s going to happen at the bar. As much as I want a night of escape, I’m not blind when I walk in front of the mirror: I know what other people see. A short, chubby woman with greasy-looking blonde hair and a face that only a mother could love. I’m not pretty — not like Lindsay or anyone else who’s going to be there tonight. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to get drunk. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her, putting a devilish smile on my face. “I won’t miss tonight for the world. I may be going through shit right now, but tonight I’m going to get shit-faced.”
Lindsay smiles, a genuine smile now.
“Good,” she says, nodding. “I know you need it.”
My eyes swing up to the clock: seven minutes left. As they drop back down I spot it: the fifteenth file. I open it and, with the experience of months of practice, I Alt-Tab and Ctrl-P the hell out of those documents.
This isn’t my first rodeo — although if I’m not careful it may be my last.
Once I’ve set the last one to print I get up and practically run over to the printers, where I’ve got all three going at once, doing five documents apiece.
Oh yeah, this is definitely not my first rodeo.
A grinding noise fills my ears, making my heart sink.
Of course, cowgirls get flung off their horses sometimes too.
In this case, my metaphorical horse is Printer #2, and it’s metaphorically flinging me off its back by deciding that today’s a good day to get a toner error. I curse under my breath and glance at the clock: five minutes to go.
Opening up the front of the printer I reach in and pull out the toner cartridge. Taking a quick look at it to see if there’s anything wrong (there isn’t) and looking inside to make sure there’s nothing jammed inside (of course not) I shove it back in.
Unfortunately, when I look at my fingers they’re all black. It looks like I’ve just been arrested and they needed my fingerprints something fierce.
Fuck fuck fuck, I mutter inside of my head, glancing up at the clock and seeing that I have four minutes left.
Maybe I’m going to need two pillows.
I got this job right out of college. It wouldn’t have been my first choice of work, but with a degree in Social Work what else can you do? Start my own practice? Please. I knew what the market is like — and I knew I wasn’t a hot commodity like some of the people I went to school with — so I jumped on the opportunity immediately.
PharmaChem: the city’s largest, and only, manufacturer of pharmaceuticals. They do good work, I told myself as I stepped through the front doors for my first day. Of course, nature has to make sure that things balance. And “doing good work” doesn’t necessarily mean doing it in the most ethical way.
I wish I could un-see the forged documents, the fake claims reports, the signed testimonies by families who, two weeks later, decided that they suddenly didn’t want to sue after all. Being a temp, you learn to keep your mouth shut. You know when to speak up and when to stay silent. And in PharmaChem’s case, I found that keeping silent was the best way to also keep my job.
At the head of it all, of course, is Will Silver AKA The Silver Bullet. He’s the CEO and founder of PharmaChem. A rags-to-riches story if there ever was one, Will seemed to come up out of nowhere with money and investors all behind his belt. He started up this company, quickly bought up land, created factories and jobs, and increased the economy. Some people would call him a hero. But for those of us who have met him personally, let’s just say Will Silver is not the kind of hero you want to mess with.
Say, for instance, by getting black finger smudges all over the documents that he needs for his client meeting.
Using the backs of my hands, I close up the toner door and use my knuckle to press the Resume button before running off to the bathroom, leaving the printers to finish up their jobs. Bursting through the door and almost skidding to a stop in front of the sinks, I quickly wash my hands, dry them with paper towel, then run back. The pages are printed and silent, sitting there, mocking me. Now I just have to staple them together and get them to the meeting room. I look up at the clock: three minutes to go. I’m going to make it.
Putting the pages together into individual packages, I begin stapling them — top-left corner, 45 degrees, just how Will likes them — when my Spidey-sense goes off. I hear the footsteps on the carpeted floor and not a second later Craig saunters up and leans against the wall. That cocky smile is on his face as always.
“Hey
Merryn,” he says. “Did I ever tell you how hot your ass looks when you’re stressed?”
Oh, didn’t I tell you about Craig?
Craig Silver, the son of Will Silver and heir to PharmaChem’s throne, used to be my boyfriend. He was the one who actually got me this job. Back when I was still in college, a month before I graduated, he and I met at a house party — kind of like a pre-pre-pre-graduation party.
I remember walking through the house, beer in hand, feeling kind of bored when I hear this deep voice shouting out. I always have a thing for bad boys, so I followed the sound. It turns out it was Craig at the Beer Pong table, absolutely dominating three other guys. Craig wasn’t even on a team with anyone, he was on his own. I remember he was wearing a black t-shirt that showed off his chest and stomach muscles clearly. His sleeves looked like they were crying out for mercy. He won the game, still with his ten cups remaining, and as the guys struggled to down the rest of their beer, he drank all ten of his own cups by himself!
I remember watching his strong throat work as he downed beer after beer. I was pretty drunk myself, but this guy could hold his booze. And when he was finished looked up at me — directly at me — and I swear I felt my panties get wet. His body moved as he breathed and I knew then and there that I wanted to fuck him.
It seemed he had the same idea, because he came over to me and told me what he wanted to do to me, right there in the middle of the party. I was sure the beer was affecting his judgment — like I said, I’m no spring chicken — but just seeing him in front of me made my knees weak and my panties wet. So I nodded and he took my hand and we found an empty bedroom. It was there that he proceeded to give me the best night of my life.
And I say “best night” because it all went downhill after that.
Craig and I started seeing each other after the party. I was certain that when he asked for my number after it was to give me hope so he could leave and not look like a jerk. I didn’t actually expect him to call me, but he did, and he took me out to dinner two nights later. We had sex again that night too — the precedent had already been set.
But I quickly realized that he didn’t like to talk a lot about himself, and he didn’t really ask me any questions about myself either. Our dates became less about going out to dinner and more about going to one of our houses to have sex. And even then, it was almost like he was treating me more as a fuck doll than a human being. He only fucked me until he got off, and then he would roll over and go to sleep. I began to feel used, and after only a month together I was already thinking about breaking up with him.
But then I graduated, and I had to focus on getting a job. I was right when I thought it would be difficult finding something. I became frantic, trying to find something soon, knowing that my student debts were looming over me and that I needed income fast. Two weeks went by and I’m sure I applied to at least a hundred jobs, but didn’t get any of them. And then Craig, probably just sick of hearing me complain about trying to find work, up and offered me an internship at his father’s company, PharmaChem. I took it right away.
When I met Craig’s dad for the first time, Will was sweet to me. Probably not because of my looks or because my resume impressed him, but because I was seeing his son. And since I didn’t want to mess things up at PharmaChem, I kept on seeing Craig. After all, it had only been a month. Surely things could improve, right?
But they didn’t. Our relationship kept getting worse and worse. Craig stopped complimenting me, and after we had sex he wouldn’t talk at all. I felt so used, and I can’t actually remember the last time I had a decent orgasm. It may have been that night at the party, now that I come to think of it.
And then, a few weeks ago, I snapped. Craig and I got into a fight. The big fight. I told him I didn’t like how he was treating me and that he needed to change. He told me I was being selfish and I should be grateful for everything he’s done for me.
Our fight lasted three hours, and culminated in me screaming so loud I was sure the neighbors thought somebody was being murdered, and Craig calling me the c-word so many times I lost count.
But it ended well, I think, because we broke up. It had been half a year coming and my sanity thanked me for it, but my career prospects at PharmaChem did not. Because the very next day Will Silver began treating me less like his future-daughter-in-law and more like the cockroach you find alive in your toilet and stare at before finally flushing it down.
At least, I told myself, it was over between Craig and me. But how long was it before my former sweetheart Craig Silver began trying to sleep with me again? Two whole days. There was one day of him avoiding me like the plague, followed by another where he gave me a smile and told me I looked cute.
And, of course, when I told him I didn’t want us to get back together, his cute behavior quickly turned into sexual harassment.
Which takes us to now.
“I’m serious,” he goes on. “If I didn’t have that meeting to go to, I’d pull that skirt of yours up and slide my cock right in your ass.”
I shudder inside.
“Sorry Craig,” I say, “your dad is already on my ass to get these papers ready.”
Craig sneers and crosses his arms, the fabric of his shirt stretching at the seams. I glance over and he scowls at me. I grimace back. To think, I used to be in love with this man.
“Whatever,” he says, shrugging his thick shoulders. “Although I don’t know how well my dad would like it if you got some of that ink all over his papers.”
“What?” I say, and then I look down at my hands. There’s ink between my fingers. I didn’t wash between my fingers!
My heart drops. I look up at the clock and see I’ve got a minute and a half left. I’m not going to make it.
“Relax,” Craig says. “Just go wash your hands, I’ll finish these off for you.”
I look at him. The scowl’s gone, replaced by a smile, but I don’t trust it.
“Really?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
He nods.
“Yeah, just go. I’ll take care of it.”
That smile again, but what can I do? So without thanking him I leave the printers and run to the bathroom again, once again skidding to a stop in front of the sinks. I turn the water on full-blast and squeeze out some soap, then furiously scrub at the space between my fingers.
Fucking ink … I watch it dilute in the hot water before swirling down the drain. When I’m certain that I’ve got all of it off I turn the water off, double-check my hands, and then grab some paper towel and really scrub my hands dry, just in case.
I throw it out and leave the bathroom, running back to the printers. Craig is just finishing up the last package, the rest stacked in a neat pile for me. Even the staples have been done the right way.
“There you go,” he says as I pick up the pile. He places the last one on top.
“Wow, thanks Craig,” I say, glancing at the clock. Thirty seconds to go. “I owe you one.”
“How about a blowjob?” he asks, and my smile melts away.
“If your dick ever enters my mouth again,” I tell him, “I’ll bite the tiny thing off.”
“It’s not tiny,” he says, leaning closer and dropping his voice. “And if you don’t cut out the attitude, you won’t have any teeth left to bite with.”
I pull back from him, giving him a horrified look. Yet still he has that cocky grin on his face. My stomach churns.
“I have to go,” I say to him, and I turn, leaving quickly for the meeting room.
I walk briskly toward the door, trying not to let the papers slip and fall out of my grasp. That’s the last thing I need. I reach the door and grab the handle, then walk in … only to find men and women already sitting around the long table. They all turn to look at me as I stop, stunned. Will Silver is sitting in his usual chair, and he’s staring directly at me.
“Ah, speak of the Devil,” he says, looking up at the clock on the wall. “I’m sorry to say that this is my temp, Merryn. Merryn, didn’t
I tell you the meeting started at two o’clock precisely?”
I look up at the clock on the wall. It reads six minutes past two. The other clock must be slow! My cheeks color and I drop my gaze, mumbling an apology. But even as I walk in I think, Did Will only give me four minutes to get these printed and put together? What the fuck?
Craig strolls into the room and lazily makes his way to the chair beside his dad as I begin handing out the paper packages, giving Will the first one.
“Ah, and here’s my pride and joy. Craig, I want you to meet the partners of Amberson International. We’re hoping we can make a deal today.”
“Sounds good,” Craig says. Then, turning to me, “Oh, temp. When you’re done handing those out, would you mind grabbing me a mineral water? Thanks, doll.”
I grit my teeth but force a smile to my face as I keep handing the packages out.
“Certainly,” I say. A few moments after I stop talking Will sighs and addresses the room.
“I suppose it’s my job now to ask if anybody else would like something to drink.”
My heart drops. I’ve never had to do that before.
But everybody shakes their heads. Will nods.
“Okay. I’m sorry about Merryn,” he goes on. “We give all our temps a six-month probation, which I think helps us to decide whether they’re going to be a good fit at PharmaChem or not.”
I feel him look directly at me as he speaks but I just keep handing out the packages.
“Our temps only have a three-month probation,” one of the older men says. Will shakes his head.
“Not long enough,” he says. “This one here, for instance: she started out so well, but now … well, her lateness speaks for itself.”
I hand out the last package and then turn to Craig.
“One mineral water, coming up. If you need anything else, feel free to ask.” If I’m going down, I may as well try to keep my dignity.
The others smile, some thanking me, and turn to leave. Just as I’m at the door, though, Will’s voice calls me back.
