Boss Me Please

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Boss Me Please Page 2

by Amy Brent


  Once we finally disconnected the call, I started gathering my things to leave. As I walked through the dark, empty office, I couldn’t help but think that it was a good metaphor for my life. It was bright and busy during work hours, but when the sun set, it was cold and empty.

  I sat in silence inside my expensive, black car while my driver took me home. Once we arrived, I rode the elevator up to my penthouse and ate the fancy meal my cook had left for me. Then, I carried a bottle of scotch with me as I walked to my impeccably decorated bedroom and got ready for bed all alone.

  After another of my usual three fingers of whiskey, I lay in bed wide awake and thought about Grace. Behind my eyelids, I saw her face, her full lips, her deep eyes, her smooth skin. I wondered what it would be like to run my fingers through her shoulder length hair and feel her body pressed against mine.

  Instinctively, my hand drifted down to grab my cock. Slowly, I stroked myself as I remembered the way she smelled, the way her ass looked in those tight dresses she wore, the way her mouth tasted in those stupid, drunken moments when I let myself go and kissed her lips.

  The feeling was great and intense, and it made me think how it would feel like to get my pleasure from her. Thoughts of her breasts bouncing in front of me and her pussy milking an orgasm out of me, finally pushed me over the edge.

  Grace’s face stayed in my mind until my body finally settled from my orgasm. Then, once my consciousness returned, bringing with it the cruel understanding that my fantasy would never come true, I cleaned myself up and drank myself into oblivion.

  * * *

  The persistent ringing of my cell phone woke me the next morning. Hungover as I was, each high-pitched ring felt like a drill piercing into my temples. I groaned and pressed the button on my console to close my automated curtains.

  “Hello,” I groaned into the phone.

  “Hi, Mr. Cox,” Grace’s voice sounded on the other side of the line.

  I smiled. “Call me Fletcher, Gracie.”

  There was a pause, then she spoke again, her voice a strange mixture of happy and reproachful. “Okay, Fletcher. Mr. Hawthorne is here to see you.”

  “Did we have a meeting?” I mumbled as I tried to open my eyes and look at the clock.

  “No, he just dropped by,” she informed. “He seems angry, too. What shall I tell him?”

  I groaned. Hawthorne was one of my business associates and a giant pain in my ass. He was bossy, competitive and entitled. The very definition of the kind of people who would twist their noses and judge me if I ever decided to make my fantasies about Grace a reality. As much as I hated him and his kind, they were my kind too, and I couldn’t pretend otherwise.

  Making an actual effort to sober up and distance myself from Grace, I cleared my throat and said, “Please tell him I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. And make sure there’s coffee for me, Ms. Taylor.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied in the defeated tone she always used when I led her on and shot her down.

  Not giving myself enough time to overthink things, I hung up the phone and hurried to the shower. Usually, I would give preference to breakfast over a morning shower, but today I needed it.

  Going as quickly as I could, I managed to shower and get dressed in eight minutes. Feeling proud of myself, I grabbed my briefcase and ran out the door.

  Exactly sixteen minutes later, I walked into the building. As expected, Hawthorne was in my office, and Grace was standing outside my door with a file and a Starbucks cup in her hands. I took both.

  “Thanks,” I said without looking at her face. “I want to see you as soon as he leaves.”

  Although the sternness in my voice had nothing to do with her, Grace took an audible breath before replying, “Yes, sir.”

  Not bothering to explain that it was Hawthorne that made me nervous, I nodded and walked into my office. Like the entitled pain in the ass that he was, the man was sitting in my chair.

  “Good God, Fletch. You look awful,” he deadpanned.

  I rolled my eyes and motioned with my hand for him to get out of my seat. This was my company and my office, I’d drop dead before I relinquished my place. Thank goodness, he had the sense of moving so I could sit.

  “What do you want, Ethan?” I asked, staring at his round face and long dark gray hair. I was sure the cut that was supposed to be modern, but it didn’t fit his old-fashioned face and ended up making him look like a 70’s reject. Despite the awful haircut, his suit was perfectly tailored in a way that made it clear that he was a powerful man.

  As soon as I sat down in my chair, he tossed a piece of paper in front of me. “What is this?”

  I looked down at the sheet in front of me, then looked up him. “It’s my projection for the building.”

  “I know that, but why is it that high?”

  I frowned. We were talking about building a college for underprivileged kids and, considering my humble childhood, I was very committed to making it the best and most tech advanced institution possible. Most of my associates—Hawthorn included—participated in projects such as this for the tax benefits and the publicity, but I did it because I actually felt like I owed some kind of payment to the universe for the good fortune I had had.

  “The cost isn’t that high, to be honest,” I started in a very matter of fact tone. “Besides, I don’t see how we can cut costs. I’ve gone over it three times to make sure everything checked out, and it does. The only place where we could cut costs is in Tech, but what’s the point of building a college that is already outdated. That would defeat the purpose, and cause more bad press than good.”

  Knowing I had a point, he sighed. “This is a lot more money than I’m willing to put into it, though.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. We both knew we would make the investment back in three months—and that was a pessimistic estimative. Despite being a part of this world for decades, I still wasn’t used to how stingy rich people were. It seemed like the more money a person had, the more they wanted to hold on to it.

  “C’mon, Ethan. We’re both owners of Fortune 500 companies. What do you think the press will say if we decide to be cheap with charity? Are you sure you want that kind of press?”

  I watched as he rubbed his eyes and scratched his head. I could see the reluctance in him, but I was confident that the publicity card would work. Image and money, the two values rich people swore by.

  After a couple of seconds, Hawthorne cursed under his breath and stormed out of my room grumping that I would get a check soon. With a triumphant smile on my lips, I took a sip of the coffee I still hadn’t touched. It was strong and black, just the way I liked it when I was hungover.

  “Mr. Cox?” Grace called from the door.

  I hated it when she called me that, but given what had happened last night—and on the phone this morning—I understood why she was keeping her distance.

  “Come in, Grace, and close the door.”

  She did as she was told and then took a seat in the chair opposite to me. For a second, I allowed myself to admire how beautiful she looked, but I quickly pushed those thoughts aside. No matter how beautiful she was, I couldn’t have her. Wishing that I could wouldn’t change anything.

  I took another gulp of my coffee and straightened my back. My head was still pounding thanks to my hangover, but I had become an expert in functioning in this state.

  “I wanted to talk to you about last night,” I started. “I’m sorry that happened. I was drunk, and it was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, and though her face was blank, I could imagine her cringing on the inside. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Nothing happened.”

  We both knew that though we hadn’t kissed, her statement wasn’t entirely true. It was also clear that she was saying those things for my benefit—as she always did—and a part of me felt guilty.

  Still, I couldn’t help but feel glad when she added, “You don’t have to worry about me mentioning anything to anyone. I don’t have
anything to tell. This job means everything to me, and I wouldn’t do anything to sabotage it or make you look bad.”

  Her eyes were clearly hurt. I wasn’t as big of an asshole to ignore how much she was sacrificing to make me feel a little bit better about myself. That knowledge made me appreciate and admire her a bit more, which was something I couldn’t afford if I were to stop acting the way I did around her

  “I’m glad we’re on the same page on that,” I said with a bite.

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “Is that all?”

  No, I wanted to tell her, but instead, I nodded. “Thank you for my coffee. It’s perfect.”

  Grace nodded but didn’t smile as she walked to the door and opened it. I wanted her to turn around and look at me one more time, but she didn’t.

  Grace

  I loved office parties. Planning them was one of my favorite parts about my job, and unlike most of the things I did on my day to day, these parties were something I could actually relax and enjoy once I was done. It was a win-win for me. Unfortunately, they only came around twice a year.

  Aside from the typical Christmas party, we also had an annual office party in the middle of the year to celebrate the day Mr. Cox started the business. I honestly didn’t think that Fletcher cared about the date too much. The way I saw it, the party was just a way for him to keep the staff happy and motivated, and to that, he spared no expense.

  While planning the event, I had carte blanche to hire whatever entertainment, cater and decoration I saw fit, Fletcher’s only demand was that the party be held in the office’s lobby—I had no idea why, but he insisted.. Abiding by that rule, I planned the event to match the opulence of the building. We had flowers galore, waiters in pressed white shirts serving finger food, a DJ rocking the makeshift dance floor and an open bar.

  The party was perfect, but I knew something was missing and when I saw Valerie from accounting walking in with a huge bowl in her hands, I knew what it was. My lips instantly curled into a smile.

  “You brought it!” I said after greeting her.

  “Of course, I did.” Her tone was a little incredulous as if she couldn’t believe I had doubted her. “My punch has been a company tradition for ten years. No matter how many yummy bartenders Mr. Cox hires, people still flock towards my bowl.”

  I chuckled at the truthfulness of her words. I had no idea why people—myself included—liked the drink so much, it was basically rubbing alcohol and sugar, but an office party was never complete without it.

  “I, for one, am glad you brought it,” I told her with her a smile. “You can set it on that table over there, and save me a glass.”

  “Will do, Grace,” she assured as she walked away.

  I roamed at the entrance of the building for a while longer. To be honest, I lingered there to get a glimpse of Fletcher when he arrived, but I also took the opportunity to greet my coworkers and their families. There were a lot of lovely people I hardly ever saw around the office, and these parties were a chance to catch up and feel like I belonged to something bigger than the one-man show that was Fletcher Cox.

  About an hour into the party, there was still no sign of my boss. Personally, it was frustrating. As dumb as it may sound considering what had happened just a couple of weeks before, Fletcher was still the reason why I dolled myself up to come to the party. If it weren't for him, I’d have put on comfortable shoes and a dress that allowed breathing. Still, I decided not to let his absence ruin my night and finally left my post at the door.

  Shimming my body to the beat of the music, I made my way to where my friends were by the punch bowl.

  “I thought you weren’t going to join us,” Dana said, and the other two girls agreed.

  I rolled my eyes at them and filled a cup with some of the potent drink. “I was just making sure everything was okay. It is my job, after all.”

  “That man is fine and all, but you do way too much for him honey,” Valerie pointed out. Because I couldn’t argue with her statement, I merely shrugged and took a sip of the punch.

  The drink was horribly strong, and I ended up coughing for a good two minutes. “Oh, my gosh, Val. What did you put into this thing?”

  “Same thing as every year; two bottles of vodka, half a bottle of rum, a generous splash of sherry and some fruit juice.”

  “Well, that explains it.” The words were followed by some laughs and another gulp of the potent drink. Although the taste of alcohol was still overpowering, it slid down my throat easier the second time around.

  For the next half an hour, I continued to drink and talk to my friends. I forced myself to eat something every now and then so I wouldn’t be too shitfaced, but I could already feel the effects of the alcohol in my system. Then, just as a light buzzing started to sound in my head, I saw him walk through the door.

  Fletcher was the last to arrive. He looked fantastic in dark jeans and a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His manner was relaxed, his smile was easy and comfortable, and he looked nothing like the troubled workaholic I dealt with on day to day basis. His demeanor was clear evidence that, just like me, he was way past the sober line, and I liked it. I loved seeing him loose and relaxed the way he was. He deserved to have a break every once in a while, and I liked that I was here to witness it.

  He looked in my direction, and his eyes lingered on me for just a moment. I felt my cheeks flush and bit the corner of my bottom lip. For just a second, his eyes glimmered with a dark, hungry light I was all too familiar with, but then he turned his face away and continued the conversation he was having.

  His newest dismissal mixed with my slightly inebriated state and made me feel ridiculous. I saw Fletcher all the time and, more often than not, his eyes lingered on some part of my body. It was nothing new and nothing to bite my lips over.

  In an effort to get a grip on myself, I downed the contents of my glass and reminded my drunken ass that I was more than capable of dealing with my stupid feelings for a man I would never have. All I had to do, was pay no attention to him and find a way to enjoy myself. And that’s what I did.

  After another round of Valerie’s killer punch, I rallied up the girls, and we hit the dance floor. The music was pumping, and so were we. My inebriated state made my usual composure and good sense slip away, and before I noticed it, I was moving my hips in a way that wasn’t entirely appropriate to the workspace. Not that I cared, though. This was a party, and I was here to have fun.

  For over half an hour, I laughed and danced with the girls. In that time, all thoughts of Fletcher disappeared. It was freeing and satisfying, and I loved every second of it.

  As it usually happened whenever I drank this much, just as the room started to spin around me, the punch pooled in my blather, and I had to run to the bathroom. After I peed and blotted some of the sweat from my face, I took a deep breath and exited the spinning bathroom.

  “Come with me,” Fletcher’s lustful voice sounded in my ear.

  For a moment, I thought I was imagining things. It had to be Valerie’s poisonous punch talking. After all, Fletcher Cox didn’t ever slip up like this. He knew how to keep his face on whenever people were around, and he never—ever—approached me in such an improper way in public. He had, after all, an image to maintain and getting involved with a middle class, let’s say poor, nobody like me was not the way to do it. We both knew that.

  However, just as I about to turn around to go splash some water on my face, I felt a hand grip my elbow. “It’s an order, Miss Taylor.”

  Slowly, I turned my head toward the voice and saw Fletcher’s face. His blue eyes were hooded and dark, and his mouth was slightly open, taking in deep breaths. I could see it in his eyes that this was one of those nights, the ones where he let himself get drunk enough, and I let myself get kissed enough, and we both ended up regretting everything in the morning.

  But there was something different tonight. If I had been sober, I’d have known that the difference was that I was
as drunk as he was. Nevertheless, I was drunk as a fish and anxious to make whatever mistake he had in mind for tonight.

  With a wicked smirk on my lips, I nodded and ordered my feet to move as I followed Fletcher out of the party and toward the elevators. I was sure everyone in attendance was drunk enough not to notice us leaving or even our absence, but my drunken state made me not care if they did.

  Considering the lust in Fletcher’s eyes and how hard he came on whenever he was this drunk, I’d imagined that he would be all over me as soon as the elevator doors closed behind us. However, to my surprise, he took a step back and just looked at me.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Cox?” I asked, my usual question to him.

  “Fletcher, please. I hate when you call me Mr. Cox.” There was disdain in his voice as he said the formal name I usually used.

  “Okay, Fletcher.” We both smiled at the name. “How can I help you?”

  He sighed and instead of answering my question, he asked another, “What do you see when you look at me?”

  Everything I have always wanted, was the first answer that popped into my head, and I almost said it. But then, I realized what a huge drunken mistake that would have been and kept that reply to myself.

  Instead, I said, “I don’t think it matters what I see.”

  “Why the hell not?” he asked a little exasperated.

  “Because I’m a nobody. I’m just the girl who gets your coffees and your messages.”

  We stood in silence for a moment, then Fletcher started to move in the very slow pace he usually did when he was about to kiss me. Butterflies were set loose in my stomach, and my already spinning head swam with each step he took.

  Once Fletcher was standing right in front of me, he shook his head and brought his hand up to cup my cheek. His skin felt warm against mine, and that musky scent of cologne and alcohol filled my nostrils making my eyes flutter.

  “Don’t say that, Gracie. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  The tone he used was firm, but there was also a softness in it I wasn’t used to hearing. It made me believe that I was more than I thought I was and, perhaps, meant more to him than I thought I did. It also made me find the courage to reply to his question.

 

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