I keep quiet and wait for imminent instruction. She doesn’t disappoint.
“I’ll be in my office. Let me know as soon as you’ve heard back from Stella McCartney. If we get her perfume in the goody bags, it’ll make my year. And you look like shit. Put some lipstick on or something.”
With that, she marches to her gorgeous office. How she can have such a stick up her ass when she works in an office like that, is beyond me. It’s got floor to ceiling windows and the most gorgeous skyline view of Manhattan you could wish for. Her desk cost more than all the furniture in my little cubbyhole apartment, combined. To top it off? She’s got a bar that reminds me of the one they have in Mad Men. So jealous.
As soon as she closes the door, I stop watching her. I’m safe. Coast is clear. I can hear the typing and chatting on the phone from my co-workers around me. I shouldn’t complain. My cubicle is larger than theirs, since I’m the executive assistant to The Bitch. On the other floors, the executive assistants to the other department editors all have around the same size as me. But on this floor? Mine is the biggest. She offered me a desk out in the open, nearer her office, but I didn’t take it because I like a little privacy. Easier to get work done… or not.
Do I really look like shit? I was lying about being sick, so I should look pretty good. Let me see. I sift through my purse and choose MAC “Mocha” over “Twig” lipstick, and take out my compact to apply it in the mirror. Checking myself out, I see she was just trying to get under my skin. I look fine. Man that woman can make me feel really small. As I touch the lipstick to my mouth, I see the light change in my mirror. All of a sudden it’s a little darker… like there’s something blocking the light. I turn my head to see if a bulb went out in the recessed lighting and see James standing there, arm on the wall, leaning with a smile on his face as he watches me. Oh.
“No, don’t stop,” he says quietly, so no one can hear him. He can see that I, with my lipstick still mid-air, am at a loss for what to say, or do. I raise my eyebrows and smile a silent question at him, so he adds, “I love to watch women put on lipstick.”
“My boyfriend hates lipstick.” I shut my eyes at my mistake, open them back up and correct, “EX. Boyfriend.”
“Yeah. I heard you guys broke up,” he says, and there is genuine compassion on his face as he nods, looks down at his stylish shoes and adds, “Sorry about that. That’s never a good time. I just went through a breakup, too.”
“Yeah? Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m over it.”
“Me too.”
Are we lying? Probably.
James is a couple years younger than me, works in H.R. and is very, very handsome. Black hair, blue eyes, trim physique, great ass, and his shirts always pull a little across the broadness of his chest. He wears them tight. He’s the kind of handsome where you assume he’s gotta be gay. But I’m not sure if he is gay. The rumor is he’s gay because there are very few straight men working in fashion. He could be. I’ve never seen anyone he’s dated and he keeps to himself a bit. Right now I’m getting a straight vibe and hard. Hard. Hmm… The thought makes me smile. Which makes him smile back.
Here we are smiling at each other, which of course makes our smiles grow because electricity is building in the silence of this moment. I start to giggle. Then, those blue eyes of his get serious and lock onto my mouth. I freeze, unsure of what to do. He lowers his chin a bit, narrows his eyes, and says, “Keep going.”
Oh. Okay. I look back to my mirror to put on my lipstick. I turn my swivel chair toward him so he can watch. Why not? I don’t do it like how I do it, when I’m alone. Instead, I take my time. Glide the stick across the heart shape. I slide it along my bottom lip next and tug it to the side a tiny teasing bit. I look up at him, open and inviting, still holding the compact between us as I press my lips together to blend. He intakes a breath and holds it as I drag my right pinky finger along the outline, for effect. He’s looking at me like a wolf looks at a sheep. He’s the best-looking wolf I’ve ever seen so I just smile, and put the compact and lipstick on the desk. I know James from the Christmas party, from minor bits of chit-chat. He’s always struck me as a nice guy, as much as hot guys like him can be nice. This little cat and mouse game we’re playing now? It’s brightening my day like you wouldn’t believe.
Especially when he looks on the floor and says, “Oh look, you dropped something. Let me get it for you.”
I look around, confused. I dropped something? Where? I didn’t drop anything.
I watch him bend down in front of me. Kneeling on one knee, hidden from all eyes but mine, he reaches out and touches my ankle, awakening my senses. Woah. What’s going on here? He lets his fingers lightly trace the skin up my calf, to my knees where he goes to guide them open, quickly and forcibly silencing my objections with his gorgeous blue eyes. At first I’m beside myself, but I hate my fucking job so I do what any red-blooded woman would do when faced with a man like this… I yield. I quiet my mind and, breathless with fear and anticipation, I allow my legs to open slightly. I obey him. Aren’t we going to get caught? The danger of the moment is thrilling me, and I hope he’ll do what I think he’s about to.
He does. He glides his strong, hand up and under my fabulous new dress. Maybe it’s the dress that’s making this happen. Maybe it’s a magic dress. As his fingers walk themselves up my inner thigh – oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! – his fingers are like magnets my super soft skin reaches for. I shiver. He watches, his mouth slightly smiling, enjoying the surprise he sees in me, feels in me.
Staring at him, stunned, I think again that I know James, but this is crazy. Hi James. Morning Jess. That sort of thing. So why is his hand up my skirt, and why are those devilish eyes of his smiling like that? When he reaches my panties, he strokes me once through the cotton. What are we doing???!!! I know I should stop him. We could get caught. We could get fired. He strokes me again. And once more. Please don’t stop.
There I said it, even if just to myself. Please. Don’t. Stop.
This is so much better than working. I wake up to his fingers exquisitely fondling me right in the middle of the office, out in the open save for the thin walls of my cubicle. He feels my panties dampening and he smiles. As he presses up and against where he knows my clit is hiding inside, my breath catches in my throat. He wiggles that finger ‘round and watches my eyes fill with need, my long eyelashes fluttering as I lose control, my hand grip onto my desk without making a sound.
He won’t let me look away. I push down on his hand. I can’t help myself. I want to rub on it, appease this longing he’s created, end the torture by giving myself a release. I can be quiet. I can keep the secret. But then, without warning, he pulls out his hand, gets up and walks away. Speechless, and beyond my mind stunned, all I can do is watch him leave.
The bastard.
The angel.
The WOW.
I quickly push down my dress to make myself presentable and focus on my breathing, to slow it down. My mind rummages for a way I can finish what he started. What the hell was that all about? I did tell The Bitch I’m sick. I could go to that bathroom that has the lock and take a moment or ten to pleasure myself.
Don’t be stupid. You’re at work! Think, Jess, think.
I look around my computer, the mouse on my desk, the polished cement floor. There are no answers anywhere. Oh, I know! I should look around to see if anyone knew what was going on. You idiot – look around for peat’s sake! Oh wow – let’s hope no one knows what he was doing to me. I will never live this down if they do.
Slowly I lift myself up with just the top of my head and eyes showing. I want to be covert. I scan the room and no one seems to have noticed. They’re too steeped in their own problems and lives, to look around. I check the door and see James there, about to leave to go to our other floor, upstairs; the one he works on. I realize I must look very weird, peeking at him like this. I should duck down, but I’m still a little stunned. Okay, a lot stunned. My body is
not doing what I want it to. It wants to look at James. I don’t blame it, but let’s try to play hard to get a bit, shall we??? He catches my ridiculous peeping, penetrating stare for an amused moment. Only the slightest glint in his eyes tells me that yes, what just happened was real. I slink back down out of sight, as he walks, all confidence out to the elevator.
Okay. So… not gay.
The Next Morning
Today I am strutting to work, excited to go in for the first time since I first got hired. Almost dancing, if I must admit. I won’t lie - I look amazing. I may have put a little extra effort in today. And there may be a huge pile of clothes on my bed from all the discards that didn’t make the cut, as I searched for the perfect blend of sexy and pretty, but not obvious. And there may be some perfume sprayed in my nether region. These are just possibilities.
Since I couldn’t sleep and had risen practically at the crack of dawn, I have enough time to get my favorite coffee. I jump off the train at 4th street and stroll into Third Rail Coffee. The coffee here is excellent. The tables are tiny, but I never sit down, so who cares. I see a lot of people on their computers and I wonder what I always wonder, do they tip? I hope they tipped if they’re going to take up a table for this long. I mean, they seem to be in here for hours. They know everyone. They’ve got nameplates on their tables. Kidding, but seriously.
Whatever. It’s not my business. I order an Americano with almond milk and walk to wait near the window. As I’m looking out, I see Nicole! I tap like crazy on the window, but she keeps walking by. We – the people of New York – put blinders on while walking alone. Stare forward. Avoid eye contact. Don’t attract the attention of a crazy. There are a lot of crazies.
“Americano with Almond,” they call out just in time. I shoot over, grab my morning sustenance and almost drop it as I sprint out the door.
“Nicole!”
She whips around, long black hair shiny and flying. I wish I had a button where I could push “slow motion” because she looked so beautiful just now. Nicole is the prettiest of our little threesome. She looks a bit like Kerry Washington, that woman from Scandal, only taller. Her skin tone is the same and she also straightens her hair, but hers is longer. Sometimes she wears it wild and curly – and both, I love. Her cheekbones are to die for, great nose, and the kind of lips that people buy. But her eyes are what make her truly stand out. They’re the color of caramel. Or scotch. Not bourbon – no, that’s too dark. Single malt Scotch, light and gold. And she’s tall, 5’9.” Basically, she’s gorgeous, but she somehow has managed to stay easy going and not be a stuck up c. u. n.ext t.uesday.
“Jess!” We close the distance, hug and kiss each other’s cheeks. Both cheeks, like they do in the movies. I’m always really bad at this. But everyone does it here, so I try my best. “What are you doing in Greenwich?” she asks me.
“I stopped for coffee since I woke up early.”
“You woke up early? To go to work? Did The Bitch quit… or drop dead?”
This makes me laugh. “No. Best not to say that, though.”
“Karma.”
“Right.”
Nicole nods in agreement and we begin walking together in the direction of the train stop. I don’t have to ask her to come with me. She just comes. Even though it’s the opposite direction of where she was going. Girlfriends… they just get it.
“No, I felt like getting ahead of the game. You know… show up. Get some work done. Impress The Bitch. No big deal.”
“Who is he?” Nicole’s eyebrows are up and her chin is pressed into her neck like “mmmhmmm, don’t lie to a sister.”
I look at the ground and then back at her to reveal, “It’s James.”
“The gay guy?”
“Turns out he’s not gay.”
“No one is that handsome and not gay.”
“Brad Pitt. George Clooney. Matt Bomer.
“You win.”
We arrive at the stairs to the subway. I turn and smile at my gorgeous girl. “I can’t wait to tell you how I know he’s not gay.”
“Tell me now! Don’t you dare pull a ‘Jess’ on me!” Her expression is telling me I’m about to be slapped.
She’s bluffing. Just in case, I start to ease down the stairs with a mischievous smile, raising my coffee in salute. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sing.
“Jess! You will not drop that juicy little morsel, and then walk away!” She pounds her high-heeled feet in mock-fury.
“Come with me to work and I’ll tell you.” I would love company on the train. That way I don’t have to pretend to be reading, so no weirdoes bother me.
“I can’t. I have a meeting with a dealer. Jerk.” Nicole is a painter, and a good one.
“He’s a jerk?” I ask, looking innocent, as people are passing me, annoyed that I’m halfway down, not moving, and blocking their way.
“You’re a jerk! And I love you. Let’s get together tonight. Hey!” That last part she said to a douche-bag who nearly ran her over trying to make the train. I contemplate tripping him.
“I should’ve tripped you!” I call to his departing backside as he races past me. He throws up his middle finger without looking back. Dick. I turn back to Nicole and say, “Sounds good. I’ll call Amber.”
“Wonderful. See you tonight!” We blow kisses to each other. I grin and she looks at me like I am lucky I’m halfway down the stairs, before she turns and walks out of sight.
When I finally arrive to work and walk into the office, I’m still very early. This is a first, except for my first month on the job. I was a better employee then. Oh man, is The Bitch going to be impressed with me today!
There are some ass-kissers already at their desks, but from the lack of light in The Bitch’s office, I can see she’s not arrived yet. Although… she may have just sucked the light out of it and is sitting alone in the dark, comfortable in the black vortex she has created. I giggle to myself, wave across the room to Amy– co-worker, early twenties, kind of plain, but holding it together with a great outfit and pixie haircut – as I go to my desk.
As I turn to round the corner of my cube, I see a note on my keyboard. Odd. I quicken the pace, pick it up and unfold it to read, “Take off your panties.”
My jaw drops and, still standing, I go on my tiptoes and look around the room for James. He works upstairs, so I don’t know if he left this last night or this morning. If he left it last night, that took some balls. If he left it this morning, still a big deal, but the cleaning crew or anyone staying late (which means everyone, but me), could have easily picked this up and been in for a shock. I read the note again, and for good measure look around once more. Amy is side-eyeballing me with an odd expression. Does she know, I wonder? No. She is just wondering why I’m acting like a wacko. I smile, wave and call out, “I was just marveling at your outfit. So cute!” She grins and thanks me. I plop out of site and onto my chair. Nicely done.
Take off my panties. Hmm…oh, what the hell? I reach under my skirt and quietly slide them off, hastily shoving them into the bottom of my bag. Just as I zip it closed, Steve, an out-of-the-closet co-worker passes and says,
“Mornin’ Jess.”
My heart pounds and sweat sprints out of my forehead. I silently swear at myself for not going to the bathroom to take my panties off in private. Idiot.
“Hey Steve,” I throw out, lamely. He’s long gone.
I wore an Aztec print mini-skirt - so hot right now - with a dominating red print to pick up the red of my hair and bring it all together. To look like I didn’t try too hard, I chose a simple flowing black blouse made of t-shirt material, dressed up with super high heels, and a long necklace that hangs to my stomach. My hair is down and wavy.
And now… I’m wearing no panties. Awesome.
I turn on the computer and pull up our email server. As I’m typing, I hear the door open to the office, over and over as my co-workers file in like little ants reporting to duty, ready to serve their queen. And for some reas
on all of this feels like fun. Oh Yeah. Because I have no panties on. Everything feels new!
James has not come in yet and all of a sudden it occurs to me that maybe it wasn’t him that left me the note. Maybe it’s a trick from the janitor, a janitor with perfect timing who knew that yesterday one of my co-workers touched me through my panties. I’m being paranoid, so I shake my head to remove this feeling and hit send on an email asking security once again to confirm they got my staff list. Fashion Week is on Monday (I can’t believe it’s already almost September!) and they still haven’t responded. But they’re not in fashion so they don’t understand the importance, like we all do. They pretend like they get it, but they don’t get it. I look at my to-do list and it’s pretty much done. I can’t believe it. Well, look at that. I’m proud of myself. Huh.
“Hey.”
My heads jerks up to see James standing in the same position he was in yesterday – arm on the wall of my cubicle, confidently leaning on it, looking hot hot hot in a suit that fits him snugly and his hair slicked back a bit without looking wet. He looks like he slept fine, unlike myself. I was too excited. Or freaked out. I’m not sure which.
I get to be a little smoother today. Less of a dork. I prepared for this moment. “Hey,” I smile.
“Get my note?” he asks, crinkling his forehead.
“Oh… I got a note. Not sure if it was from you. Hoping it was, because otherwise, that’d be weird. Um…yeah. I’ll be quiet now.”
I’m still a dork.
“Did you obey?” His blue eyes lock onto my skirt. All of a sudden I feel heat flame up inside me, and I want to raise my dress up. I want to raise it up and let him look.
I touch the hem, play with it, point the toes of my right foot out seductively and say, “I did.” My awakened sexuality has turned me into a James Bond character. I am suddenly slick and sophisticated. But then I hear it. And by it, I mean my boss. The Bitch has arrived to work.
I Love My Healed Heart: 4 Book Box Set/Omnibus (Erotic Romance) Page 5
