Fifty Days 3

by Taylor Shade

  Conference Room A is morbidly silent as I sit staring out at stuck morning traffic on the Queensboro Bridge. In my previous life, I would have been nervous, perhaps biting my nails.

  But the new Sloane Kenner, this girl I don’t know, sits comfortably like an opposing counsel ready for a deposition.

  This might actually be fun if it weren’t for the image of poor Trish in my mind.

  The Daily News didn’t mention her, which I found surprising. They had a write-up about Sam Ronson yesterday, but Trish isn’t newsworthy?

  Matthew Hamilton and Tim DeLasseur burst into the room, each with folders in hand. Tim also carries his ever-present laptop.

  Hamilton closes the door behind him.

  Then he makes a little show of folding his arms and staring at me.

  The new Sloane Kenner stares right back, meeting his gaze with energy.

  He breaks eye contact, folds his arms, and looks down to his right.

  “Miss Kenner,” he begins, “do you know why you’re not in the law library right now?”

  “I have an idea, but please continue,” I say.

  “I don’t like your smugness.” He laughs. “But it doesn’t matter. As soon as the police arrive, you won’t be very smug.”

  My heart skips a beat. Police?

  “Yes,” Matthew says, his smile growing bigger. “The police are on their way to arrest you for treason.”

  Shit. Now I’m scared. Where is Drake? He can explain all this. I look at my watch 8:20. He should be here by now.

  My heart beats faster.

  “Treason?” I say.

  “Yes,” Matt says as he opens up his manila folder and tosses Ronson’s handwritten yellow-lined paper to me. “I’m sure you recognize this, Miss Kenner. It was found with your paperwork yesterday afternoon.”

  I lean forward. “I can explain.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you can. You know, Miss Kenner, I didn’t like you from the first moment I saw you. I knew you were up to something.” He leans down, placing both hands on the table, sneering at me. A new pod of spittle has formed at the corner of his mouth. “And I’m going to see to it personally that you go to jail for this.”

  A sheen of sweat has broken out on my forehead.

  “For what?” says Drake Concord, bounding into the room with his briefcase in hand. “My client hasn’t actually stolen anything.”

  “Your client?” says Matthew as I breathe the biggest sigh of relief of my life.

  Tim actually smiles.

  “Yes,” says Drake, popping open his case and pulling out a contract. “Miss Kenner, do you have a dollar?”

  “Um...” I say, “I don’t know. Let me check.”

  I fumble in my purse to find a dollar bill.

  Shit, I was going to stop at the ATM on the way home yesterday after going to Ronson’s office. All I have is change.

  I take out a dime, two nickels, four pennies, and a quarter.

  “How much is that?” I say. “Hang on, I think I have more.”

  “That’s fine,” says Drake. “Forty-nine cents. That’s my fee. You are now my client.”

  He pockets the change and rolls his eyes at me.

  “Drake,” says Matthew Hamilton. “This is absurd. I have evidence that this... this... person... was going to steal files from this company.”

  “Was going to? Do you have proof?”

  “Yes, I do! This!”

  Hamilton slides the yellow-lined paper with Ronson’s handwriting across the table. Drake smoothly slides it into his folder and closes it, dropping it into his briefcase.

  “Hey!” shouts Hamilton.

  “I need that,” says Drake. “Now Matthew, let’s talk about Tenth Avenue.”

  “Tenth Avenue?”

  “Yes, the secret apartment you keep on Tenth Avenue. I have rent receipts that are billed to the firm.”

  “They are not billed to the firm!”

  “Oh, so you admit you have a secret apartment on Tenth Avenue.”

  “I didn’t... this isn’t... you aren’t... okay fine, what do you want?”

  “I want you to leave Miss Kenner alone.”

  Drake smiles at me. I can’t help but feel like I’m in a protected bubble.

  “Drake, she was going to steal a file from our firm!”

  “But she didn’t. And that’s not what this was about.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tim, could you give us a few minutes please?”

  “Happily,” he says and leaves.

  Drake shuts the door, then sits next to me at the table. He motions for Matt to sit. Matt doesn’t take the hint.

  “Sit, Matt,” he says.

  Matt sits down and folds his arms. “What the hell is going on here, Drake?”

  “What’s going on here is that Sloane Kenner is returning to work. She’s done nothing wrong. I’ve talked with her about the handwritten letter.”

  “She came here with the intent to steal!”

  I look down, ashamed.

  “She never would have gone through with it.”

  “Oh, please! How do you know that?”

  “Because I’m a good judge of character. I hired you, didn’t I? Kassandra wanted Gallagher. I insisted on you.”

  Matt pouts, running his hand through his wiry hair. “Fine, Drake. So what... she just goes back to her stack of briefs like nothing happened?”

  “Yes, but with a new directive. I’m hiring her to be a spy.”

  Huh?

  I look at Drake.

  “If you wish to continue your employment here at Concord Hamilton Dandridge, you must do as I say.”

  Drake turns and looks at me as he speaks, his ferocious blue eyes lit full by the morning sun. His tone is the same as when we’re alone, deep and dark.

  A wash of heat shatters through me, centering between my legs.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I was very uncomfortable with the idea of being a spy.”

  “Just say ‘yes, counsel’”, he says.

  I melt. “Yes, counsel.”

  I look over at Matt. He’s looking at us strangely.

  “Good,” says Drake. “Now here’s what I want you to do.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Sloane

  One girl makes a little gasp when I walk back into the law library. Kayla looks up and her eyes go wide. I just smile at her.

  Glen is watching over us today. He smiles and nods at me. Then he gets up and retrieves a stack of Dawson briefs, placing them on the table in front of me. I take out my new pack of highlighters and smile up at him.

  He shoots me double-barreled with his fingers and a smile. I smile back.

  I open a stack and take out some briefs. I catch Kayla staring at me through the corner of my eye.

  I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing, except for the fact that Drake wants me to stick close to the group. He didn’t give details, but he believes there’s another spy here. He wants me to keep my eyes and ears out for anything unusual.

  Looks like I just can’t escape the spy business.

  I do feel a little betrayed by Kayla. According to Matt, she was the one who grabbed the envelope, read it, and brought it to Tim.

  It would have been nice if she could have been my friend and asked me about it first. But no, all she did was the right thing. I have no right to be mad.

  Except for the fact that she must have seen me thrust the paper and envelope underneath my stack before I ran out.

  But whatever. I have a new assignment, and it involves maintaining my new friendship with Kayla.

  Now I just have to convince her and the other girls that the paper is a lie. Which it wasn’t.

  At ten-fifteen, we go to break.

  “Hey, can I talk to you privately?” I say to Kayla.

  “Sure,” she says uncomfortably as she grabs her coat. “Starbucks?”

  “Sure.”

  Out in the sunshine, the snow has all melted. We pass a bell ringer and I drop some cha
nge in the kettle.

  In Starbucks, the line is long again. I look around. Nobody we know is within earshot.

  “You did the right thing,” I say.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You turned that paper in to Tim. I would have done the same thing.”

  “Oh. It’s just that I–”

  “But Kayla, I’m no spy. I didn’t take anything. I found that letter and it’s what made me sick. It’s why I went to the bathroom and threw up. Because when I read it, I was so shocked.”

  Kayla just looks at me quizzically. “Uh-huh,” is all she says.

  “I’ve talked to Matt and Drake about it and it’s okay. They know that I had nothing to do with it. So I hope we can still be friends.”

  “Sure,” she says in a tone that I don’t believe. “That’s fine.”

  The rest of the wait in line is an uncomfortable silence.

  Hm, this is going to be harder than I thought.

  Lunch is no better. I’m an outcast. Thanuja joins Kayla and me at Hale & Hearty Soups. The conversation is stilted.

  Shit, nobody trusts me.

  When we get back to the law library, Kayla and Thanuja go to the ladies’ room. I’m sure they’re talking about me. God, I think I hate this.

  The only thing that keeps me going is knowing I’m doing it for Drake Concord.

  I still don’t know what I’m looking for.

  I take my coat off, sling it over the chair, and sit down. I take out my phone and check my messages.

  As I do so, I notice one of the paralegals emerging from the stacks, the green-eyed redhead I sat next to on day one. She has an envelope in her hand, which she places under her stack of Dawson briefs.

  “Warm out today, isn’t it?” I say loudly to her.

  She practically jumps out of her skin.

  “Oh!” she says. “I didn’t think anyone was back yet.”

  “Surprise,” I say.

  She continues to stand, her hands clasped in front of her. Her expression says everything.

  As the other girls filter back in, I send a text to Drake:

  Me: Green-eyed redhead emerged from stacks with something.

  Drake: Good work, Agent XXX. You will be rewarded.

  Oooh, I like the sound of that.

  NINETEEN

  Sloane

  “Shower and prepare,” Drake says in a firm tone. “You’ll find everything you need in the master bath, including an outfit I want you to wear.”

  We’re back at his place after a long boring afternoon. There was no question of me going home tonight. I guess I really do like following his commands.

  I walk past the kitchen into his bedroom with its massive commanding view of the city, then into the private marble bathroom.

  God, it’s even more cavernous than the other one! This one has an even bigger hot tub.

  On the floor is a white towel. In the center of it are four items, spread out to clearly show what they are. A patent leather bra with metal studs, matching panties and skirt, and thigh-high black boots with big buckles.

  I shudder, a wave of excitement crashing through me.

  He wants me to wear these?

  I pick up the leather panties. They’re crotchless.

  A spark fires up inside me as I rub my fingers over the soft material, imagining it wrapped tightly around my body.

  Oh God, I think I can’t wait!

  But how do I even put these on? I’ve never worn anything like these before. The boots look like they should have a book of instructions.

  Slowly, I walk to the door and shut it.

  I take off my clothes to shower, but before I get in my eyes catch something on the marble sink.

  A series of expensive bath soaps have been laid out, along with an elaborate makeup kit—even more fancy than the one at the Waldorf, if that’s even possible.

  One item causes me to gasp. It’s a square box, inside of which is a big ball with a rubber syringe. The words on the outside read Anal Douche.

  Does he expect me to...?

  While I’m repulsed by the notion of cleaning out my bowels for sex, a part of me springs to life. A very dirty part of me.

  It takes me a while to figure out what to do. I did read about this online one day. It’s kind of disgusting... but it’s better than being disgusting later.

  As I fill my ass with water to cleanse myself out, on my knees with my butt up in the air, I allow my nose to drift over the leather bra and panties, inhaling their piquant aroma. Even that makes me excited.

  Am I really doing this? What happened to my resolution to not do anything anal? Am I really on the floor cleaning myself out for this man?

  Yes.

  Yes, I am.

  Once I’m done, I get in the shower. The cascading water immediately sets off sparks on my skin.

  As the water flows over me, I reflect on this incredibly weird week, a week in which I’ve seen more than in my entire life.

  Started my spy career. Ended my spy career. Started a new spy career. A night at the Waldorf-Astoria with a beast of a dominant man. Somehow involved in something that got a man killed. Trish’s dead eyes staring up at me.

  A cold flush surrounds me accompanied by goosebumps.

  Poor Trish. Who was she? She looked forty-five, maybe fifty. Short auburn hair, probably dyed. Blue eyes. Blue lifeless eyes.

  Shit.

  I try to force the bad images out of my mind, attempting to focus on the steady massaging stream of water all around me.

  My horniness returns as the warmth of the water penetrates me.

  My sex drive is in high gear, even overdrive. I always liked sex, but it’s almost like I can’t get enough now.

  My ass is still sore from being spanked hard two nights ago. My pussy is still reeling from being stretched and pounded by a cock I still have trouble believing is real.

  And yet... here I am again... craving his touch... yearning to be spanked again... willing to do anything to please him.

  How? Why? What is it about this man that stirs something so primal within me? I want him to command me. I want to do his bidding. The very thought of pleasing him makes me aroused to the point I almost tremble.

  He’s even somehow gotten me to clean out my ass for him.

  No. No. No.

  I can’t do this. I’ve crossed a line somewhere. I’m becoming somebody I don’t know.

  And yet, I find it empowering.

  This morning when I walked into the law firm, I was on top of the world. This roller-coaster ride of deviant sex has lit a flame underneath me.

  A flame that perhaps was always there, but needed to be stoked into a bonfire.

  Walking around Concord Hamilton Dandridge this morning, I felt invincible. And not just because I knew I would be protected by Drake Concord.

  No, it was more than that.

  It was a power from inside me. A strength that I had been lacking.

  I adjust the shower head to strengthen the stream of water. I turn, allowing it to massage my shoulder and back muscles.

  Power.

  Yes, power. That’s what all this is giving me. I’m not sure how, but I’m definitely feeling it.

  I make a decision.

  I’m going to take the LSATs the next time around.

  And I’m going to pass!

  I know I will. I’m smart enough. I’ve always been smart enough.

  And I’m going to go to Harvard Law School!

  That’s it. I’ve decided. I’m going to be the best goddamned lawyer anyone has ever seen!

  I laugh out loud.

  Once the water is off, reality returns. It’s still Thursday. I’m back into the harsh world of spying and murder.

  But one thing is for sure. Drake Concord is here and he’s real.

  And he’s going to fuck me tonight.

  However he wants me.

  After towel-drying my hair, I gingerly step out of the shower. I move to the makeup kit, applying a generous a
mount of bright red to my lips to accentuate my blonde hair and pale skin in contrast to the black patent leather.

  Then I opt for mascara over eyeliner, making my lashes thick and black. I also do a couple of other things to surprise him.

  Once I’m satisfied with my face, I turn to the outfit on the white towel.

  I pick up the panties. Even the very touch of the shiny leather makes me tremble with anticipation.

  I slink my legs into them and pull them up. I feel a jolt in my crotch as the material sinks itself into my crevices.

  I look at myself in the mirror, making some adjustments. The cold leather studs mixed with the sensation of warmth from the patent leather is odd. Not to mention that the panties make me feel both tightly covered and yet exposed at the same time.

  I love the tightness of the two lines that travel from my ass to my crotch. They’re pliable yet firm, creating wonderful sensations to my exposed folds as I move.

  I put on the tiny skirt, which barely covers the panties.

  Next the bra.

  Before I put it on, I glide the smooth leather over my breasts. My nipples go hard and firm at the first touch. I gasp.

  Why does this material excite me so much?

  I never even thought about putting any of these things on before. My best friend Natasha and I have done our fair share of looking at it in the adult store, but neither of us ever bought any of it.

  Now here I am wearing it.

  I get the bra on. That was the easiest part.

  Next, the boots.

  These take a while. Not easy at all. Then figuring out how to buckle them properly is a nightmare.

  I almost fall trying to stand up in the high heels.

  Once I get it together, I look at myself in the mirror.

  Pretty fucking hot, if I do say so myself.

  I take a deep breath and smile.

  Showtime.

  I open the door and walk out into his giant bedroom, lit by the twinkling lights of the vast cityscape outside.

  Drake Concord faces away from me, his thick black hair glistening in the bluish light. He’s still wearing his black pants, but his expensive white dress shirt with fine stripes and cuffs is un-tucked and loose.

  As he turns, I see that it’s unbuttoned, his powerful chest protruding through the opening, just the beginning of his tattoo visible inside the fine fabric.