by J. J. Bella
But still, it wasn’t good enough.
And Olive was another story. I spent a few hours here and there when Mr. Lane asked, but she showed exactly zero interest in me. Anything I said was answered with a polite nod, the kind you’d get from someone who wanted to appear to be paying polite attention but not really caring if you believed they were. For someone her age, she seemed to be at an advanced level of icy indifference.
I asked her about her books, I asked her about her hobbies, and I asked her about anything else she liked to do for fun. But rarely did I get anything other than a quick, one-word reply.
To be honest, however, I didn’t mind. Spending time with Olive amounted to little more me being in the same room as her, and it was a nice break from Mr. Lane’s perfectionism. He relayed nothing about her and I’s time together, so I assume that I was doing something right. Still, it’d be nice to get the girl to open up.
But on Friday, the end of the first week, things took a turn for the worse.
We were in Mr. Lane’s office, and he was in the middle of a call with a client. They two of them were having a friendly back-and-forth, going over business matters that I couldn’t pretend to understand. Ignoring the business jargon, I kept my ears open to take down relevant times, dates, names- all the things that a good personal assistant keeps track of.
But during the call, the prim voice of Amelia, his secretary (who he was looking to get rid of now that I was working for him, I might add), piped in through the intercom.
“Mr. Lane, Mr. Liu is on line two.”
Mr. Lane’s face brightened with a look of surprise that I rarely saw him express.
“Why do I have a call from Mr. Liu scheduled for while I have a call with Mrs. Sanchez?” he asked, his finger on the “hold” button.
I looked over my notes at a frantic pace, going through my computer and seeing where the mistake could’ve been.
Sure enough, I found it. Somehow, I had accidentally scheduled the two calls at the same time. I had no idea how I did it; I was usually so careful with the information, and checked and double checked it before sending it to Mr. Lane.
“Mr. Lane, I’m so sorry,” I said, still looking at the information, for fear of making eye contact.
“Not a word. Go back to the apartment now while I sort this mess out.”
Part of me wanted to protest, but another part of me just wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as possible. I scooped by belongings up, and rushed out of the office. And as soon as I stepped out, I could see Amelia looking at me a smug smirk on her pretty face.
“Better luck next time,” she said. Still flustered, I managed to shoot her a dirty look before I dashed off the elevator.
The trip down the building and to the subway was a blur. Tears welled in my eyes as I rushed down the sidewalk to the otrain station, and as much as I tried not to, I sobbed a little bit. I spent ride on the train full of anxiety. I was sure Mr. Lane was going to fire me; there’s no way he’d let a fuck-up like that slide, not with how demanding he was.
As soon as I got back to the apartment, I collapsed in the main room on one of the overstuff couches and burst into wet, sloppy tears. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. The pressure of the week, the workload, and the stress of this mistake just on top of me. I started to feel like I’d bitten off more than I could chew.
Then, on top of everything, I heard a pair of small footsteps on the floor. Looking up with tears in my eyes, I saw Olive standing at the entry to her hallway, her sharp features arranged in a careful, analytical expression, her red hair in a wild do, framing her face.
“Let me guess,” she said, walking towards me. “Dad yelled at you.”
I knew I should’ve lied, said it was something else. After all, who knows what she might say to Mr. Lane? But instead, I simply nodded.
“Don’t worry about it; that’s just how he is,” she said, coming over to where I was sitting and taking u the seat next to me. “He’s nice with me, but I’ve seen how he is with his employees.”
I couldn’t help but feel a little relieved.
“He’ll probably chew you out, but that’s it. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
It was strange listening to Olive talk. She spoke with the sort of poise and calm that you typically only found in adults, and even then, only certain adults.
“Thanks,” I said, wiping away my tears. “But wait, why aren’t you in school?”
She shrugged.
“I get bored there. All my work was done, so I cut my last class. It’s not like they care; I still get A’s on all the tests.”
I wanted to scold her, but I wasn’t in the mood.
“I’m hungry. You want to get a burger?”
I was shocked, to put it lightly. The girl who I couldn’t get to say a word to me this entire week was now not only consoling me, but inviting me out for lunch?
“Sure,” I said, letting myself smile. “That sounds good.”
It really did. We went down to a corner bodega, one of the few left in this area of fancy condos and boutique stores, and ordered a couple of bacon cheeseburgers. And all the while, Olive went on and on about what she was reading, what she was interested in, her thoughts on the world- everything. She loved Roman history, for one, and had just been getting into HG Wells. She was bright and precocious, and was unlike any other kid that age I’d met.
We ate our burgers in Gramercy Park, taking in the warm, afternoon sun. After a time, we went back to the apartment.
“OK, I need to get back to work, kiddo,” I said, setting up my laptop on the kitchen table.
“That’s fine; I’ll read in here.”
She disappeared into her room for a moment, and came back with a book in her hands. She sat down on the chair opposite of me, opened her book, and began reading while I worked.
The rest of the afternoon went by like this, with the day gradually shifting into the evening.
Then, as the sun dipped behind the horizon, I heard the sound of the elevator coming up. Mr. Lane was back, and my stomach dropped in anticipation of his arrival.
11
The elevator doors slid open, revealing Mr. Lane. In his hands were his briefcase, and a white, plastic bag that looked to be filled with takeout food. He stepped into the apartment, stopping at the head of the table, looking over the scene of Olive and me, her reading, me working.
“Olive, can I speak with Ms. Kimble alone, please?” he asked, though his stern voice barely rose at the end of the sentence.
“Sure,” she said, sticking her finger into her book and closing it. As she left, he gave me a knowing look that seemed to say “don’t worry about it.”
Olive left, and Mr. Lane sat down at the table where his daughter was just sitting. My anxiety shifted from a mild feeling of sickness to something like a hot coal sitting at the base of my stomach.
“About your error this afternoon,” he said.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Lane,” I said my words coming out in a messy blurt. I knew I shouldn’t have spoken, but I was convinced that I was making the case for me keeping my job. “I know I messed up, and I’m so sorry. I could’ve sworn I double-checked everything, but I must’ve ben sloppy, and I’m so sorry.”
He raised his palm, his eyes closed.
“What I was going to say was that you weren’t responsible.”
I looked up at him, my eyes open wide in shock. His face was just as handsome and impassive as ever.
“What?”
“I went over who accessed my files recently. I found that Amelia, my secretary, my former secretary, that is, rescheduled an appointment in order to make it seem as though you were sloppy in your date keeping.”
Relief washed over me like a cool wave. I wanted to melt in my seat.
“But I’m pleased to see that your reaction wasn’t to make excuses, but to take responsibility. That’s a harder trait to come by than you might think.”
I wanted to say “thank you,” or something,
but I was too stunned to speak.
“I’ve brought some takeout home. Grand Sichuan- it some fairly decent Chinese, though I took the liberty of picking out the food.”
I wondered if I could even manage an appetite after what had just happened.
“Please go get Olive, and let her know that we’re eating.”
I walked to Olive’s library in a daze.
“Everything OK?” she asked from her usual chair.
“Yeah, just a mix-up.”
“See? What did I tell you?
I let her know that we were eating, and once she heard it was Grand Sichuan, she happily followed.
Mr. Lane had already set the table and put out the food, with a couple glasses of red wine for him and I and a can of La Croix for Olive. We got right into it, and though I had eaten a big, greasy burger earlier, I tore into the food with abandon.
It was starting to get into the later part of the evening, and the sun had long since gone down. Olive went back to her study to finish her book, and I went back to a little more work that needed doing before the day was out.
Eventually, Mr. Lane sent Olive off to bed. As he reentered the main room, I expected him to blow past me and head back into his office. Instead, he asked me the last question that I would’ve expected him to ask:
“Care to join me for a glass of wine?”
I was feeling a little bit of a buzz from the glass I had at dinner, and another did sound nice. But still, I wasn’t expecting Mr. Lane to mix business with pleasure in such a way.
He invited me out onto the wide stretch of the terrace. It was covered in grass, with a small pool and hot tub; another set of luxuries only available to the super-wealthy in this city.
We walked over to the railing and looked out, the spectacular view swirling around us. Sipping our wine, we enjoyed the evening in silence. But as my glass emptied, I found that I was drawing closer to Mr. Lane- and he was letting it happen.
Then, without warning, he took my chin in the crook of his finger, turned it toward him, and leaned in, pressed a deep, wet kiss on my lips.
The wine running hot through my veins, I leaned into the kiss, standing up on my tip-toes as he continued to kiss me, his tongue eventually slipping past my lips and exploring my mouth with slow drags against it.
It seemed wrong -he was my boss, after all- but I had been attracted to him since I saw his face on a magazine cover years ago, and here he was, kissing me like I’d never been kissed before.
I let him take the lead, and he was more than happy to do just that. His strong, firm hand found its way up my shirt, and I savored the feeling of it against the soft skin of my stomach. His other hand moved from where it was on the nape of my neck, and moved to my buttons, undoing them one by one, eventually pulling off my shirt, leaving me standing there in nothing but my bra and skirt.
He then moved his hands behind my thighs, and lifted me up, easily taking me into his arms, and placed me against the railing, kissing me deeply all the while. My own hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it as quickly as I could. I didn’t know if he was planning on fucking me, but at that moment, I needed him inside me more than anything.
And the feeling seemed to be mutual. Pulling up my skirt, he grabbed the waistband of my panties and pulled them down, letting them dangle from my heeled foot. I finished the job of getting his pants open, feeling his hard cock through the fabric, and pulled them down with a quick jerk, his prick springing out. I only caught glimpses of it through our kisses, but I could see that it was long, thick, and rock-hard.
Taking his cock by the base, he plunged it into me. I was already wet as hell, and his cock slid deep into me quickly and easily. I let out a sharp gasp as he sheathed himself within me, and for a moment, I felt like I might be unable to handle the sheer pleasure that was rushing through my body. Trent began pounding me hard, rocking my body with deep, full thrusts, burying himself deep within me over and over again. I gripped onto his strong, broad shoulders for support as he fucked me, and I could already feel and orgasm priming itself, getting ready to explode.
“Cum in me, please cum in me,” I said, my voice a sigh. His pace had quickened, and I could tell he was getting close. I wanted nothing more than to feel him empty himself inside of me.
Trent began to grunt with each thrust, and my gasps turned into small shrieks as my orgasm moved to the brink. Then, finally, it came. The feeling of his cock in me send a white-hot orgasm rushing through my body, making my limbs feel alight with unbelievable ecstasy.
Trent let out one last grunt, then came. I imagined his cock shooting inside of me, and the feeling of him filling me with his cum made my own orgasm finish hard.
Eventually, his thrusting slowed, and I could feel the first cool trickle of his cum down my thigh. He held me like that for moments, his head resting on my shoulder, both of us regaining our breath as we stood on the terrace in the warm, evening air.
12
Last night was a mistake; I realized that immediately. I don’t know what I was thinking, having sex with an employee. What a foolish thing to do. I have no idea what came over me; best I can piece together is that between the wine, my attraction to her that I was trying to ignore, and the stresses of the day swirled into a perfect storm that that caused me to slip, resulting in me acting upon impulses that I should’ve known better than to indulge.
After our…tryst, I composed myself, told Ms. Kimble that I needed to attend to some business, and, after helping her gather her clothing, excused myself for the evening. It was less chivalrous that I would’ve normally done, just leaving her there like that, but I was quickly coming to my senses and needed some solitude in which to think.
In my study, I prepared a small glass of single-malt scotch and thought. I didn’t want to fire here; aside from how that would look, I realized that I not only was she a quality hire, I actually enjoyed her company. And the fact that she was so willing to spend time with Olive, even getting her to open up, well, all of this amounted to an employee who was a wise decision to bring on board.
But I couldn’t let her think that we were now somehow…involved. I don’t mix business with pleasure, and though Ms. Kimble was a charming, lovely young woman -extremely charming and lovely, to be precise- I couldn’t have a girlfriend-slash-personal assistant; it would be unheard of.
So, what to do?
As I sipped my drink and looked out onto the evening lights of the city, I considered my situation. After a time, I realized that the best course of action would be to quickly and forcefully reestablish the employee/employer barrier that was breached our little rendezvous.
I tossed off the rest of my drink and headed off to bed, ready to put the events of the evening behind me. But my sleep was restless.
The next morning, after my fitness routine, I dressed and went into the kitchen. Ms. Kimble and Olive were sitting at the counter, Olive showing Ms. Kimble one thing or another in her book. The sight pleased me, and I was happy to see that Olive was opening up a little. As I walked in, they both stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to me.
“Morning,” said Ms. Kimble, her voice a little sunnier and familiar than I would’ve liked, a smile on her face.
“Good morning,” I said, my own voice crisp and professional as I tied my tie.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” asked Ms. Kimble.
“Work,” I said. “We have another meeting with the Canadian distributer today, and plenty to do after that.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice sinking, as though hoping I would’ve engaged in a little light-hearted banter. “I made eggs.”
“I’ll have something in the car, thank you,” I said, pulling the knot of my tie tight.
“Sure, ok,” she said.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ms. Kimble’s face fall a few degrees. It didn’t please me to do this, but I wanted to make sure the message was loud and clear, with nothing for her to grab onto as proof of our relationship bein
g anything other than professional from this point on.
I sent Olive off with a kiss when her ride arrived, and when she left, I told Ms. Kimble to get ready to leave for the office. It was easy to tell that the words “so, about last night…” were dying to jump loose from her lips. But, thankfully, she held back.
The ride to the office was uneventful, as I was in the middle of a car during the entirety of the drive.
“Please transcript the following phone calls,” I said, placing a flash drive next to Ms. Kimble as she sat in my office, already busy typing up some memos.
“Sure, OK,” she said, a small amount of frustration slipping into her tone. “I don’t know when I’m going to get to it before the meeting, though.”
“Just get it done.”
13
I tried to stay strong as I worked through the assignments that Trent had given me. But it was just so much to get done, even without the added stress of him absolutely refusing to mention what happened last night.
He must have thought I was stupid, that I was going to wake up the next morning with a head full of naive, childish fantasies, thinking that we were going to run off and get married or something. I could tell right when we walked in, his face stern and icy, what was going to happen. Or, what wasn’t going to happen. I’m not the most experienced girl, but I knew the situation.
And the work was just to make sure the message was read loud and clear. Well, Mr. Lane, it was. I got that he wanted me to not forget that our relationship was business, but it was just so much work. And though the logical part of my brain was being realistic about what was happening, that didn’t make it any easier for me.
I just wanted to cry, to let it all out, to allow myself to turn into a big, weepy mess, just for a little while, just for enough time to get everything out of my system. But I knew Mr. Lane returning to the office only to see me sobbing like a big baby wouldn’t exactly cause him to view me in the most professional light.
