Lunchtime Chronicles: A Yummy Sub

by Olivia Gaines

  “Gracious woman, you are going to work, not the local watering hole,” Jeffrí chastised herself and grabbed a sweater. She found herself humming as she put on a bit of makeup and added a touch of lipstick before going to her car.

  WYATT MILAND ITCHED from head to toe as he tried on three pairs of pants, trying to find the pair which made his junk look big. At 52 years old, he’d believed that a man of his stature had evolved past this point in his life, but Jeffrí Jones was in his office. The award winning, much younger, extremely intelligent journalist was his sub. As a temp. In his office of obituary writers.

  “Stop being stupid,” he warned as he changed pants again, this time a blue pair which fit his bum, and the pleats gave him the appearance of being a much larger man, jacking up his bulge to look like he could make a woman happy. He had nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about since nature had dealt him a fair hand in that department, but a bit of advertising never hurt in brand management. He knew how to play it, and for the damnedest reason, he wanted to play with Jeffrí.

  Never before had he dated a woman of color, not that he didn’t find them attractive. Watching her on the news had kept his attention and he often wondered what he would say to a woman like that, if he ever got the chance. Social circles hadn’t brought them together and fate shoved them into the same small clown car. It had to mean something.

  Shrugging his shoulders, he wondered privately if he was trying with her because he knew she was scarred and broken, otherwise he would never have a chance with the ilk of a woman like that. The other side of the argument in his chaotic brain was that she was just plain cool and thought he was too. Plus, there was that fricking humming between them which tickled the nerve ends of his cock. That too, got his undivided attention.

  “It’s only her second day on the job. Hell, she may not even come back today,” Wyatt told himself as he adjusted his package in the pants that were entirely too tight.

  Either way, he was going to work side by side with her today, which led him to his dresser to pick out a cologne, subtle but not too strong. Spraying one shot to his groin, he thought it would be enough so he didn’t seem as if he was trying too hard to win her favor. Double-checking himself in the mirror, he sighed, ready to tackle the day.

  “GOOD MORNING, MR. MILAND,” Jeffrí said as she swished past his office in the A-line skirt that fit her rounded bottom like a glove.

  “Ms. Jones,” he remarked, “when you get logged in and settled, we will take a look at the requests that came in last night, then head to the morgue.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you, about that whole morgue thing,” she said, her eyebrows arched.

  “Yes, I’m usually serious about everything I say. You will learn that about me,” he said, looking around her to the elevator that opened to let out a feral Catherine Eldin. “Shit.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Jeffrí said, peering around him to see what he the item which caused such a reaction.

  “Anytime you see that woman it’s not good,” he remarked, standing up, his blue slacks sticking to his midsection, emphasizing the sizeable bump in the pants. She noticed it all, making no comment. Jeffrí shifted her eyes to the door, suddenly feeling extremely thirsty.

  “Sorry to desert you, but I’m running for my corner,” she said, turning, but being halted by his hand on her arm. The skin prickled, turning to gooseflesh under his touch. Wyatt noticed just as she did.

  “We stand against that minx together, or this salad is going to be very messy,” Wyatt said, moving quickly to stand in front of Jeffrí, addressing Catherine. “Ms. Eldin, coming to check on my sub to make sure I’m not tormenting her?”

  “No, quite the opposite,” Catherine said, looking Jeffrí up and down. “Her skillset far exceeds this Department, and there is an opening on the news desk for a Field Reporter. I wanted to see if Ms. Jones would be interested.”

  Wyatt moved aside again, allowing Jeffrí to be fully seen by Catherine’s prying eyes. His gaze remained focused on the HR Manager, who seemed focused on the close proximity in which Jeffrí stood by Wyatt. The energy sparked between them in such a palpable manner that Catherine noticed it immediately.

  “I see,” Catherine said, pausing to exhale coffee-scented breath, “but the job on the news desk is permanent, full time, and has benefits. The salary is in the low 50s, but with your experience, I can easily see squeezing out a few grand more, if you’re interested.”

  Jeffrí liked the chance to get back in the game, and she liked the idea of the nice salary even more. Her bank account was currently filled with dust bunnies and aggressive zeros. Luckily for her, the little circles hadn’t turned red yet, but another two weeks and they would be. She wasn’t ready for the type of job Catherine offered, and she also couldn’t afford to work a month in the hole for a salaried position.

  “I truly appreciate the opportunity, Ms. Eldin,” Jeffrí offered. “However, my journalistic skills are rusty and I’m broke. The temp agency will provide me a check each week, which is what I need. Mentally, getting dressed and leaving the house is a task, and I took this assignment hoping, seriously, that dealing with death every day would make me appreciate living more.”

  “Well, now I have other concerns, Ms. Jones. Are you sure you’re fit to return to work?”

  “I’m not a danger to anyone, least of all myself.” Jeffrí replied. “All of this sexy, wasted on doing nothing with it and a sharp brain to boot, will not be idle for too long. Sleeping at night is tough, which makes the mornings rough. Other than that, Mr. Miland can count on me to handle anything he needs.”

  Wyatt respected her honesty as he tried desperately to silence the whirring between them, which seem to intensify each time she opened her sexy ass mouth. In his heart, he wished she’d take the damned job and get out of his Department, which meant he could pursue the lady without a conflict of interest. The downside was if the lady left him to go another Department, she would no longer be available for him to look at every damned day. It was just Day Two and he’d had a boner since she walked through the door after lunch yesterday.

  He wanted to play along with the words she shared with Catherine.

  “Catherine, we should be able to transition Ms. Jones into several flexible positions once I get her broken in here,” he said with a straight face. “Her working under me she won’t find to be difficult. It just requires a bit of finesse. I look forward to helping her bang out a few kinks in the old skillsets and get back on the saddle and give the team a good ride. Ms. Jones?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, giving him a nod, then turning her stare at Catherine. “I’m sure Mr. Miland will use a hands-on approach with me to get a proper snug fit in this Department. Honestly, I just get all tingly with excitement at what he plans to have me boink first. Not too excited about the whole morgue thing, but a woman has to pay the bills.”

  Catherine Eldin detested them both. In her face, no less, making sexual innuendos in front of the HR Manager of one of the most respected newspapers in the South. Scowling, she pursed her lips tightly. “The offer doesn’t stand for long Ms. Jones, so please don’t let the opportunity pass and get stuck down in the basement,” Catherine said.

  “Ms. Eldin, I’m anxious to see what Mr. Miland is going to dangle for me to gnaw on,” she said with a half-smile to Catherine.

  “Now, Ms. Jones,” Wyatt chimed in, “I’m never going to put on you more than I think you can handle.”

  “Sir, I take that as a challenge and welcome the opportunity to show you just how skilled this journalist is at dealing with hard, rigid matters. I plan to take it all in hand and give it a good tug,” Jeffrí retorted. “I’m not afraid to get my hands sticky.”

  “Ugh,” Catherine said, turning on her heel to walk away. Over her shoulder she called back, “I don’t want a lawsuit from either of you. Figure it out now, before you both do something extremely stupid and give me a bigger headache than my houseful of flipping cats.”

  “S
he needs therapy, Catherine,” Wyatt called after the woman.

  “So, do you and your new playmate in pretentious words,” Catherine snapped, pressing the elevator up button repeatedly. “I’m serious. No lawsuits. Respect this company and no grab-assing in the workplace.”

  “Catherine, I would never,” Wyatt said, trying to sound disgusted at the insinuation. Actually, he was disgusted with her suggesting that he would step out of line after all of in his years with the company, he didn’t have a single complaint or write up on him or his actions as a supervisor. Jeffrí moved closer to stand at his side. The smell of her lightly scented perfume went through his nose, hit his brain, and shot straight to his crotch. Wide-eyed at the rapid change in the reaction of his body, he pointed at Catherine and made a beeline to sit behind his desk.

  Jeffrí provided a wave to Catherine, looking at her new supervisor sitting behind his desk, trying to sort through the bevvy of emotions capsizing his life.

  “Hey Boss, what time do you want to head over to the morgue?” she asked.

  “Give me a few, and we can get going,” he said, pretending to check his email.

  “Let me know when you’re ready,” she said, raising of one eyebrow.

  Wyatt refused to answer because if he had his way, ready was right now, on his desk, clawing at his back, whispering his name as she found her pleasure. Instead he mumbled, “Sounds like a plan.”

  Jeffrí didn’t know what to make of her behavior. The man made her feel things she hadn’t felt since before her accident, and the idea of being taken away from him almost made her panic. Her mother always said, “Chile, sometimes you have to be quiet and listen to the universe. It will tell you your next steps.”

  “Thank heavens you didn’t say be quiet and listen to God because I know for certain the Almighty isn’t telling me to do that!” Jeffrí said under her breath as she made her way back to the office.

  Chapter Four – Cheese – Cheesing, & Cheesy

  Hunger.

  It was the stupid fucking scar on her face. The sexy confident woman who stood in flak jackets on the deck of battle cruisers was not the woman in his office. A glimpse of that former reporter showed up when they were speaking to Catherine, but now, as she stood in the elevator, the distance too great away from him as far as he was concerned, this Jeffrí was back to being the church mouse. The energy was still between them, the subtle hum which became stronger the slower the elevator moved. He had no need for a timid woman, either behind the desk or in his bed. She just needed the right piece of cheese to coax her out.

  “My car is right outside the parking deck doors,” he said.

  “Good because I didn’t have time to put gas in mine this morning,” she said, turning her face to shield the scar with her hair.

  “Please, don’t do that,” he said softly. “The scar only adds mystery to you. The wound has an appeal of strength and coupled with that strut of yours...I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Jeffrí said. “I wondered if you felt the tug between us as well, then when Catherine started talking to you...truthfully, it feels good to be wanted.”

  “Wanted? Is that what you call what’s happening between us in my head? Being wanted?” He asked as the elevator came to a stop, and two people got on as they stepped out. Wyatt shoved his hand under Jeffrí’s elbow, pushing her towards the sleek black two door Audi TTS. He opened the door, almost shoving her into the passenger seat. Wyatt rounded the rear of the car, yanking the driver door open wide. The leather seats squeaked under his weight as he sat in the seat, his eyes forward, and started the car.

  “You were saying—before we got interrupted—about what was happening in your head,” Jeffrí started, the scar on her face hidden from his view.

  Wyatt’s intention was to get out of the parking lot and at least off company property. He sighed deeply, looking at the thigh under the skirt of the toned leg that made his mouth almost water.

  “Jeffrí, my apologies,” he said. “I’m wrong and my behavior is unprofessional. If you choose to not work with me, I would understand.”

  “No, I want to work with you. That’s why I didn’t take her up on her offer,” she said as she watched him shift the gears on the speedy car and maneuver out of the parking structure. “Plus, I need to know what this buzzing is between us. Besides, you asked the questions about what was happening in your head, as if I could guess. Now, I’m curious about what is going on in that mind of yours.”

  Wyatt maneuvered the car to a small, abandoned building, pulling the vehicle around the back. “Listen, my job means everything to me. You...in person, good grief. I feel like I’m 21 all over again. It feels good to be alive, in my head and other places,” he said softly. “Please don’t think I’m that kind of boss or that kind of man.”

  “What kind of man are you?” she asked, her hand going to his thigh.

  “A very hungry man who hasn’t been properly fed in a very long time, Ms. Jones,” he said, looking down at his own leg to keep him from placing his hands on hers. “My wife didn’t enjoy coupling with me, and after the two cats she brought home escalated into a hoard of 20 felines, the smell of cat shit killed my libido. Since the divorce, I work or work out. Dating in Atlanta is tough, and then you walk in my office and every light and buzzer in me has gone off.”

  “Same here,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Over my career, being the only woman imbedded with a group of men, I had strict rules on engaging with male co-workers and more so for the boss. This is out to the norm for me, but I’ve been self-sequestered since the—well, you know. Plus, you smell so damned good.”

  “Okay, so I take that as a yes, we’re going to explore this humming. Please tell me, what are the rules of engagement?” Wyatt asked.

  “In the office, no semblance of a connection outside of the building,” she said, surprised at her desire to give in so easily, but like him, she too hadn’t been fed in three damn years and she was starving.

  “What else?” he asked, cheesing it up with a wide grin.

  “I don’t have anything else right now,” she said. “What about you?”

  His hands gripped the steering wheel. There were things he wanted to say that he never had, and Wyatt Miland felt an honesty surface in him when it came to this woman, empowering him with the knowledge that he could actually be himself, an opportunity to live it out loud the way he wanted.

  “I like to talk dirty when I have sex and to cuddle afterwards,” he said with a smile.

  “Oh, is that all?” she asked, arching her eyebrows.

  “No,” he said softly. “All my life, I’ve had to be this alpha male and take care of a woman. After the death of my father, I was entrusted with the overseeing of my mother and my sisters and looking out for my nieces, but truthfully, I want someone to spoil me. Hell, I want to come home once a week and have bathwater waiting for me, a hot meal ready with a great Bordeaux, and a blowjob before bed.”

  Wyatt started to laugh. “Hell, at one point I fancied myself wanting a few kids to greet me at the front door, screaming ‘Papa, Papa, I got an A in English Class,’” he chuckled.

  “Of course, the children have to be great in English,” she countered with a smile, looking down at her watch. “We need to get to the morgue and back to the office. The work is piling up on the desk and I have a great deal to learn.”

  “Certainly, but I must ask, what is you want out of this?” he asked, putting the car into reverse.

  “Don’t know,” she said. “My career has always come first. Any man in my life was for maintenance and once I got the right toys, the men I no longer bothered with, so I don’t know.”

  “Children?”

  “Never tried to have any,” she told him as he maneuvered down I-285, bobbing and weaving through traffic, connecting to Mathis Parkway, and steamrolling his way into downtown. “I’ve never met a man I wanted to have in my life for 21 consistent years of little league, soccer, and the whole off to college process.”


  The faster he drove the sporty little Audi, the more aroused she became. The scent of his cologne filled the cabin of the auto, and if the man even reached over to touch her arm, she was going to explode in the most unladylike fashion on the leather seats of his car. Actually, having a discussion with an adult man about sex before they got into anything heavy, stimulated Jeffrí. Her body began to heat up. Dampness collected in the cotton undies as she tried feebly to look out the window and shift her brain down two gears.

  Wyatt drove the car as fast as he could since the erection straining against the opening of his pants would soon imprint the teeth of the zipper into his manhood. Plus, he knew of a private room in the morgue where he used to sit for hours undisturbed. Fifteen more minutes and they would be there. Away from prying eyes. Scratching the itch. He was eager to taste the nectar he could smell wafting in the air like a roaming feral lion coming up on a lioness in heat, ready to pounce, mate, and have the lady yank on his mane.

  The fifteen minutes passed rapidly, and Wyatt switched lanes coming down Peachtree, turning onto Memorial and finally down Pryor Street.

  “We’re here,” he said softly, putting the car into Park. Struggling to get out of the vehicle, he prayed that the walk around the car would lessen the raging boner dying for release. Grateful for the sports jacket he normally wore, it seemed odd to have it fastened, yet he needed covering protecting in his obvious status, which she quickly recognized and couldn’t help herself for acting on impulse. Stepping out of the car, Jeffrí allowed her hand to brush against his leg, checking for placement of the goody she sought.

  Locating the prize that she wanted, she gave the phallus a good squeeze, and a whelp, followed by a groan, came from the owner.

  “That’s pretty nice,” she said to him. “I look forward to getting to know him a little more personally.”