by Jamie Knight
Immediately, my body temperature spikes. My cheeks flush, but I force it to stay out of my voice.
“No, not particularly.”
“Do you have any plans to eat lunch at all, or do you only eat on Wednesdays?”
I bite back a laugh. I haven’t had a break for lunch since Wednesday, and it’s now Friday.
“I could have plans,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as silly and obvious as I feel.
“Could, if someone made them for you? Asked you politely to meet them down there?”
I smile, but keep this from my voice. “Sure. I suppose if someone were to ask me politely, make those plans for me, then I might make it happen.”
I blush a deeper red.
Oh, Christ! I need to stop flirting with her like that! I’m being way, way too obvious. Way to forward, and with a woman who already has a boyfriend! I shake my head, cursing my masturbation session the night before.
It must’ve done more than loosen up my tensions below the belt. It must’ve loosened up my tongue as well.
“Well then.” I hear the phone moving on the other end. A body moving as well. “Please, Tommy,” Melissa whispers. I don’t know how she gets to sound so cute and demanding at the same time. “Please come to the cafeteria for lunch in twenty minutes, so you don’t pass out from eating nothing but that pop tart.” A small, consuming pause. “I’m begging you, Tommy. Come down for lunch today, please.”
I clear my throat, shifting in my office chair. Even with just that, she’s given me a quickly-growing erection. I press it down, telling myself to cool down. Sure, she’s using a lot of charm on me. She’s talking to me in a voice that would drive any guy crazy or melt him on the spot, but I need to maintain control of myself. And of this situation. I am her boss, after all.
“Fine,” I say, clearing my throat again, and trying to take on the commanding, in-control voice I imagine she might like. It’s gentle but edged in firmness. “Since you asked so nicely, so politely, I’ll come down to the cafeteria. I’ll get some lunch, but I better not see you working through lunch if I don’t get to, Melissa.”
Now my voice is making me hard.
For some reason, I just imagined walking her away from her desk in a collar and leash. Pink, studded with diamonds.
“Of course, Tommy,” she murmurs.
I like the sound of it. It’s obedient but mischievous. I can tell she’s smiling and flushing all over, though she’s trying so hard not to show it.
“Now patch me through that call,” I say, bringing out my commanding energy again. “Wouldn’t want you getting me in trouble with my boss.”
“Of course not, sir,” she answers and quickly drops off the line. Though her response is quick and clipped, it’s got heat reaching behind it. Thick, deep energy.
“Sir?” Oh my God! She called me “sir”! And not because she should, or because it is some form of etiquette. There’s way too much sexy behind that to be just manners!
My mind is blitzed out on this, as is my cock, but before it can get any further than it already is, the caller addresses me.
“Vanacore?”
It takes me a hot moment to get collected. When I do, all I can make out is a quivering “no,” to the caller.
Immediately, he sounds miffed. He’s gotten a heavy southern accent. Boyish tone, though. Sounds a lot younger then he probably is. Like sixteen years old or something.
“Why do I have to keep talking to other people besides the one I want?” he demands. “First, it was Mary Poppins, and now it’s you, whoever you are.”
I take immediate insult to “Mary Poppins” and say, “Hey! If you’re going to call here and be like that, I’m not under any obligation to forward any of your complaints to my boss, little boy, so you better shape up, or prepare to get shipped off the line.”
My strength and power surprise me. But then again, maybe it’s not so surprising. I did just use a strong, commanding voice with Melissa.
I must still be in that “mode.” Not just from doing it with her, but feeling protective over her against this young guy, whoever he is. Whatever his relationship is with Vanacore.
By what I hear next, it’s obvious that they have more than a legal one.
“Your boss. Ms. Vanacore has someone working for her? And a guy?”
He sounds angrier at this fact of things now, not the fact that he’s not getting to talk to the woman of the hour.
“What’s your name?”
My defenses are immediately up.
“I don’t need to tell you that. You do need to tell me yours, though. If you expect me to pass anything on to my boss.”
The young man growls. “Fin. Just Fin. That’s all I’m going to tell you because that’s all your boss needs to know.”
“One N or two?” I ask, really not liking this kid.
“One.”
I scribble this down on a stray piece of sticky note.
“And may I please take down a note as to why you’re calling her?”
“Not unless you give me a name,” he snaps back.
He definitely sounds like a jilted lover or something. Not your typical client, no matter the reasons they might be calling. It sounds too tender and prickly to be strictly business.
“Tommy,” I reply, thoroughly done dealing with this kid.
“Well, Tommy the Wonderful, tell Vanacore that Fin has time for her and that if she doesn’t want me to go somewhere else, she’d better pick me up.”
I don’t even want to know what he means in this case, or in any case to do with Ms. Vanacore and him. I shudder silently, but Ms. Vanacore comes to my rescue. She comes through the door to our shared office right then, right before I have to contemplate taking down that awkward, charged memo.
“Why don’t you tell her yourself,” I say, finding the button that will transfer the call from my line back to my boss’. “She’s just stepped back into the office.”
Without waiting for a response from Fin just Fin, I push the button and transfer the call. I get up from my desk, definitely ready to go to lunch.
As I go to walk past her, Ms. Vanacore raises her eyebrows. “A boy named Fin called, he’s on the other line for you. He has something to tell you about his time.”
As I say this, Vanacore looks at first nervous and agitated, then unconcerned.
“Oh, he can sit there for a while, that boy.” She straightens up her posture, puts on a glowing smile. “Was wondering if you’d like to go out to lunch. You’ve done such a good job this first week, I thought I might reward you for—”
I hate to burst this bubble, but I’ve already made plans with Melissa. I wouldn’t really call them “plans,” but I went out of my way to order her to accompany me, so if I’m going to be a good boss, I have to turn down mine.
“Sorry, Ms. Vanacore, but I’ve already made plans. Besides. I don’t think Fin should be kept waiting. He sounds high maintenance, that boy.”
With that, I hurry past. I hurry out the door, unable to shake the feeling of being stared at by her as I do. Her eyes are burning holes in my pants, in the back of them as I go. I feel desire and resentment in the stare, but quickly move to put the door in between her and me.
I hurry to the cafeteria, realizing that the food actually smells good down here today. Something like spicy pizza or curry or something. The moment the elevator goes down to the cafeteria floor, which is the same as the private bar, as well as the exercise and relaxation areas, I get off. I also spot Melissa, who is just coming in through one of the big main doors.
She blushes deeply the moment she sees me but comes quickly to my side.
“I’m here, sir,” she murmurs, as we get in line for one of the many “theme” stations, each stationed by what’s probably no less than a five star, classically-trained cook.
“Just like you asked,” she adds, as she guides me into a line that serves both French and Italian cuisines. “If you don’t mind,
I’d love to order your lunch for you today.” I don’t mind one bit. Most of the food is food I’ve never heard of before.
I tell her so, suddenly feeling like we’re not in a cafeteria anymore. We’re not at work. We might as well be at a restaurant on a date. At least, that’s what my rapidly beating heart begins to tell me.
Chapter Twenty-Three - Melissa
It’s fun, picking Tommy’s lunch out for him. It’s also fun getting to order it in French, my second language. I’ve never had so much fun or felt so sexy or cool while speaking French before.
The way Tommy looks at me as I order for both of us is pure magic. Pure adorableness distilled.
I’ve ordered him a classic French dish. A Cassoulet, a comforting, savory stew made out of beans, and roast duck. There are whole actual pieces of roast duck in it, not just shredded pieces.
In addition to this, I’ve ordered him a side of bread and roasted Camembert cheese. For dessert, I’ve gotten him a small chocolate cake. A personal size.
I’ve ordered myself onion soup. In addition to this, I’ve also ordered some steak tartare. Also, some grilled Camembert on a freshly-baked baguette.
For drinks, I’ve managed to convince the cook to open up a bottle of wine for us, though it is during the middle of the workday. A nice red wine for both of us, though only about a quarter or a third of a glass.
Not enough to create problems, but enough to have a taste. Something lovely for the discerning palate.
As I gather both trays of food once they’re assembled, and both glasses of wine perched on said trays, I bid my farewell. Express my gratitude to the chef, who returns it.
As I pick a spot for us in an empty part of the café and sit down, Tommy’s eyes are glowing, as big as saucers. He looks about like I did the first time I ate food like this.
“That’s amazing, Melissa! That French! It sounds so cool. So beautiful.” He blushes, smiling shyly. “I used to think it sounded all hoity-toity.”
“Most people do,” I answer, not taking any offense. “Dennis would.”
I hate everything about those two words. I wish I didn’t even have to bring him up.
Thankfully, Tommy seems not to care that I’ve just brought up my boyfriend. Boyfriend-not-boyfriend, whatever our status is.
He says, “But not you. You make it sound awesome. Beautiful. Something amazing.”
He stares at me like I’m a walking miracle.
“If you don’t mind, I’d love to learn some sometime.”
He blushes.
“This might sound dumb, but if you weren’t against teaching me, I’d love to learn from you.”
This request warms my heart. And, more importantly, takes my heart and mind off Dennis — how unreachable and unfaithful he’s being to me and to our agreement. What our long-distance relationship is supposed to be. Especially since there’s been almost no relating to speak of.
“I don’t mind at all, Tommy. I’d love to teach you. And it’s not a dumb request.” I reach forward, almost touching his hand before I curl my fingers back into my hand. “I’m honored by it.”
I pause, looking down at his food.
He’s started to study it a bit.
“That’s a cassoulet — a stew with beans and duck,” I say pointing it out. “That’s bread and grilled Camembert, a kind of cheese,” I say, pointing that out as well. “And that some chocolate cake,” I say, pointing out the last one as if he needs help deciphering what that is.
A good pastry is known the world over, no matter what culture it comes from.
Tommy chuckles.
“Figured as much,” he says.
And now it’s my turn to think about how cute and wonderful he sounds. That chuckle is so playful and innocent, I almost want to bottle it so I can listen to it whenever I’m feeling sad or stressed.
“This looks delicious, Melissa. Thank you for picking something out for me.”
“You’re welcome,” I say. “It’s not every day that I get the chance to impress someone with my French or food. Not cooked by me, of course, but…”
I gesture helplessly, laughing.
“I get you,” says Tommy, locking eyes with me.
When he does, I get that he really gets me. About the food, but more than that. About my feelings at this moment. He takes his first bite of the soup and makes a surprised, delighted sound. He takes another slurp, then another.
“This is seriously amazing.”
He picks up a bit of the duck and pops it in his mouth. He makes another amazed sound, though this is like a delighted, muffled scream.
“This is unbelievably good, too! Amazing! This is the best thing that came from a bird I’ve ever eaten,” he adds, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Good,” I say. “I’m pleased you like my choices.”
I point to the cheese and freshly sliced baguette.
“You should have some of that before the cheese gets cold. It’s not as though it’s as good, once it cools down.”
Tommy happily obliges, picking up a piece of bread, and slicing off a bit of melted cheese. He puts it on the bread and puts it in his mouth with no fuss, but definitely enough “muss.” The cheese is another big hit, it seems.
Tommy’s eyes practically roll back in his head with how good it is. I think I hear him say something along the lines of it being a thing of beauty, an eighth wonder of the world, but I can’t be sure. All I know is he’s more than happy to eat what I’ve picked for him, and that makes me happily start into my food: my soup and steak tartare.
But as I do, my heart begins to hurt more. Dennis has wandered in again, and I’m left thinking about what our relationship used to be like before he seemed to want nothing to do with me. Before he seemed to be avoiding me and making promises he doesn’t want to keep.
I slough it off after a moment, deciding I have better things to put my mind on right now. Like how much Tommy seems to be enjoying the chocolate cake.
He’s moved on from the cheese and bread and has started to eat some of his dessert first. Something I go ahead and join him in. Might as well have something sweet in me to balance all the bitter in my head.
But, as I’m about to find out, this bit of sweetness is not meant to last. And that’s because my cell phone rings, and with Dennis’s ring tone.
“Sorry, but I have to take this,” I tell Tommy, regretfully.
“No problem,” he says.
“Hello?”
This is all I say when I answer the phone, as I rush out of the cafeteria, embarrassed at having to leave Tommy alone at the table.
On my way out, I see Vanacore strolling my way. I give her a wide berth, holding the phone closer to me.
“What is the meaning of this? Totally blowing me off this morning, and then calling me now?” I demand of Dennis.
I lower my voice a bit more, though it’s exceedingly hard to do since I’m feeling angry. I also remember that accidental voice message he left me a few days ago.
People are staring at me like I’m crazy as I’m jogging and speaking into the phone, but I don’t give a fuck. I push my way out of one of the side doors near the cafeteria. This one spits me out in a more recreational area near the office. A parklike setting Kane and his crew had designed recently so that we would all have a relaxing place to be during our breaks.
“I’m sorry, Melissa.” Dennis sighs as if I’m the one inconveniencing him with my attitude. “I’m sorry I missed our date.”
I hate the scorn he puts on that word. Anyone who is truly sorry about missing a connection like that shouldn’t have the ability to say it that way.
Angry tears spring to my eyes. Now I’m thinking about leaving Tommy at the cafeteria table with questions in his eyes, and Vanacore strolling his way.
“No, you’re not sorry. You’re not sorry you missed our date. You can even say that word without mocking me!”
At this, I hear a door behind me open.
I see Isabella coming through it. She waves at me, but I don’t bother to wave back.
Instead, I turn my back to her and continue, “If you were sorry, as sorry as you claim, you couldn’t leave me hanging there without even an explanation this morning!”
“Melissa!” Dennis snaps at me using his angry, fatherly tone with me. For a moment, it stops my tirade. “Something came up at work, all right?”
He sighs. Then growls.
“I’m sorry about it, but by the time our date came around, I couldn’t get word to you!”
“You couldn’t send me a text?” I squeak this out, feeling more tears flowing.
There’s enough now to mark my cheeks, with cold, betrayed lines.
Dennis sighs, growls again.
“What were you so busy with,”— or who — “that you couldn’t send me a simple, quick text? Something! Anything to let me know you wouldn’t be there!”
“You’re right.” Dennis sounds bored, not sorry. “I should’ve done at least that much. But I didn’t think you were so sensitive as to need that much reassuring, Melissa. See? America’s made you oversensitive and soft. Unable to deal with the unexpected.”
Through all this, I hold my jaw so tight I’m afraid it’s going to break. There are so many things I want to say to him, but I don’t bother with any of those. Instead, I go straight for the throat.
“I heard her,” I growl through my teeth.
“What?”
I know he heard what I just said; he just doesn’t want to believe it.
“I. Heard. Her. I heard her, Dennis,” I say, hoping my teeth don’t break into dust from the pressure I’m putting on them. “Who is she?”
“Who is who?” he asks as if I’m the one who’s lost her mind.
“Another woman. Your phone called me when you didn’t know, and I heard her on there with you. Someone flirting with you, Dennis,” I say, not caring how beside myself I sound or look.
Dennis doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t admit or deny what I’ve just said.