Don't Touch

by Lucy Wild

  I closed the blinds, not wanting any early starters to see me rummaging through his things. Then I got to work, my coat on the hook by the door, me shivering as the heating slowly cranked into life.

  His desk was empty of papers, ridiculously tidy in fact. If this was a cheesy detective story, this would be the point where he carelessly left his drawers unlocked and I’d conveniently find all the evidence I needed in one file marked ‘Blackmailing material - Do not read.” Probably beside a pistol and a bottle of whisky.

  But this was real life, not a story, and the drawers of his desk were locked. As was the filing cabinet. As was his computer. What was accessible was a collection of cleaning equipment neatly laid out in the corner of the room with a note attached to a brush.

  Use these.

  - M.R

  I’d soon searched the office and found precisely nothing so unsure what else to do, I picked up a bottle of spray and squirted it onto his desk, muttering to myself as I did so. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  With a cloth in my hand, I began rubbing the dark wood of the desk, my mind going back to the previous night. I fell into the fantasy once more, losing myself in it as I worked my way around the desk. Bizarrely, I got into the role of cleaner as time went on, tutting at the sight of dust on the top of his filing cabinet, bent paperclips that had missed the bin, a dubious faded stain on the wall by the door.

  I was on my hands and knees when he arrived. I heard the door opening behind me and looked back over my shoulder, realising that his eyes were fixed on my behind as I used the brush and dustpan to sweep up the last of the dust. It took me a second to work out why he was staring and then I knew. My skirt had ridden up the back of my thighs. I had no doubt I was flashing him those ridiculous ruffled knickers, the fabric too thick for me to have realised just how exposed I had become.

  “Good morning, Tilly,” he said, turning to hang up his coat. “I’m glad to see you hard at work.”

  “Good morning, Mr Radcliffe,” I replied, jumping upright and tugging my skirt back down into place before he turned round to face me. “I’ve done as you asked.”

  “So you have,” he said, sitting behind his desk and running a finger along it. “Not a speck of dust. I’m impressed.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. It felt like he was praising me and the little girl inside me leapt for joy when he did, the adult me scolding her for getting over excited about something so minor.

  “Well, you better get back to work,” he said, unlocking his desk drawer and pulling out a thick sheaf of papers. “Off you go.”

  I wanted to say something, anything to get a reaction. I felt so deflated all of a sudden as he seemed completely uninterested in my clothes. Alison had got it completely wrong, I should never have listened to her. This was a stupid idea and I was stupid for listening to her. Not only that but I was going to have to spend the rest of the working day looking like an overgrown child whilst everyone whispered behind their hands, pointing and giggling at me as I tried to keep my stupid, stupid outfit under control.

  “Oh, one more thing,” he said as I went to open the door.

  “Yes?” I asked, turning back hopefully.

  “You are not wearing appropriate underwear for the workplace. Panties like that are suitable for a little girl, not for a grown woman. I do not want to see them on you again.”

  He had seen them then. My cheeks began to burn with embarrassment as I thought how idiotic I was for thinking this idea might work. It might work in some erotic short story but no real man would risk his career and his reputation over my pathetic seduction attempts. I opened my mouth to say something but he’d already turned back to his computer. His voice had been so serious when he spoke, so cold, not a hint of desire to it. He was furious with me but at least he had stopped short of sacking me. That was something. Now all I had to do was survive the rest of the day looking like I was about to appear in a schoolgirl themed strip show.

  No, I didn’t have to last all day. I could change during my lunch hour. Get rid of the little girl look and become super business woman again. Though, that still left me with the problem of how the hell was I going to get some dirt on Mason Radcliffe?

  Chapter Seven

  With Mr Radcliffe’s door closed behind me, I froze in place, looking out at the office and wondering just what everyone was thinking about me. The longer I stood there, the harder it became to move. After what felt like an eternity, Susie, the office manager and Radcliffe’s number two, came across to me, her face a picture of maternal concern. “Are you all right, Natalie?” she asked, her hand on my arm. “You look very pale.”

  “I’m fine,” I managed to mutter, waiting for the inevitable comment on my choice of clothes. It never came.

  “I’ve got a bit of organising to do down in the archive room this morning. If I get you set up on that end desk, do you think you could sort these client files into alphabetical order for me?”

  “Sure,” I replied, feeling bewildered. How could she not comment on my skirt? Or the fact that I looked about twelve? “Over here?”

  Once I was settled into a cubicle with three walls surrounding me, my stress levels gradually started to lower. No one had said a word about my clothes. Perhaps I was being too uptight. Maybe this was nothing unusual. She left me with a stack of orange files and the promise of more to come and slowly I began to organise them into archive boxes.

  I paused when I was halfway down the pile, digging my phone out from my handbag and texting Alison. “Meet me at Moira’s at 1.”

  “How’s it going?” she messaged back a few seconds later. “Has he shagged you yet?”

  “Tell you later.”

  It took a long time for one o’clock to roll round and when it finally did, I had three full archive boxes and a strong desire to throw them all out of the window. Alphabetising is not the most exciting thing in the world. To think, I had taken a week out of college to do this. Mr Radcliffe’s office and the secrets therein seemed an awfully long way away and I had absolutely no idea how to get the dirt Mr Mitchell wanted me to find. I could almost feel the twenty grand slipping through my fingers.

  Heading off for lunch, I glanced over at the corner of the office but Mr Radcliffe hadn’t opened the blinds all morning. I wrapped my coat around me and dashed for the lift, finding a huddle of people waiting to descend. Not wanting to risk any of them asking me about my outfit, I took the stairs, coming out in reception a couple of minutes later.

  When I got to Moira’s coffee shop, Alison was already there, settled in a corner, waving when she saw me. I ordered a latte and went to join her.

  “So?” she asked. “How did it go? Tell me everything. Spare no details, no matter how slutty. You were slutty weren’t you? Tell me you were slutty.”

  A waitress’s arm slid between us, placing my latte on the table. “Thanks,” I said, ignoring her look as I turned back to Alison. “It did not go well.”

  I told her what had happened as succinctly as I could.

  “You mean to tell me you were bent over on all fours with your arse pointing towards him, knickers on show, and all he did was say good morning?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  “Well, he’s clearly gay.”

  “He’s not gay.”

  “I’m no bloke, Natalie, but I’ve seen your arse before and any man who sees it in all its glory and then just says good morning is not going to join the alpha male club any time soon.

  “Remind me why we’re friends again.”

  “Because I tell you the truth. No, hang on, hang on, I’ve just worked it out.” She was waving her arms at me, jumping up and down in her seat. “He fancies you.”

  “What? A minute ago, he was definitely gay.”

  “Listen to me. He’s the boss of a huge company, right?”

  “Right.”

  “He can’t let his guard down at work, has to be on best behaviour. So, when he sees you presenting yourself like a dog in heat, he can’t imm
ediately pounce on you and tear those knickers off, can he?”

  “I’m a dog in heat?”

  “Like a dog, not a dog. You know I don’t think you’re a dog, more of a pig.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What? I had a whole quiche in the fridge on Saturday and where was it on Sunday? Inside you.”

  “I was hungry,” I said with a shrug. “That doesn’t mean you get to call me a pig.”

  “Stop wandering off the point. He can’t do you there and then, he has to remain professional, act like everything’s normal.”

  “It was a very good act.”

  “He wouldn’t have told you not to wear those panties again if he didn’t feel anything at all for you. He’d have just not mentioned it. Same if he were gay.”

  “So gay people never talk about pants?”

  She ignored me. “You know what you should do?”

  I looked at my watch. “Go and buy some more respectable clothes before I have to get back to work.”

  “Leave those knickers on his desk.”

  “Have you gone insane?”

  “It’s perfect. He said he didn’t want to see those panties on you again, right?”

  “Right,” I said, the suspicion evident in my voice. “What’s your point?”

  “You prove you’re a good little girl by leaving them for him to find. What better way to prove you’ve obeyed his instructions?”

  “This isn’t a porno, Alison. I’m not just going to leave my knickers on his desk and spend the rest of the day without any. I’m not you.”

  “Do it at the end of the day then, before you go home.”

  “You’re missing the point. I’m not going to walk around without any knickers on in a skirt this short.”

  “So you’d do it in a longer skirt?”

  “Very funny,” I said as she sipped her coffee. “Are you coming clothes shopping with me or not?”

  “You’re serious? What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

  “I look like I might be arrested for truancy.”

  “You look hot.”

  “I don’t care how hot I look. Now are you coming or not?”

  She drained her coffee before we both stood up and left together. She could be a nightmare at times but she was still a good friend. By the time we’d finished shopping, I felt a lot better. She’d made me laugh more times than I could count. I gave her a carrier bag with the slutty outfit inside, leaving her to make her way home whilst I walked back to the office.

  It was while I was stood in the lift that I felt a slight bulge in my jacket pocket. Reaching inside, I pulled out the ruffled panties much to the amusement of the middle aged man stood next to me.

  Cramming them back into my pocket, I was glad of the doors opening a second later, allowing me a chance to dart out and get away from the winks he was giving me. Alison must have put them in my jacket without me noticing. Did she really expect me to follow through on her advice after she had got it so wrong last time? He didn’t have a crush on me, that was a ludicrous idea. I was far too young for him.

  The next pile of files hadn’t arrived by the time I reached my cubicle so I began reading a book on my phone. Just as I flipped a page, an email notification popped up and I glanced around me before opening it.

  How’s it going? Find anything yet?

  It was from Mr Mitchell. I checked no one was nearby before replying.

  Nothing yet.

  Well, what have you tried?

  I searched the office but his drawers were locked.

  Have you tried his phone? His computer?

  Locked too.

  Anything else? You must have found something.

  I did find a magazine in his car.

  What sort of magazine?

  An erotic one.

  Porn? What sort of porn? Tell me he’s into weird shit.

  It had a woman dressed as a little girl on the front cover.

  That’s it! Dress up like that, get him to come on to you.

  I’ve tried it.

  What do you mean, you’ve tried it?

  I dressed up like that this morning. He didn’t even notice.

  What did you wear, tell me exactly.

  A pleated grey skirt, white blouse, white socks, Mary Jane shoes.

  I’d liked to have seen that. How did he react?

  Told me to get on with my work.

  Damn it. Look, that’s all we’ve got to go on. Tell him you’re into that, try and seduce him. We haven’t got forever on this.

  Mr Mitchell, I’m not comfortable with that. I’m not a prostitute.

  You don’t have to sleep with him. Just get him somewhere where I can take a few photos and if you happen to look younger in the snaps, so what? He’ll never be able to prove it. A bit of blackmail and we’re home free.

  I don’t think I can agree to that.

  50k.

  What?

  50k seeing as you’re so reluctant to degrade yourself. 50k to take him to dinner somewhere, just tell me where and when.

  There was a cough behind me and I spun round to find Susie standing at the edge of my cubicle, a stackful of files in her arms. “Good lunch?” she asked as she dumped them on my desk.

  I glanced past her just as Mr Radcliffe emerged from his office. “Susie?” he called out. “Can I have a quick word?”

  I picked up the first file, pretending to read through it as the two of them walked slowly past me, Mr Radcliffe talking as he went.

  “I’ll be back by six, reckon you can keep them in line until then?”

  “I can’t see that being a problem.”

  Their voices faded as they moved away and I looked up, seeing Mr Radcliffe’s door was still ajar.

  Fifty thousand pounds. It was more than double what I had expected to be paid for this. I could degrade myself just a little for fifty grand. And if Mr Radcliffe happened to be so enamoured with me during our date that he was willing to give me a little kiss, where was the harm in that? It wasn’t really entrapment if I enjoyed the kiss, was it?

  I stood up, carrying a file under my arm as I walked nonchalantly towards his office. I walked inside without hesitating, glad that the blinds were still down. Digging the knickers out of my pocket, I whispered a silent prayer as I placed them in a crumpled pile in the middle of his desk. I turned and left, sliding back into my seat just as Susie walked back past.

  She pulled his door closed, the click of it locking loud enough for me to hear from my chair. That was that then, I thought. No turning back. My knickers were on his desk. Almost at once, I regretted what I’d done, wondering if I could think of an excuse for Susie to unlock it and let me retrieve them. “Sorry, Susie, I think I accidentally left my pants in the CEO’s office. Whoops!”

  Yeah, right. She’d have me thrown out of the building a second after I told her.

  I concentrated on the files, praying she’d unlock his office again. It didn’t happen. She headed off to the archives and hadn’t returned by five. I stood up as people started to gather their things, wincing inwardly as I thought about what I’d done. Why did I always listen to Alison?

  “I think I fancy Mr Radcliffe,” I texted her as I walked home. “What the hell do I do about this?”

  “Did you leave him the little gift I suggested?” she replied.

  “I did, God help me.”

  “You did? OMG, Natalie! I can’t believe you did it. Seriously, you’re not bullshitting me?”

  “I did and now he’s going to find them and I’ll be fired and never get to see him again.”

  “Trust me, that’s not what he’s going to do when he finds them.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “The intuition of the sexually experienced. If I were you, I’d get my pussy warmed up ready for action.”

  She had a real way with words at times. I didn’t reply, too busy trying to avoid thinking about what I’d done. I had a heavy sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’d made a huge mi
stake, one that I’d regret forever.

  Alison was waiting for me when I got home. “I am so proud of you,” she said, patting the sofa next to her. “Sit down and tell me everything.”

  “There’s nothing much to tell. I put them on his desk like you said.”

  “And what happened when he saw them?”

  “I don’t know. He was out all afternoon.”

  “So they’re still there?”

  “I presume so.”

  “Wow. Well tomorrow’s going to be interesting then.”

  “Yep.”

  She was silent for a moment before punching my shoulder. “You never told me you fancied him though.”

  I sighed. “If you’re going to hit me for it, I’m going to wish I hadn’t told you.”

  “But you’ve never fancied anyone. What’s so special about him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is he hot?”

  “I suppose so.” I thought about how he’d looked with his shirt off. “But it’s academic anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s rich, successful and attractive. Everything I’m not.”

  “Stop it,” she snapped, poking me in the chest. “Don’t put yourself down like that, it’s your worst trait. That and eating my quiche.”

  “God, I’ll buy you another quiche.”

  “I’m kidding. But listen, you’re hot, Natalie Brook. Trust me on that one.”

  “I’m not rich or successful though. He won’t give me a second glance.”

  “Trust me, once he sees what you’ve left on his desk, he’ll have you in for an appraisal that’ll start with your work ethic and end with you doing a jerk on his ethic.”

  “That doesn’t work.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m going for a bath. I feel dirty. I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Yes, you should.”

  And as it turned out. She was right.

  Chapter Eight

  I didn’t get back to the office until after seven. Pretty much everyone had gone home including Tilly. I had been hoping to see her again before the end of the day but my meeting dragged on for hours.