Filthy Dirty Laundry (Filthy Dirty Laundry #1)

by Kailin Gow

  But now that the boss in question is Philip LaFleur...I'm not so sure. He's distracting. Too distracting. And I don't know if I can trust him. What if he's just setting me up – plans to fire me without a reference as some sort of sick favor to his sister Kendall? Revenge for my mother having destroyed his perfect little family? What if...

  But I don't get to go home. I don't get to Netflix bad TV shows and eat cereal with my fingers. I'm stuck in the hospital for the next few days. “For observation,” the doctor says kindly. “It's a major accident you've been in,” he says. “You've sustained some pretty bad injuries.” And Philip LaFleur is picking up the tab for my medical bills, no questions asked.

  “I can't afford to miss work,” I tell Philip, via email.

  “It's my fault I hit you,” he says. He offers me my normal day rate not to sue. “A paid vacation,' he says. “I hope you get some rest. Sweet dreams.”

  Sweet dreams.

  Unfortunately, the dreams I've been having are anything but. By day, I'm coddled, stuck in this bed, unable to move or walk around or do anything because the doctors are so terrified I'm going to pass out again and cause myself even more injury. Johnson pops by two or three times a day to brief me on everything I'm missing, which is simultaneously sweet and extraordinarily frustrating. I hate thinking about how much I'm missing out on.

  But by night...

  Oh, by night.

  Philip LaFleur hasn't just invaded my work life. He's invading my dreams as well. Every time I let blessed sleep take over to pull me out of my boredom, I start to fall into a deep erotic reverie.

  He is cornering me in the office, looking me up and down with that supercilious face of his, raising his eyebrow slightly, smiling, slightly, smirking, slightly, looking at me like he's so sure what he wants, and I know it too. He's pushing me up against the office wall until all the files fall down from their shelves, pushing me up onto the desk and pulling my shirt open, buttons popping everywhere. He's licking and kissing my breasts, closing his hot mouth around my nipples, letting me moan as he traces his tongue to my navel and then lower, his mouth finding that space between my legs that makes everything go white-hot. He is pressing my legs apart with his fingers, licking, his tongue trailing deeper, deeper inside of me...

  And then I moan, and the sound wakes me up.

  “Uh, Sid?”

  “Oh, it's you.” I say. I don't mean it to come out quite as disappointed as it does. But Johnson is sitting at my side, his face bright red with embarrassment, a strange hunger in his eyes. Could he tell what I was dreaming about? I hope not. Even I'm embarrassed at myself.

  My body is sweaty and soaked with pleasure. Dream-Philip may not be real, but the orgasm I've just had certainly is. It's hard to concentrate on the here and now, on the files from the office Johnson has brought over.

  “How was the meeting?” I say, wiping the sweat from my brow. “Philip working you hard?”

  Images of Philip fucking me on the desk flash through my fevered brain.

  “It was pretty dynamic,” Johnson says. “I'm surprised – Philip's a really hands-on kind of boss.”

  I hope he doesn't see how much redder my face gets when he says that.

  “Oh?” I try to act like I haven't just had the most erotic experience of my life. I'm not sure how convincing I am on that front.

  “I mean, I thought sports was crazy...” Johnson sighs. “But the staff meetings over there – everyone's just on the ball, all the time. They're completely insane. Gossip about the Kardashians, Jennifer Lawrence, all these celebrities I've never even heard of. They're all on their smartphones with tipsters 24/7...but I don't know how Philip's supposed to fit into it at all?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Apparently he was a journalist himself,” he says. “A war reporter. He worked for the BBC in Iraq, Afghanistan, all over.”

  My mouth drops open. “Philip?”

  The rocker, in Afghanistan covering war crimes?

  “Apparently he writes under a different name. Trell. To avoid people knowing too much about his family background. It's his mother's maiden name. That's why we didn't make the connection.”

  He's Philip Trell? I've read his coverage before. Not the kind of thing a gossip magazine would run, that's for sure.

  “So what's he doing here? Running a rag like FILTHY?” I love my magazine, but the BBC it ain't.

  “He's overqualified,” Johnson says. I note a little bit of resentment creeping into his voice. “But I have to admit, he's good at his job.”

  “So he's not just a pretty face,” I say.

  “You think he's a pretty face?” Johnson almost sounds jealous. I'm embarrassed and backtrack.

  “I just mean, I thought he was just some vapid presenter-type. The kind women would tune into just to watch him talk.”

  “That's kind of the way of it at FILTHY, though, isn't it?” Johnson coughs. “All those ex-beauty queens with spectacular legs. Like Melissa...”

  I poke Johnson's chest. “We're getting off-topic now,” I say. “What about the changes? To the magazine, I mean?”

  Johnson sighs. “I'm new myself,” he says, “So I'm not sure how different FILTHY DIRTY LAUNDRY is from how it used to be, but there's this weekly meeting now with staff all over the world. They all Skype in from all these different outposts. London, Paris, Rome, Shanghai, Hong Kong – everything and everywhere. And they're reporting on culture from all over. Not just celebrity stuff. High art. Experimental theater. Couture fashion. Really high-end stuff.”

  “So, more staff, more coverage, more international stuff...” I add these things to my mental checklist.

  “He wants to turn it from TMZ into Vanity Fair,” says Philip.

  I have to admit it, I'm impressed too. I've wanted the same thing for FILTHY DIRTY LAUNDRY– more serious work, more in-depth stories. I just hate that it's Philip who is the one bringing it to us. Especially after he got rid of my dream job as Tegan Snow's successor.

  “And Philip's sister Kendall...” Johnson goes on. “You should have seen her at the meeting, Turns up forty minutes later with aviator sunglasses on, like some sort of spoiled socialite....”

  “That's exactly what she is, Johnson,” I interrupt. “You can find her in the dictionary under the heading 'rich bitch'”

  “Dressed to the nines, in this body-con dress that...let me tell you...was not appropriate for work. I mean, I'm a nice guy, I'd never objectify a woman that didn't want my attention....but there's no way she couldn't have known the way every single guy in the room was leering and oogling and staring at her. Her dress hardly covered her ass. Everyone was drooling. Except her brother, obviously.”

  “Tell me something new,” I roll my eyes. “She's sounding just like the same old Kendall to me.”

  “Chewing her gum all through the meeting – I couldn't believe it. Philip gave her these dirty looks sometimes but she kept on doing it. Never even took off her sunglasses. Didn't say a word through the whole meeting. And she has a job...” He sighs.

  I roll my eyes. “I guess being the heiress to a LaFleur fortune keeps you pretty cushy. What would she do without?”

  “Well, I'm guessing she would have grown up by now,” says Johnson. “She is that way because nobody made her be anyway different. So – that's the day in a nutshell, Sid. You missed one exciting day at FILTHY, but also on the bright side you got to avoid this girl who upset you so much. I mean – you must really hate her to be this upset. Are you sure she won't just let bygones be bygones?”

  “You saw her,” I say. “You tell me.”

  “Can't you two just ignore each other?”

  I think back to those painful days of my childhood. “That's easy for you to say,” I say, more sharply than I mean to. “Let me tell you what happened between us two, Johnson. Ever since I was fifteen years old and my mom started dating her dad, Alan – this plastic surgeon – Kendall made my life hell. She and all her Mean Girls followers. She hated me, hated
my mom, and she did absolutely everything in her power to make sure the whole damn world knew it, knew that my mom and I weren't good enough for her precious LaFleur family. Pranks, awful rumor-spreading, embarrassing me, humiliating me, trying to ruin my reputation at every turn. High School was hell. She even had her friends beat me up once. Whenever I tried to do anything – chairing the high school Performing Arts Committee, making a friend, joining a club – she'd have her minions take over and sabotage me. Thank God my mom finally dumped Alan or it would have gotten worse.

  “So maybe she's over it?”

  I sigh. “I don't think so. It's so immature and juvenile. I wish she could see how her bullying ways only serve to make her look stupid and weak.”

  “Let's hope she's professional enough to handle FILTHY. And you.” He kisses my forehead. “If she so much as tries anything on you, I'll make sure you have someone to defend you. Promise.” He slips his pinky into mine and pulls. There is a strange, intense look in his eyes. A look of wonder, of desire, of fear. Like maybe he wants to do more than kiss me on my forehead. His voice gets low and intense. “I couldn't stand it to see you hurt in any way, Sid. Get better fast. FILTHY DIRTY LAUNDRY misses you already.

  “Thanks, Johnson,” I whisper.

  But deep down, my heart is full of fear.

  Chapter 7

  Another dream. This time, I'm in the copier room at the FILTHY DIRTY LAUNDRY offices, leaning over the copy machine to copy some contracts. The machine is lower than I remember it, so I have to bend over to get at one of the buttons, my ass in the air. I feel a hand on it, a hand that pulls back and then brings it down on my ass with a resounding slap I feel through my silken skirt. I moan, but before I can make a sound a hand claps over my mouth, pulling me back. Another hand finds its way around my waist.

  And I can feel something against my ass – something hard and firm and enormous pressing into me.

  I know you want me. It's Philip's voice. And I know what I want to do to you. Things I shouldn't do. Things you never thought you'd let anyone do to you – things you didn't know you even wanted.

  He pushes my legs apart. Slips my panties down my legs. He can feel that I'm wet already. In my dream I don't even look at him, don't even see him. Just feel him: his hard cock against my leg, his hands rubbing up and down my legs. The feeling of fullness as he enters me: his whole enormous length inside me, filling me up, stretching me out. In my dream, I'm screaming, letting ecstasy takeover as he pounds me against and against against the copy machine. He's rough with me, commanding. He pulls my hair. His hand is around my throat, just tight enough to constrict my breathing a bit. It feels more than good. It feels mindnumbing, scary. But good, too. The thrill makes adrenaline pump through me, course through my blood. Turns me on as I've never been turned before.

  And I feel him inside me. The walls of my sex constrict, as if I'm trying to hold onto him,, to keep him inside me forever, to keep this pleasure going as long as I can...

  As I scream in pleasure I open my eyes. And there he is: sitting right in front of me. Those piercing blue eyes full of a knowing, smug look. Like he knows not only what I'm dreaming about, but also who.

  He's leaning over me, his face directly in mine. Leaning just an inch away from me. Too close for comfort. Not too close for pleasure?

  I turn a bright crimson and start to stammer...

  “oh..uh...Mr. LaFleur.”

  “Philip,” he says. Calmly. Coolly. But somehow it sounds like his whole voice drips with sex.

  “Philip,” I say. “What are you doing here?” And what are you doing about an inch from my lips?

  “You were saying something,” he said. “Actually, you were saying my name...” He smiles again. “I didn't realize you were asleep, at first. You must have been dreaming?”

  “Not about you,” I say. Too hastily. My face gives me away.

  “Whatever you were dreaming about, it was certainly...vocal,” his eyes are fixed on my mouth. “Those particularly plump, full lips of yours – they were certainly doing double-duty whispering something.” His eyes glimmer.

  He knows. Oh, God, he knows.

  Or am I still dreaming? Dream and reality converge: a common side effect of the pain medication I'm on. In my dream, he's putting his hand under my hospital gown, kissing me deeply to the point at which I'm thriving and moaning.

  “You make the most interesting sounds, Miss Stone,” he says. “Very interesting. It makes it all worth-while, me coming here to check out what on earth you're up to. You could be a voice actress, you know. If this FILTHY thing doesn't work out for you, you could always go into....ahem...voice acting.” He says it like what he really means is porn?

  I feel worry in the pit of my stomach. What does he mean about FILTHY DIRTY LAUNDRY– and it not working out?

  “Don't pout at me,” Philip smiles smoothly. “I was only joking. You look as if you're sulking... It makes me want to do this...” He raises his hand and brings it to my face. Like he's going to put it on my cheek. His movements are so sudden I think he's going to slap me for a second. It's jarring. Adrenaline floods through me once again. It's terrible. It's also sexy as hell. I feel a familiar wetness between my legs.

  But instead his fingers close around my nose and he tweaks my nose. Not a sexual gesture. Not even a romantic one. Just a slightly weird thing to do.

  My eyes widen in confusion.

  “Cute,” he says. His smile lights up his face. For a second he's not this brooding, powerful, dominant figure, but someone...almost normal. A little goofy. A little sweet. I start to relax a bit. Maybe I'm just imagining this whole thing, letting all my erotic dreams run away with me.

  “So, you're just here to check on me?”

  “Not just that,” says Philip. “I also have a favor to ask you.”

  “A favor?” I look confused. “What can I do?”

  “I need someone to show me around,” Philip says. “I have to confess, I'm new to LA. I'm still finding my way about. I need someone who knows the city.”

  I know a lot of cheap bodegas and $1 pizza joints, but somehow I have the feeling that Philip's tastes were more refined than mine.

  “Can't your family do that?” I ask. It's a bit of a sneaky question. I’m curious what happened to Rose Trell – aka Mrs. LaFleur, aka Mommie Dearest – and her daughter Kendall.

  “My sister...” Philip rolls his eyes. “It's a little weird to hang out with your kid sister, to be honest. She hasn't grown up much – or if she has, she's grown up in a weird way. I love her, of course, but watching my kid sister drink and flirt is a bit too creepy for me. Plus, I want to see LA from a different perspective.” He's still staring at my mouth. “I want to see it with a trained journalist, someone with a reporter's eye. Someone who seems interesting. Someone like you.” He can't look away from my mouth. Or if he can, he's choosing not to.

  “Get Johnson to do it,” I say nervously. “He's a trained reporter. And he's really interesting. He knows everything about the Art Deco history of...”

  “I want you, Sidney.” The way he says it isn't just ‘I want you.' It's also 'I want you.” Or is it? I'm scared to believe it. But the way his eyes look so intensely into mine...it makes me breathless, turns me on. God, the tension is so thick, you'd need a fucking chainsaw to cut through it. I can see it in his eyes, now, and now I'm sure. He wants me as much, much more than a guide to the city. That look I'm seeing is desire, plain and simple. Frenzied. Sure. I want him so badly. Right then and there, want him to do to me everything he's been doing to me for six or seven dreams now. To reach under my hospital gown and fondle me with his fingers, manipulating me until I come the way no man has ever made me come – ever.

  I'm breathing heavily. He's breathing heavily. He feels it too, I know he does. I don't want to embarrass myself – make a move. Put the moves on my new boss – I'd be fired in a second! Or would I be?

  This is a bad idea, Sidney, I tell myself as he moves his face in a little closer. I can sm
ell his cinnamon-hot breath. The spice of him. I want to taste it, taste him. I want him to bite my lip, plunder my mouth, make me his.

  It feels like hours go by before he leans in and brushes his lips against my ear. My whole face starts to tingle with the sensation of being near him.

  “I'm a direct man,” says Philip. “I'm not going to beat around the bush, Sidney. I think you guiding me would be a little bit....dangerous. Maybe desperately inappropriate. Because I want to guide you, too – in ways you wouldn't even imagine. But tell me to back off, Sidney, and I will. If I can...And we will work together as colleagues and I will never bring this up again. Much as I might want to.”

  My mouth falls open.

  I've never had anyone be this direct with me before. 's shocking, but deep down I'm secretly jumping up and down that this dreamboat of a man finds me attractive. I know I should say “no”. Know that for the sake of my life and career and sanity I should refuse. But my body is taking over and I'm reminded of all the erotic dreams I've been having about him – dreams that I now know could be made into a reality if I'd only allow him to take hold of me, possess me.

  I open my mouth to answer.

  Then I see her enter the room.

  Kendall LaFleur.

  Taller, thinner, better dressed than she was in high school, maybe, but it's clear that she's the same girl. And the second she opens her mouth, it's obvious she hasn't changed a bit.

  “Nice one, Phil. When your secretary said you were out visiting some low-level staffer in the hospital I didn't believe a word of it. Figured you were out fucking some prostitute or something on your lunch break. But here you are. And I can't believe how much of a joker you are, Phil. Like you care about anyone. We all know how disposable women are to you. Putting on the charm as usual.” She laughs. “Like anyone would believe you actually care about how this one is doing.” She look at me, her face full of cruelty, her voice dripping with disdain.