by Gina Whitney
Robert plopped down in the glorified lawn chair across from me. He had that ever-present goofy, optimistic smile on his face. “Dude, I heard about you being invited to the twenty-sixth floor.” Robert started bowing in sarcastic reverence and continued, “You are a god. I am not worthy to share the same air space as you.”
I regally lifted my hand, instructing my subject to rise. “Yes, I am spectacular.”
Robert and I had a good laugh. He was one of a precious few I could cut loose with. But my tone turned somber. “Things are really intense up there. More ruthless than what I have normally experienced.”
Robert looked behind him, making sure no one was within earshot. “Yeah, I have heard rumors of some shady activity up there. Like what happened to Gene Byrd.”
“Who’s Gene Bryd?”
“I didn’t know him that well. He went missing a few days after I started here. He was poised for a partnership, and they say he had to prove himself on some real shady case. Apparently he grew a conscience and tried to get out of it. But the big boys on the twenty-sixth floor weren’t having it. Next thing you know, poof. Vanished. Cops were crawling all over this place and questioning everybody. His office mate said that Gene had expressed some fear about whatever case he was working on and accused Wotherspoon and Associates of orchestrating Gene’s disappearance. But the only thing Gene was working on was the financials of some oil magnet. What are you working on?”
“Financials.”
Robert sucked air through his teeth like he had just been burned by boiling water. “Man, I am not going to tell you how to run your business, but seriously you need to be careful.”
I must admit that it was somewhat disconcerting seeing an uncharacteristic grave face on Robert. However, I could not believe that he gave credence to some silly rumor about some missing man. I blew it off and gave him an incredulous look, mostly to set him at ease. I said, “Look, you said it yourself that there was nothing to implicate Wotherspoon in the Bryd disappearance. The story sounds like something a bunch of gossipy secretaries came up with to quell office boredom. Besides, if you truly believed that Wotherspoon was really nefarious, what makes you stay here?”
“It’s called a wife, mortgage, and three kids.”
“Lucky for me I don’t have those problems.”
“Hey, watch it now,” Robert said jokingly. But then his tone switched back to serious. “No, really. I am here because I have to be. People depend on me. You have created a life where you have no dependencies either on you or you on someone else. So you have choices. I know you want this promotion. Hell, it’s like it has been eating away at you for the past few years. But just don’t get twisted up in the mentality of the twenty-sixth floor. Despite what you may think, there are other things more important than career success. Trust me; there will be something you will want more. Don’t destroy your soul so much with this job that you can’t have that other thing.”
Robert’s words caused my stomach to cinch up into a knot. I knew he was right. Up until the night of the gala, I had never encountered anything I desired as much the Wotherspoon partnership. But Lilly happened into my life, and she was turning it upside down.
I did not have much time to contemplate that matter. Looking past Robert, I could see the crowd of attorneys and secretaries parting like the Red Sea. Mr. Wotherspoon made a god-like appearance to our humble mortal floor with Xander taking up the rear. They were headed directly for my office.
Robert immediately stood up and adjusted his tie. “Uh-oh, Cam. What the fuck did you do?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” I said. I stood up and locked eyes with Mr. Wotherspoon but could not read him. He had his same sour face on. I knew he was unsure about me, especially since he saw so much of himself in me.
Now, outwardly I was the picture of self-confidence. Inside, I was like: Oh, shit! They found out about me and Lilly. This old bastard is about to lay into my ass and fire me. Whatever he says, take it like a man, like you don’t give a fuck. Push the papers off the desk and say, Fuck all you mofos! Suck my dick while you’re at it. Douches.’ I thought that then I would top it off by throwing my hands in the air and giving them a Kanye shrug.
But I would never do that. That was some sissy shit. No matter what happened, I never let anyone get the best of me.
Except Lilly…God, I really must stop thinking about that woman.
After striking a bit of terror into the rest of the staff, Mr. Wotherspoon finally glided into my office. I heard the smooching sounds of Robert’s ass kissing. “Good day, Mr. Wotherspoon. Pleasant weather we’re having,” he said, cheesing hard.
“It is gray and twenty degrees outside,” Mr. Wotherspoon responded, not in the least bit impressed by Robert.
“You’re absolutely right, sir. It is a terrible day,” Robert corrected.
I could see why Robert had never been invited to the twenty-sixth floor. I liked him, but he was a punk. Xander snapped his finger and pointed at the door, his not-so-subtle way of telling Robert to get the hell out. He was talking incessantly as he stepped back into the main office when Xander slammed the door right in his face. Robert stepped a few feet away, but that did not stop him or everyone else from trying to gawk through the slats of blinds in my office.
Xander pulled out the seat where Robert had been sitting, and Mr. Wotherspoon made himself comfortable in it. “Cam, if you are going to be a partner, you really must disassociate yourself from the likes of Robert.”
Still suspicious about the purpose of the visit, I got straight to the point. “So what brings you down here to the fifth floor?”
Mr. Wotherspoon looked at me through a squint. “Mr. Sterling, the name on the front of the building is mine, not yours. I ask the questions around here.”
I gave a nod, pretending to agree with his meager display of dominance. This was all still part of the game. And I was an expert player.
Xander placed some documents on my desk as he stared me down. The paperwork was thick and secured in an envelope with a wax seal bearing the imprint of Wotherspoon and Associates.
“You are about to go out to Sig’s place for a meeting. Those files…you’re taking them with you,” Mr. Wotherspoon instructed.
I waited for him to make mention of my improprietous behavior. There was nothing. Then it dawned on me that he said to go out to Sig’s place. I knew Lilly would be there. This was not good. I had already decided not to ever make personal contact with her again to avoid a repeat of what happened at the gala. Now they were throwing me back into the lion’s den of temptation.
I tried to get out of it. “Mr. Wotherspoon, I have so much work to go through. I think it may be best for a courier to deliver the documents. Better yet, I can send it out by fax personally and meet with Sig another time…in the office.”
Mr. Wotherspoon’s ears turned an ugly shade of tomato red. He did not like me telling him what could or should be done. He gave me a negative checkmark on his mental list. I was overstepping my narrow boundaries and jeopardizing my promotion.
“The information in this folder cannot be trusted to just anyone. You will deliver it personally.” He stood up and started on his way out but not without a final word. “It is too late in the process to replace you. And, unfortunately, I am still intrigued to see how you will manage this case. But if I cannot trust you to be on board with all I request, well, Wotherspoon and Associates will have to deal with you.”
I looked at Mr. Wotherspoon, subduing any sort of expression on my face. But I was grinning inside like the Cheshire Cat at his not-so-veiled threat.
No, Mr. Wotherspoon. I will deal with you.
Mr. Wotherspoon and Xander stepped back into the main office. All the office mice once again scurried, pretending to actually be working as not to provoke Wotherspoon’s ire.
Still, that envelope loomed large on my desk. I started thinking that there was another way to look at the assignment I had just been handed. Once again circumstances conspired for
me to meet up with Lilly. I decided that I would make every effort to resist her first. And after that…well, I would be open-minded and let events occur as they may.
Chapter Eight
Most days I hated being Lilly Amsel, and today that sentiment was in overdrive.
In a fit of self-loathing, all I could do was just sit on the couch and stare at one of many gigantic portraits of Sig. I thought about getting a pair of scissors and slicing into it. Just ripping it to hell. Even better, throw it on the floor, drop my shorts, and take a big shit all over it, right there in the living room.
I was so grouchy that morning, especially since I woke up with a throbbing tension headache. It did not help that the sunrise could not alleviate the drab gray sky. I tried to get my head together but found that task nearly impossible. Maybe it was PMS. Maybe it was because Sig was meeting with Jacob that morning.
The headache just would not let up. I popped another aspirin and swallowed it dry. I coughed as the pill scraped down my throat, making the headache even worse. I started thinking and came to a realization as to what had caused it to begin with. This excruciating pain made its introduction a few hours after my sidelined tryst with Cam.
Though Sig and I had relations, I had never once cum with him. I just screwed him because it was my duty as a girlfriend. Sig believed himself to be a stellar lover because of my moaning and groaning. I only performed those theatrics to make him cum faster and get the hell off of me. However, I never once thought about cheating. I had no desire to join the ranks of Ashley Madison—until I met Cam.
Ever since the gala, the memory of Cam had me in a state of protracted arousal that could not be satisfied. For the past few days, my crazy headache grew stronger as the blood from my brain pooled to my reawakened pussy. My kitty was so sensitive that I could barely stand wearing panties. I tried to masturbate to relieve the built-up pressure between my legs. I had not masturbated in years and was somewhat embarrassed by it. But something had to be done. Cam’s bedroom eyes and chiseled body were my inspiration. I vigorously rubbed my clit whenever I was out of Sig’s presence. As visions of Cam fucking me sent me into a frenzy, I came over and over again. Yet I was not satisfied. I knew I needed the real thing to satiate my desire. But I could not have Cam. Being with him was not prudent and just plain wrong.
So I just looked at Sig’s nasty-ass portrait instead. I felt a sense of grief over what I had lost to be with him. But I also recognized how far away I was from the dreadful life I had. Even though Sig was a son of a bitch, I was still in a better place than before.
The doorbell rang. This was surprising and upsetting because no visitors were expected today. I was looking like a hot mess in some raggedy cut-off shorts and an old fleece sweatshirt that I had cut the neck out of so it would hang off one shoulder. My messy hair was just thrown into a bun, and I had some toothpaste on a premenstrual zit.
“I’m coming,” I said in a frustrated scowl.
As I got closer to the front door, I embraced my body as a frigid draft from outside seeped in. When I reached the entrance, I stealthily looked outside. In the circle of the driveway, I saw a motorcycle. It looked familiar, but…no…it could not be Cam’s. I thought for a few seconds, trying to recollect who Sig knew that drove a Harley. No one. Sig’s crowd only knew how to hail taxis or ride in the back of limousines. I reasoned it must have been someone who lost their way or an overzealous fan of Sig’s.
I opened the door, and standing before me was a tall figure taking off his motorcycle helmet. I thought I would stop breathing when it was revealed to be Cam. I closed my eyes, not believing my wet dream was standing before me in the flesh.
He’s not really here. It’s just the Prozac. You have got to get off that shit.
My eyes slowly opened to give the illusion time to slip away. However, Cam was still there. And, Sweet Jesus, he was looking so fine.
Cam ran his fingers through his hair, tamping it down after it had become mussed by his helmet. He had on basic jeans that accentuated his athletic frame and black boots. As he unzipped his weather-worn coat, he passed me an easy grin. “Well, if it isn’t Miss Lilly Amsel. Can’t say that I am disappointed to see you.”
I stood there dumbfounded for about two seconds until abject horror consumed me. Cam had a way of reducing me to a blubbering fool. Whenever I was around him, I lost all of my contrived sophistication and fell back into my old trailer-park ways. It also dawned on me that while this man was standing there looking like walking sex, I looked like I could spoil milk. I had not showered and probably still had the crust in the corners of my mouth from last night’s sleep. I felt incredibly vulnerable without the crutch of cosmetics on my pale face.
Omigod! Did I put on deodorant? Shit!
I realized that I had not said a word to Cam yet when he put his fists—one of which held a folder—to his mouth and blew on them to keep warm.
“Cam, what are you doing way out here?”
“I’m here to see Sig and deliver these papers.”
“Sig isn’t here and didn’t mention you were coming. He’s in the city.”
Cam looked past me like he wanted to come in. As I surveyed his body, I wanted him to come in too. My eyes made it back to his, and we made deep contact. I then noticed that Cam was sneaking peeks at my chest. I glimpsed down and saw that my nipples were rock hard, enlarged, and pointed straight at him. Normally I would attribute my gigantic niblets to the freezing temperature, but it was Cam. He just made me cock hungry. Cam, meanwhile, slowly ran his tongue across his top lip as if he were goading me to let him do that to my tits.
“I’m sure he won’t mind if I come inside,” Cam said. “Please let me inside.”
I shivered as he moved closer to me. “No, I don’t think it would be wise to have you come into my house. I mean, not while Sig is away. Especially after what happened between us the other night.”
Cam played dumb. “The other night? Elaborate.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Hey, I’m just here to deliver papers. But, still, being inside would be so nice.”
Aw, damn it with the double entendres.
Yes, I wanted Cam to come inside. But I also did not want to piss Sig off. And Sig would definitely be pissed if he knew Cam was there unsupervised. I just could not risk alienating my benefactor for a quick screw. Moreover, I knew that if Cam crossed that threshold, my whole world would be sent into a maddening tailspin.
However, my libido found a way to convince me that it was okay for Cam to be there. I said, “It would be a shame for you to travel all this way just to turn right back around. Come in. Maybe Sig will return while you’re here. I’m only letting you in because of him.”
Cam gave me a “yeah, right” chuckle and strutted in. He smelled like the outdoors, the scent of winter crispness perfectly combined with slight mustiness. As he went past me, I caught sight of his ass. His jeans were somewhat fitted and hugging his butt. The seam journeyed along his ass crack, delightfully separating the buttocks and displaying their definition. They were firm and slightly rounded. I could tell that ass could deliver a powerful thrust. Cam turned around and caught me watching his behind. I tried to save face.
“The papers…you can put them in the living room.” I pointed him toward it then watched him strut confidently into the living room. He walked like a king. His shoulders were large and square, while his gait was purposeful. He dropped the papers on a large table with a thud that echoed through the hollow room. Cam strode back in my direction. I was nervous and felt my heart start to flutter. “Coffee? I can have the housekeeper brew some up. Want some?” I said, scurrying past him.
Of course Cam mischievously grinned and said, “Sure do.”
He walked behind me on our way to the kitchen. He made me feel so self-conscious. I could feel his lustful gaze traveling all over my body. Hell, I even heard a low growl come out of his mouth. I could not get to that kitchen quick enough.
Aft
er we entered the kitchen, I immediately directed my faithful housekeeper, Lin, to prepare Cam a robust cup of coffee as it was obvious he would not tolerate a weak brew. Lin, through a heavy Chinese accent, said, “What kind of coffee would you like?”
Cam’s face was totally perplexed. “Just coffee, I guess.”
I watched Lin go to the hutch and open it. The inside was stocked with the best and most expensive coffees from around the world. Cam looked upon them with confusion washing over his face. Cam was a store-brand kind of man; Folgers was the good stuff to him. Perplexed, he looked at me, shaking his head.
Tickled, I said, “Fazenda Santa Ines seems about right for you. It comes from South America—Brazil, in fact. It is sweet, lemony, and clean in its taste. Lin will make it extra strong just for you.”
“Since when do people need passports just to drink coffee?” Cam joked.
Lin ground the beans and set the pot to drip. Then I dismissed her so Cam and I would have some time alone. I always enjoyed feeding a man but did not have anything cooked. However, I did have some freshly baked pastries from a local French nouvelle brasserie in the closest town. I set the pastry basket in front of him. It was filled with vanilla and chocolate éclairs, flaky croissants, buttery brioche buns, and palmiers. Cam picked up a palmier and examined it like a biology project. He turned it upside down, right-side up, and upside down again.
“I don’t even know how to eat this. Do I break or peel it?”
“No, goose, just bite it like a cookie. You like cookies, don’t you?”
Cam picked up on what I was saying. He replied, “I love to eat cookies.”
Robustly, Cam took a bite of the palmier. As he munched on it, he asked, “Why aren’t you eating?”
“I can’t. I’m watching my weight. Sig hates extra pounds.
Plus I’m still in the running for the spokesmodel position.”
“So you can’t have any pleasure in your life, huh? Like these pastries. They taste so good, but you can only look at them. That is a sad way to live. Besides, you are already a remarkably beautiful woman—inside and out. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”