by Hannah Ford
“I will, sir.”
He nodded again but his expression was troubled. “Go home, Nicole.”
And she did.
***
The next day was awful.
She’d been up all night writing the essay Red had assigned, fearing that Danielle would barge in her room at any moment and tear the paper out of her grasp, read it and laugh and laugh. Call their mutual friends and read it aloud to them as well.
Writing it had been excruciating. She wanted to turn him on, wanted more than anything to please him. This was Red Jameson, after all, the man who could have any woman he wanted. He’d been seen with starlets, models, the most famous and beautiful girls on the planet.
And now, inexplicably, impossibly, he wanted her. And worst of all, he wanted her to tell him how she would please him.
What did that even mean? It was a riddle.
That was part of the anxiety of it all. She couldn’t know what he really wanted her to write because he hadn’t been clear in his instructions.
Eyes bleary, she woke at six-thirty after only a couple of hours of fitful sleep and sat down with the paper in front of her. She had smudges of blue ink on her fingers.
She looked at the three pages in front of her, filled with line after line of neatly handwritten script. There were other pages in the wastebasket, crumpled up because she’d needed to cross something out or change a word. She refused to let Red see anything resembling a mistake.
At first, she’d started writing the essay on her computer, but it hadn’t felt intimate enough. She convinced herself that it should be more like a letter than a book report.
Now she reread her work with growing horror.
I will make it my duty to show you my devotion.
Another line further down the page.
Pleasing you in every way will be my greatest accomplishment, I will dedicate myself to the task night and day. Every waking moment will be spent thinking only of your needs.
And on the next page…
My body is yours. My mind is yours. My soul is yours. Do with me as you please.
She recoiled from the words as she read them. They were utter garbage, and Red would be disgusted when he saw what she’d come up with. He’d want nothing more to do with her, knowing the vapid quality of her thoughts, the sheer banality of her creativity.
But then she told herself that the quality of her writing wasn’t what counted in this task he’d given her. What counted was how well she was able to communicate her willingness to please him. And from that perspective, she’d certainly succeeded.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
Nicole folded up her three-page essay and put it at the very bottom of her purse, then went to the bathroom for a quick shower. She dressed in another skirt, this one baby blue, with a white sleeveless blouse that had a low-cut neckline. She also wore a necklace that she hoped would draw Red’s eye to her cleavage, letting him know that both his gaze and his hands were welcome there if he saw fit.
She was wet again, which seemed to be a permanent situation since meeting Red Jameson. Last night when she’d undressed, her panties had been soaked and the scent of her sex had been so strong she’d had an uneasy moment where she wondered if Red had actually smelled her in his office.
Now, after just getting dressed for the day, she was already getting wet again. It was like a disease, an affliction. She wanted to touch herself, wanted that orgasm, but she also wanted to savor this wanting him.
And so she went to work, hoping and waiting for him to call her to his office. Nicole sat down at her desk, wondering if his request would take the form of a phone call, an email—would he possibly even swing by her desk?
The morning dragged on. Nobody gave her any work to do, so she continued to page through the stupid binder and read useless company policies. She laughed a little when she came to the sexual harassment policy. How easy it would be for her to turn Red’s overtures into a multi-million dollar lawsuit.
But she had no real thought of doing that. She wanted his touch far more than any amount of money
By the time eleven-thirty rolled around, she was anxious and bored. She thought to herself that perhaps he might be in the cafeteria again, so she walked to Remi’s office and knocked on the outside of the doorframe.
The door was ajar, and Remi was peering through her funky glasses at her computer. Then she saw Nicole and a look of surprise crossed her face. “Oh. Hi there.”
“Are you going to lunch?”
Remi thought for a moment. “I lost track of time. I guess I should go.”
“Cool.”
She took off her glasses and laid them on her desk. “Aren’t you the punctual one?”
“Not really. Just hungry.”
Remi smiled. “Sure. And besides, you never know who you might run into at this hour.”
Nicole ignored that comment. Inside, she was burning with humiliation that her actions had been so transparent, but outwardly she just smiled in return and the two of them went to the cafeteria.
There were a few more people waiting in line than yesterday, but the room was still mostly empty. Plenty of tables to choose from. Remi and Nicole sat once again by the window overlooking midtown.
Remi had pasta like yesterday, while Nicole had a simple garden salad.
“That’s all you’re having?” Remi asked, shoveling a large portion of ziti into her mouth and chewing.
“Not very hungry,” Nicole said.
“Hmmm.” Remi looked at her with concern. “You seem stressed, and nobody’s even given you anything to do yet.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
“I’ve got work for you.” Remi took a long swallow of water. “When we’re done, I want you to go to the research library on the third floor and look for images of dancing cowboys.”
“Dancing cowboys?”
Remi nodded. “Don’t ask why, it’s this horrible magazine spread I’m working on. But it’s what I need and since you’ve apparently got nothing to do but look like a scared little rabbit…” she shrugged.
Nicole nodded and tried to look enthused. After all, it was the first real task she’d been given. “I’m going to find the best dancing cowboy you’ve ever seen.”
“Just find one decent image,” she said, “and I’ll be happy.”
They continued eating, with Remi mostly talking about this new client that was making her life miserable. She also mentioned Edward a lot, there seemed to be some friction between the two of them.
Nicole didn’t care. She wanted to care and normally she would have. Her friends had always told her she was a great listener. But all she could do was wonder when Red would contact her and tell her to bring the essay to him.
When Remi was finished eating, Nicole tried to think of an excuse to stick around the cafeteria without the older woman seeing right through it. “I need to go to the bathroom,” Nicole said.
“I’ll come with,” Remi said.
She was like glue. Nicole seethed inwardly.
Finally they went back down together and Nicole stopped at her cubicle to check her email and office phone for voicemails. Nothing. As of now she only had a total of two work emails, one of which was an automated welcome email, another of which was Glen emailing her to ask if she would bring him a copy of her signed nondisclosure agreement.
Her spirits sank further.
She knew Red Jameson was a very busy man, a CEO of an enormous corporation. But still, she wanted just the tiniest reassurance that would had happened between them yesterday was real.
She was starting to think maybe she’d imagined the entire thing.
The day wore on.
She spent the better part of it in the enormous research library, which occupied the entire third floor. The place was filled with books and magazines and microfilm and microfiche, stuff that the company apparently owned and could use in their ad campaigns. A lot of it was older and she’d never worked with the technol
ogy before. So the crabby old librarian had to show her how to use it all.
It was tedious, tedious work.
Every so often she’d break and look at her inert cell phone, then go upstairs to her cubicle and check her email and phone. There was nothing.
Somehow she’d failed him. Didn’t he at least want to see her essay? Should she go up to his office and barge in, demand to be seen?
That was crazy thinking. But she was growing desperate with her need to see him and talk to him. She wanted to feel his strong, insistent hand grabbing her hair and pulling her head back. His lips against her ear, his deep voice whispering. Taking control.
She bit her lower lip as this fantasy took hold. It was after four p.m. and still no word from Red.
Nicole took a break and went to the handicapped bathroom for privacy. Once inside, she locked the door and sat on the toilet, legs spread. Her eyes closed, she pictured Red in between her legs, his tongue delicately licking her in the most tender way. She started to rub herself through her panties.
The orgasm was delicious in its quiet intensity. She came while picturing him sucking her clit.
Please let it happen. Please God.
Afterward she had a surge of self-loathing. Here she was, coming alone in this bathroom its florescent lights and the smell of cleaning solution in her nostrils. It was the opposite of Red’s opulent office with the smell of aftershave and leather.
This wasn’t how she was supposed to be. A girl who degraded herself alone in a company bathroom wasn’t what Red would desire. She needed to be above such weakness. She would wait for his touch and his touch alone to satisfy her intimate cravings. It would make it so much more exciting when she finally was allowed to climax.
For the first time, Nicole wondered if he had secret cameras hidden throughout the building. It seemed the kind of thing Red would do. Maybe he was watching her even now.
Part of her thrilled at the notion, another part was terrified. She didn’t want to disgust him with her animal like lust. Red was refined, calculated, poised and strong. He didn’t simply grope her like a college boy, fumbling with her bra straps. He was seducing her—taking his time and making her want him more and more.
She needed to learn from his example. Be patient, she told herself.
Finally, the workday ended.
Heartbroken, she left the Jameson International building and walked to her train. She kept thinking he’d appear behind her in a limousine, honking until she noticed him, then pulling over to let her inside.
Of course it didn’t happen.
Her roommate Danielle was home when Nicole arrived.
“Oh, look at you! Hattie alert, hottie alert!” Danielle cried out, as she cut cucumber and onion and carrots on a plastic cutting board at the kitchen counter.
Nicole tried to smile. “You’re cooking?”
“Just making a salad. Want some?”
“No. I’m not really hungry.”
Danielle looked more closely at her. “You’re exhausted, Nicole. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes.” She walked from behind the counter as Nicole flopped onto the couch.
“I’m fine. Just hard to get used to my new work schedule.”
“I woke up last night at like two a.m. to go pee and saw your light on,” Danielle said carefully.
“Oh. I must have fallen asleep and forgotten to turn it off.”
“And I heard you moving around. You were awake.”
“Haven’t you ever heard that spying on your roommate isn’t very nice?”
Danielle folded her arms. “I wasn’t spying. The bathroom is right next to your bedroom.”
“I had a…a work thing. It was important.”
“What kind of work thing? You’re an intern.”
Nicole sighed. She felt a headache coming on and pressed her fingers to her temples and rubbed in small concentric circles. “Don’t worry about me, Danielle. I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.” She walked back into the kitchen and began aggressively chopping veggies. “Don’t say I didn’t try and help,” she called out as Nicole retreated to her bedroom.
***
Her phone was buzzing.
Nicole swam out of a deep, dreamless sleep, struggling to wake up. She knew it was imperative that she answer her cell, but she was so tired. So awfully, terribly exhausted.
And then she woke up, as if breaking the surface of a dark lake. It was very late at night—that much she knew. Her heart was pounding.
The phone buzzed.
She’d fallen asleep with it right next to her. The number was private, which could mean only one thing. She answered it fumblingly. “Hello, hello?”
She cursed herself for sounding desperate.
There was silence for a few awful seconds, and then Red’s voice on the other line. “You will be outside your apartment waiting in exactly fifteen minutes.”
“You’re coming here?”
He exhaled impatiently into the phone. “Stop questioning.”
“I’m sorry, sir, for my questions.”
“Don’t make me doubt my faith in you, Nicole.”
“Never, sir. I will do better, sir.”
“A car will pick you up outside your apartment in fourteen minutes. Wear a cocktail dress. And nothing underneath it.”
“Yes, sir.” She was excited, she was over the moon—and devastatingly moist.
The line went dead.
She checked the time. “Oh my god,” she whispered. It was 3:18 in the morning. But she didn’t have time to worry about the lateness (or earliness) of his call. She had to get ready in short order.
So she jumped out of bed and ran to her closet. Luckily she had a cute little dress that would fit the bill, dark and sheer, it hugged close to her body, showing her curves in a very flattering way that few of her outfits did. She’d only worn it once previously, and a lot of her friends had remarked on it.
Nicole stripped down and slid the dress on, marveling at how intoxicated she felt from just the few moments they’d spent talking just now. It was like she was on speed or coke or ecstasy (none of which she’d ever done—only what she’d imagined them to be like).
He hadn’t mentioned shoes, but to be safe she put on her dark Prada heels.
Then she ran to the bathroom, looking both ways first to make sure Danielle wasn’t nosing around. Brushed her teeth, put on deodorant, splashed water on her face—no time for makeup unfortunately.
Being late for this appointment was simply not an option. She envisioned him driving by, stopping for the briefest of instances, and then simply driving off if she wasn’t curbside when he arrived.
Not two minutes later, Nicole was downstairs and out front, standing alone in the darkness of her street. Nobody was around. The only light came from the moon and the few streetlights nearby.
It was creepy and the air was chill. With no coat on, she was shivering, hugging herself for warmth.
And then a sleek black town car turned onto her street and slowly, smoothly came to a halt in front of her. Nobody got out. The windows were tinted so that she could not see inside. There was no sign of Red—this could be anybody. She could get in the wrong car and end up raped and murdered and left in a dumpster.
These things happened in the big city.
But despite the danger, Nicole opened the door and got inside.
Red wasn’t in the car. The driver was a short, dapper, middle-aged man wearing a suit coat and driving cap. He smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “Miss Masters?”
Relieved, she smiled at him. “Yes.”
“Relax,” he said, “we’ll be there shortly.”
“Where?” she asked.
“Our destination.” He started to pull away from the curb and she still had the door ajar, so she closed it and sat back, watching the scenery go by—at first slowly, then more quickly as the town car picked up speed.
Before long, she no longer knew where they were going. The driver went up one street and
then the next, and soon they were in neighborhoods that looked increasingly dingy and run down. Not what she would have expected from Red.
Where are we going?
About twenty minutes later, the car pulled over to the curb again. Across the street was a 24-hour convenience store that seemed popular. It appeared to be frequented by black and Hispanic customers mostly.
About a block away, five or six women dressed in next to nothing yelled out to one another, called to cars as they drove by. One car stopped and a woman in a skirt that showed almost all of her ass, bent over and consulted with one stopped vehicle before getting in the passenger side.
Hookers. They weren’t the first she’d seen since arriving in town.
But still—she was surprised by the choice of location. What could he have in store for her?
Nicole took a deep breath and got out of the car, telling herself she was safe. She was under Red’s protection. He wouldn’t allow any harm to come to her.
As soon as she stepped onto the sidewalk, the town car pulled away and disappeared. She hugged herself and turned in a circle, looking for Red. Nothing.
Now she was getting afraid, and a little angry too.
“Hey, baby, nice ass.” The voice came from startlingly close. She turned to see a short but stocky Hispanic man looking at her from the stoop of a nearby apartment building. He stood up, his blue jeans hanging low, his Nets jersey revealing well-muscled arms and too many tattoos to count. “You from around here, honey?”
She looked again for Red. Panic was rising in her throat.
“Hey, honey, you got a hearing problem?”
She started to walk away from him.
“Baby. Wait.”
He was coming closer. She didn’t want to run but she would if she had to. She’d scream.
Suddenly his hand grabbed her bicep and squeezed. “I said wait. What’s your problem? You one of them stuck up bitches from uptown?”
“Leave. Me. Alone.” She hissed the words.
He smiled. “I like that talk,” he said through grit teeth. His eyes were deadly cold and cruel. “I like bitches who talk back,” he said, “because it’s that much more fun when I bust a nut in their fucking faces.”