by May Bridges
I realized with regret that I’d been assessing Cade, not the evening’s client. Neither of whom I should be talking to Jasmine about.
“I’m not blushing, it’s hot.” I took a gulp from my water and returned the bottle to the desk with undue force. “Beefy Hunnam hot, but with Adam’s dark eyes and hair.” And tattoos, but I wasn’t letting that fact slip either. Our clients weren’t littered with tattoos. At least not that I should be able to see with their suits on.
I couldn’t believe I was using her silly man assessment system. “Still, it was only a meeting. How were drinks last night? Interesting shop talk?”
“Brian joined us. He said a VP spot came open and there will be a promotion.” Jasmine gave me a pointed look. “We all left around nine. Marcy stayed behind with Brian. She’s stupid if she doesn’t think everyone knows what she’s doing.”
I cocked an eyebrow at Jasmine. I wasn’t aware that Marcy, one of the other acquisition managers, was doing anything.
Jasmine shifted forward in her seat, bejeweled hands spread wide on my desk like she was really prepared to deliver a doozy. “At the start of the night, Marcy’s shirt only had the top button undone. By the end it was the top four,” Jasmine said, looking appalled at the idea, “giving Brian a show of her cleavage at every opportunity. She practically put her boobs in her drink leaning over the table toward him. She would give him a BJ for that promo, Alex.”
She babbled on, a peepshow and the prospect of a blow job being the most scandalous thing she could imagine. If she only knew. I couldn’t hate on Marcy for putting her mouth to good use. I’d certainly used mine to get what I wanted more than a few times.
“At least Marcy knows how to punch her ticket to the top. Get in where you fit in, right?” I said.
Jasmine gave me an overt eye roll. I got up and followed her out to her desk to get the overview docs for my day’s meetings.
“You deserve that spot,” she said, handing me the day’s stack. “You’ve worked too hard not to get it.”
“Maybe, but I’m not wrapping my lips around anyone’s dick for it.” Files in hand, I headed back to my office.
To keep my job, sure, I’d do a lot for that. I had done a lot for that. To get other things I wanted, yeah, I could spend some time on my knees if I wanted something bad enough. But I’d get to the top on my own, not because I gave good head. I shut the door behind me, dove into my day, and tried not to think about Marcy and blow jobs.
Before I realized it, my morning was gone, lunch disappeared without me taking it, and my two p.m. meeting was waiting. Days were always like that when I had a client in the evening, when I knew I’d have to be June. The hours rushed by, propelling me toward the night’s events. Every glance at the clock was miserable. Another hour gone, another hour closer to being June. Each tick of the clock increased the anxiety eating at my gut.
As I was getting ready to head to my meeting, a tap on my door brought my head up. Mr. Arnold, our president and CEO, stood just inside my office. My stomach turned and I felt the smile on my face slip. I quickly replaced it with what I hoped was a pleasant look.
“Mr. Arnold, I’m just on my way to a meeting, is there something I can help you with?”
He took a step in, swinging my door closed behind him. My chest tightened. It was never good when the CEO wanted a private meeting. My knees felt weak but I remained standing behind my desk.
“Only to let you know that there is a new vice president position open.” Mr. Arnold moved his gaze down the front of my blouse and I felt it like a slimy hand pawing at me. The muscles in my cheek twitched at the effort to keep my smile in place.
“Yeah, I heard,” I managed.
“Are you planning to apply for it?”
“I think so. I’ll need—”
A tap on the door and Jasmine popped her head in, reminding me about Mr. Parks in the conference room. My relief was immeasurable at the excuse she gave me to end the meeting.
I grabbed my legal pad and headed toward the door. “Thank you, Jasmine. See if they want water and let them know I will be right in.”
She disappeared and I reached for the cracked door, squeezing between Mr. Arnold and the chairs in front of my desk.
He reached out and placed his overly warm hand on the small of my back. It froze me. “I hope you do apply.” I could feel his hot breath on my face and my only thought was that he was too close. “I’d love to see you around the VP’s suite.”
With that he reached in front of me and pulled the door open, ushering me through with his hand. “Good luck in your meeting.”
The air out in the hall felt cooler and I was thankful for it as I pulled deep calming breaths into my lungs. Just shake it off and focus on your meeting.
I straightened my blouse and made sure no wisps of hair had escaped my bun as I headed to the conference room. Appearances were everything. My mother instilled that in me as a child, and it had served me well since. If you wanted people to believe you were something, it always helped to appear as such.
An hour later, walking out of the conference room, I felt as confident as ever. My meeting with Mr. Parks, the owner of a small failing business in Pittsburg, TX, had gone better than planned. His business wasn’t of much interest to Star Industries, but the buildings and grounds were. It was a sprawling space and a potential goldmine to the right buyer, and I was pretty damn sure I’d made Star Industries that buyer.
By 6:30 I had an email from the owner’s finance manager. It had been barely enough time for them to have made the drive back to Pittsburg. They were running everything through their attorney and were ready to sign on our deal.
The office was quiet now. I checked my email one more time, stalling. The evening’s appointment wasn’t for a few more hours, but going home to get ready, the inevitability of it would settle in and I’d slip into the hollow shell I became on those nights.
Four new emails. One from my mother, one from my boss, Oliver, one from Rachel, and one from Mr. Arnold.
Alexandria,
I wanted to make sure you’d be meeting us at the church this Sunday. It’s potluck Sunday. I’m making chicken and dumplings, and a pecan pie. You can carry the pie in if you don’t want to make anything. See you then, honey.
Love,
Mom
I had forgotten about the potluck and would be carrying her pie in, passing it off as my own. I didn’t see my folks much, but the monthly church potluck was where we showed face, smiled, and acted like the perfect family for Pastor Bill and the rest of our congregation. Appearances, appearances.
Email two.
Alex,
I’m moving the Ovechkin industrial property to your queue. It’s a bit of a mess, but I know you can salvage it. Don’t worry about opening it until Monday.
Have a great weekend,
Oliver Martin—Vice President of Operations
Star Industries, Inc.
Oliver was a great boss, and I knew he was giving me the property as a shot to impress the other officers. However, Marcy and her blowjobs had a better chance of getting it. Despite his good intentions, Oliver had only loaded down my Monday with more work. With a sigh, I moved on to the third email.
Alex,
Club tonight?
The last, and most daunting, email gave me reason for pause. I hovered my mouse over it and took a deep breath before clicking it open.
June—
Shit. The greeting alone was all that needed to be said. Nausea ran through me so fast, I considered reaching for the waste bin under my desk. I swallowed back bile, but kept reading.
The 26th, 10 p.m.?
Christopher Arnold—President and CEO
Star Industries, Inc.
The question mark would imply that it was, indeed, a question. It wasn’t, not if I wanted to keep my job and my secret about June.
I didn’t want to think too hard about a meeting with Mr. Arnold. My plans for the evening had my nerves frayed and the sensitive ends couldn’t take muc
h more.
Logging off, I headed for the elevator. Out on the street the wonderful aromas from food trucks carried on the cool breeze that swept between the towering buildings. Had my stomach not already been so full of tension, it would’ve demanded I stop for a lamb gyro. My purse was buzzing when I reached the parking garage: a text from Rachel.
Club? Yes? No? Maybe?
I tapped out a quick reply.
Can’t tonight. Have a client meeting. Tomorrow?
I put it in reverse and headed for home. Rachel would sulk about my refusal to go out that night, and then agree to going out the next. She was reliable that way.
Traffic on the way home was horrid, but my apartment in Highland Park was close. It was a nice place, single level, small, but I didn’t need much. It was past seven p.m. when I threw my mail and keys on the small bistro kitchen table. Two hours before I needed to be at the downtown loft. Two hours before I needed to be June.
My cat, Mr. Heart, accompanied me to the bathroom to get ready. He flexed his claws into the seafoam bath mat under my feet and rubbed against my legs, leaving little orange hairs on my thigh-highs. I’d have to pick them off in the car.
Mr. Heart was the man in my life, a very affectionate little orange man. He sat on the light granite counter, batting a small decorative seashell around while I took my hair from its bun and brushed it out.
So started the process of burying Alex: hair, makeup, clothes. With each layer of Alex I stripped away, a new one was put on, making the girl that evening’s client wanted. June.
The girl who walked into my bright Highland Park apartment was a hardworking business woman who smiled politely at the boys in the office. The girl who walked out of my apartment, headed to a dim downtown loft, couldn’t have been farther from that world.
The drive to the loft I owned downtown—just for nights like this—wasn’t long. I was minutes away when the towers started looming and the streets overflowed with cars. My hands shook on the leather steering wheel as I rounded the corner into the underground parking garage. I’d done this enough times, you’d think I wouldn’t get the jitters beforehand. No matter, I had the cure for it in the second floor loft. It wasn’t the rooftop penthouse, but I didn’t buy it for the view.
The loft was dark and cool compared to the muggy outside air. I flipped on a few wall sconces, bathing the open room in soft golden light. Leaning back against the silver wall, I saw all was as I’d left it, practically empty. The large living space was dominated by a four-poster wrought iron bed against the wall to the left. It was draped in deep purple sheets and a matching comforter. Other than that, there were only a few storage cabinets, some purple padded benches, and the bar stools that had come with the place.
The loft was only equipped with two choices for consumption: liquor, and the Valium I bought off Robert. I free poured three fingers of Jack over ice and popped one of the pills while waiting. It took care of those jitters.
In the bathroom I pulled off the skirt and blouse I’d worn over my lingerie, and hung them on the back of the door. A black lace and satin bustier, sheer black thigh-highs a lace garter, and a pair of red suede Giuseppe Zanotti heels and I was as ready as I could be. I pulled my high ponytail tighter on my head and ran my fingers through the length of it, pulling out the loose strands of caramel brown.
Giving myself one last look, I was certain the eyes looking back weren’t mine. I’d been pulled back into the dark places inside myself—places I could hide—with Valium and liquor. The space I’d vacated had been taken by the girl in the mirror, the one with fire behind her green eyes and an anticipatory grin. She liked the bite of a whip, both giving and receiving. This girl, who made men scream and beg, the one that thrived in pain, wasn’t me. Yet there I was, hiding behind June, the version of me I needed to kill. She was toxic, a liquor-and drug-fueled vixen I was ashamed of. Something that could never live up to those appearances my mother always said were so important.
I liked the way my heels clicked against the dark walnut hardwood and echoed in the emptiness of the space. It’s one of those things you notice when your high sets in. I pulled out a pair of handcuffs, leaving them on the corner of the bed, and went to answer the tentative knock at the door.
Chapter Three
My heart drummed a little too quickly reaching for the knob. Not even the Valium prevented the rush of blood I felt. With one last breath, I made sure Alex, and every version of her, was gone before opening the door.
“June,” my client took in an eyeful. “I’m glad you showed.”
“Cash?” I asked as he followed me in and over to the bar. I downed the last of my Jack and didn’t offer him a drink. The difference in the man from the night before at Joe’s, and the one in front of me, was obvious. He wasn’t confidently checking his designer watch or smoothing his blond waves with a cocky air. He was fidgeting, taking breaths that were too deep, running his flat palms down the front of his jacket to wipe away the sweat, and chewing the inside of his lip. It was almost endearing to see him like that.
He pulled an envelope from his inside breast pocket and handed it over. I took a peek inside. After tossing it next to my purse, I pulled my Smith & Wesson M&P Shield, leveling it with his head. It was six inches of .40 cal I-will-fuck-you-up, try me.
Pretty-boy’s face drained to powder white. “If this is about the money I owe Rob, I’ll pay it, I swear. I thought we were cool.” His jaw shook, and I saw a sheen of sweat emerging from his skin.
“Shut up,” I said, and he went silent. “I don’t know what other business you have with Robert, but while I have your attention, let’s go over a few rules. Any time your hands aren’t secured, you will have a gun aimed at your head. I don’t intend to shoot you. It’s for my protection, but don’t test your luck. Don’t touch me unless I tell you to and only how I tell you. Do you have a safe word?” He looked at me like I was speaking French. “No, don’t, and stop won’t work here. Give me another word,” I clarified for him.
“Horse?” he said. “I like the races.”
“Whatever works for you. Horse is your safe word. You say it, everything stops, and you’re free to go. Clear?”
“Yeah, yeah clear.” He exhaled.
My hand found and squeezed tight around his balls, “I’m sure I told you how to respond last night. Didn’t I?”
“Yes, Miss June,” he said between clenched teeth.
“Perfect. I’ll accept any variation of it: ‘Yes, Miss June,’ ‘Yes, ma’am.’ You get the point.” I released him and waved dismissively. “On your knees by the bed. Take your shirt and shoes off, and kneel. Hands in your lap.”
He paused before complying. All newbies did. The battle between being compliant, giving up control, and holding on to the self-confident masters of the universe they perceived themselves to be in their daily lives. Eventually, they always complied. Most came back for more.
He fell, reluctantly, to his knees. This one was built well. Not all of them were. He was long and lean. A runner, I would’ve guessed. He looked beautiful like that, submitting.
Crouching in front of him, I ran my free hand down his arm from shoulder to wrist, feeling out his taut muscles. My other hand still held my gun just out of his reach.
His shoulders tensed when the cuffs clicked closed. I locked them in front of him and attached a long chain that ran from the iron bedpost to the cuffs.
Once he was secure, the Smith & Wesson and the key to the cuffs and chain went into the cabinet by the bed. His light blue eyes grew wide and his body swayed in a drunken motion when the cabinet doors opened. The inside of one door was lined with canes of varying length and thickness. From the inside of the other hung crops, whips, and leather straps. The shelves were adorned with accoutrements made for pain and pleasure. I watched his Adam’s apple bob with each swallow, and a wicked grin crested my lips.
“Stand up and take your pants and boxers off,” I instructed, while pulling out a ball gag, leather blindfold, riding crop, a
nd a short length of cane.
He complied, steadily eyeing the red cane I’d laid on the bed. It wasn’t pulled out for him. It’s not something you start with; it’s something you build up to. Still, I loved the look of trepidation on his face when his eyes locked onto it.
He shimmied out of the rest of his clothes and stood cuffed and nude. His skin was overly warm when I ran my hand down his chest and over the gentle ripple of his abs, stopping just as I reached the thin trail of hair below his bellybutton. Stress radiated from him in waves, but he was turned on. That isn’t something men hide well, especially when nude. His cuffed hands moved toward my stomach, his fingers stretched to graze against me. With one sharp look, his fingers froze in the space between us.
“This,” I indicated the ball gag, “will only be used if you don’t respond when asked, or correctly.” I didn’t want to gag him on our first run. I needed to hear him, needed to gauge how much was too much. Also, the sounds they made at the bite of pain turned me on. He looked mildly relieved, and his stiff shoulders sagged forward a bit.
His eyes were running over me, hungry.
“You like what you see?” I asked.
“Yes, Miss June.” His voice was all husk and want.
“Do you want to touch me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” I took the blindfold from the bed and secured it around his head. “Earn it, then. Lean your shoulder against the bedpost.”
He moved in short steps, bumping unseeing into the bed, and complied, standing with one hip and his shoulder flush against the iron bedpost. Standing behind him, I trailed the riding crop gently down his spine, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.
“Grab your dick,” I whispered over his shoulder. He was quick to grab himself. Squeezing hard, he started working it up and down in long slow strokes.
His back arched and his head kicked back at the sting of the crop on the top of his ass. The grunt from his chest and the snap of the leather against his skin mixed and echoed in the hollow space. It was a cocktail of sound I could get drunk on.