Heart still stuck in her throat, Whitney closed her window and stared at the concrete wall ahead. What the hell was that about? Maybe she should call Cory and let him know his bodyguard had a few lug nuts loose. There was absolutely nothing about tonight that had been different from any of her other “meetings” with Cory. What had gotten into the big bully?
Well, she didn’t need to hang out to see if he wanted to come back for another chat. She eased out of the covered enclosed parking lot instead and onto the highway.
Her black-tinted windows would protect her identity, and since it was 2 a.m., there weren’t that many people out prowling the streets of Washington, D.C. She passed a hooker on the corner of 5th and Main, tottering on transparent stripper heels while trying to light a cigarette. A homeless guy lay sprawled out on the sidewalk nearby, sleeping with a brown paper sack snuggled against his chest. Whitney drove across town, her tension easing as she got closer to her high-rise. When she took a right into the Q, any signs of filth and neon tube-tops vanished.
Besides the stupid name for this community—what the hell did ‘Q’ stand for anyway? —she really enjoyed where she lived.
It was a younger community, filled with political hopefuls and daydreamers who thought they could bring about world peace, but it was also one of the safest communities in the D.C. area. With the crime rate hovering just above two percent, she practically had her own little Mayberry. Minus Aunt Bee and the chocolate pies. There was no chocolate available here, only healthy selections like organic wheat berries, barf, or fresh salad sprinkled with filtered water.
On the bright side, the food choices definitely helped her maintain her figure, which tended to go curvy the moment she looked at a Snickers bar. Since living here, she’d been able to maintain her size eight comfortably, even squeeze into a couple of size sixes on her really good days. And that in itself was a feat considering most of the clothing stores catered to the young and anorexic.
Whitney took another right, stopped at the gate and entered her security code, and then pulled into the number 305 spot. After taking a glance around the empty lot, she exited her car and quickly crossed the distance to the lobby. The night time clerk at the desk kept his head down and waved. She waved back before entering her private elevator. The people around here didn’t ever ask why she came in so late, dressed like this, which was part of the reason she liked living here. She inserted the gold key card that granted her access to the penthouse. Within seconds, the elevator dinged and the door slid open into her home.
On autopilot, her feet led her straight to the special closet in her bedroom, where she made quick work of the black latex corset and long gloves with the fingers cut out. The senator had told her that her red nails reminded him of the first time she’d drawn his blood. Now, she always had to wear them to their…sessions.
A shudder worked through her. The eight am appointment with her nail stylist couldn’t come soon enough. After she finished with the senator, she’d never wear the color red again.
Naked from the waist up, she crossed to her California king bed and sank onto the deep purple silk coverlet. Her feet instantly screamed thank you.
Rather than fuss with the buckles at her ankles, she forcibly toed off the six-inch platforms, listening for the satisfying thunk as they dropped to the carpeted floor. Next came the fishnet stockings. Finally, she peeled off the leather thong. Then she gathered all of the items up, tossed them into the small closet and slammed the door shut.
Each step away from the closet toward her massive walk in shower was another step to relaxation and relief. She flipped the lever and hot water sprayed from five different showerheads onto her worn body.
Had she really been working for the senator for nearly a year?
She’d taken herself out for a night on the town after a call from her mother and father. Their disappointed disinterest in her operations job couldn’t have been more obvious. She hadn’t been at Earth-4-One at the time—she’d been a middling, mid-level employee doing grunt work. Even after all these years, her parents were devastated that their younger daughter had a below-average IQ. That she wasn’t “book” smart, only common-sense smart. Especially since her darling older sister was a certified genius, who worked for some top-secret government program.
When she’d walked into the high-end bar that night, she’d instantly gravitated to the most powerful man in the room. He’d been like putty in her hands.
Whitney yanked the lemongrass verbena shampoo from the recessed marble shelf and scrubbed her long, thick, dark hair until her scalp was raw. And when she couldn’t take the heat any longer, she cut off the water and stepped out, wrapping heated towels around her body and hair. She bypassed the mirror altogether—no need to see that at this hour.
Her pillow-top mattress was calling out her name and Whitney slid beneath the covers wrapped in her towel. “Lights off,” she said out loud and the room dimmed into darkness.
She had every luxury she could ever dream of. A maid to clean her condo, a cook to prepare meals, a car anyone would die to own. And she hadn’t wanted a single thing other than to help save lives.
4
“Whitney, you were late this morning.” Thomas Barton, CEO of Earth-4-One charity, barged into her office without knocking, his gray and white striped tie hanging slightly off-center.
Whitney tapped her now nude nails on her desk and arched her brow, “I told Izzy I’d be in late this morning.”
Thomas cleared his throat and loped across her office in a way only a man of his immense height and low weight could do. He folded himself onto the corner of her desk, slacks hitched up to reveal the brown shoes he’d matched with his gray pants.
“She must have forgotten to tell me. That’s the second time in two months that you’ve done this. You know our company policy on tardiness.” Thomas banged his heel on the corner of her desk and lifted his gaze to just below her neck.
Whitney leaned forward and her already abundant breasts strained the confines of her silk blouse. “How awful, am I in trouble?”
His neck flushed and she could practically see the saliva forming in his mouth. Idiot. Men were so easy to control.
Thomas stuttered, “Of course not, just don’t make it a habit, okay?”
“Whatever you say, boss. You’re in charge.” Whitney leaned forward a little farther and Thomas’s eyes grew large.
“Yes, I am. See that it doesn’t happen again.”
Of course, he couldn’t tear his gaze off her boobs. So, Whitney did it for him, leaning as far back in her chair as possible. “Was there anything else you needed?”
He cleared his throat and stood. “Did you get the reports on the medical situation in Sudan? The pharmaceutical companies need to know how much penicillin we need.”
She reached into her desk and pulled out her printed spreadsheet. “Here are the spreadsheets, detailed down to the last ounce.”
He scanned them, clearing his throat in a nervous shuffle of papers. How in God’s name did people like him soar high enough in the ranks to become CEO? “Er, great. I’ll review them for errors before turning them in.”
As if he would find any. They both damn well knew that she didn’t make mistakes when it came to her work. But she couldn’t tell him that, not without putting her job in jeopardy. Plus, the world of nonprofits was small and she couldn’t afford to get a bad rep, even if that meant forgoing the satisfaction of telling him off. She bit her tongue and nodded, watching with narrowed eyes as he left her office.
One day she would be the one making decisions. She’d finally get the opportunity to live her dream and open her own nonprofit. She would hire staff based on straight merit, not on their boob-to-waist ratio. Then she’d tell Thomas where exactly he could shove his mismatched socks.
Izzy poked her messy blonde head in through the open door. “What did Thomas say?”
Whitney did roll her eyes this time. “You know, you’re late, blah, blah, blah. Then he stared at
my boobs some, and wouldn’t you know, everything became magically better.”
Izzy giggled, squeezing her curvy frame into the sleek black chair in front of Whitney’s desk. “I wish I were as good at dealing with him as you are. I swear, whenever that man comes around I completely lose my ability to speak.”
“Apparently, since you forgot to tell him I was going to be a couple of hours late this morning.” Not that she was actually mad at Izzy. Whitney had been relatively certain her friend would forget about the message as soon as she hung up the phone.
Izzy gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh no, I completely forgot. I was a total klutz this morning and spilled my chai tea on my new blouse. It was a huge mess.”
“You look great; I don’t see any stains.”
“That’s because I had this hideous shirt stuck in the back of my car. Who wears gray?” Izzy shuddered. “The new blouse was this lovely chartreuse color. I swear, me and new clothes just don’t get along.”
Chartreuse? Dear God. “I’m sure it was beautiful.”
Chartreuse ranked on her list right up there with pastels—as in none of them would ever, ever touch her body. Whitney preferred blacks and deep blues and greens. Not even the best supermodel could pull off chartreuse.
“Yes,” Izzy said with a voice full of regret, “I’d so looked forward to wearing it down to the lunch room today. James’s eyes would’ve popped out of his lovely little head the moment he saw me in it. He would’ve realized that skinny little witch he’s dating is a total mistake.”
She seriously doubted the chartreuse blouse would’ve pulled off such a miraculous feat. The James in question, Junior VP of public relations, was Izzy’s ex. He’d left Izzy in the form of a text and showed up the very next morning with an intern on his arm. A Scarlet Johansson look-alike intern. Izzy didn’t stand a chance at winning him back, not that Whitney thought it was a good idea.
“Stop wasting your time on that loser. You can do so much better.”
What Izzy lacked for in figure, her bright, bubbly personality made up for in abundance, that and her caring heart—something too many people in this place lacked. Within minutes of meeting her, Izzy had told her they’d be best friends for life. She’d meant it too. “I can’t forget him. He’s the love of my life.”
“Didn’t I see you flirting with the FedEx guy yesterday?”
Izzy’s turquoise blue eyes narrowed underneath her thick black lash extensions. “Is there anything you don’t miss?”
“Not really. Look, I feel like doing something tonight. How about me and you hit downtown?” She was so ready to find a man who would take control so she didn’t have to for once. A man she could trust – not a perv out looking for a one night stand.
“The last time you and I hit downtown in the middle of the week, I was puking in the trash can under my desk until lunch the next day.”
“No one told you to drink every single ounce of tequila in the bar.”
Izzy grinned. “No one told me not to either. Want to meet at Black Velvet at nine?”
That meant an entire four hours of alone time after she got off work tonight. “How about we eat first? I’ve been dying to try that little Mediterranean place they opened up on the corner of Fifth and Main.”
“It’s a date.” Izzy pried herself from the chair, the long gray blouse falling in elegant folds over her body.
She brushed her hands down the shirt as if it were covered in bugs. “That’ll give me time to get out of this hideous thing and change into something more appropriate.”
Izzy flounced out of her office, shutting the door behind her. Whitney grinned. Her cell rang, and she answered instantly, for some dumb reason not checking the screen before she held it to her ear and said hello.
“You were absolutely perfect last night.”
Whitney leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, ignoring the cold sensation creeping up her spine. “Of course, I was.”
Cory practically hummed through the phone. “Your new toy was a delightful surprise. I hope you bring it next time.” He dropped his voice low, an effect that might have been sexy if he hadn’t draped himself over her spanking bench last night while she whipped him like a misbehaving child.
Besides, no person in their right mind would ever want to be spanked with that beast. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, now do you?” Whitney’s voice resonated with smooth power, precisely the way the senator liked it.
“No, Mistress. I could never presume to tell you what to do.”
“Remember that, boy, or I’ll make you regret it.” Whitney snapped the phone shut and carefully placed it on her desk, her hand trembling ever so slightly from a small surge of power. She couldn’t deny she liked ordering him around, even if it was part of an act.
Her phone beeped a second later, signaling a new text message. I wish I could take you out to dinner and flaunt you around town. Would make all my friends jealous.
In a move surprisingly bold, even for herself, Whitney quickly texted back. I don’t think your wife would appreciate that.
She sucked in a breath, waiting for his response, one that took over thirty seconds to arrive. Oh shit, had she gone too far?
My bad girl. Have you reconsidered that trip? I know a place where we could go that no one would recognize us.
Whitney blew out the breath she’d been holding. Why had she been worried? He liked her cattiness. Maybe later on in the summer. I can’t take off work right now.
She could take off if she wanted, she’d saved up enough hours for at least two weeks of paid vacation, but she had no intention of spending more time alone with him than was strictly necessary.
You know I can make sure you’re not fired.
A niggle of doubt raised its ugly head. Had he gotten her the logistics job at Earth-4-One? When she’d interviewed with Thomas and his partner, she’d gotten the distinct impression they were more interested in her figure than in her abilities, so she hadn’t expected to receive an offer the next day.
But the sensitive topic wasn’t something she was willing to poke around in right now. See you in two weeks.
He paused long enough to make her chest tighten. Would he push the issue?
Her phone beeped. Wish me luck at my meeting. If it goes my way, we will have to celebrate. XOXO
Whitney typed the obligatory XOXO and set her phone down. Two more months. It’s all she had to do. Two more months.
The rest of the day flew by in a blur. The crisis in Sudan had reached astronomical portions. She was on the phone and answering emails every second. She didn’t even realize she’d worked straight through lunch until Izzy rapped on her door and said, “Weren’t you planning on leaving before five? Because it’s 5:30.”
Whitney grabbed her phone and glanced at the time. Crap, she hadn’t even realized. “I’m leaving now.”
“See you at seven,” Izzy spun to leave and bumped into someone. “Oh, excuse me.”
The person who’d almost gotten bowled over by Izzy stopped in the doorway. Thomas. It had to be. Whitney closed out her emails, having no intention of allowing him to throw more work on her at this hour. “I can’t stay any later. I have plans.”
“Is that any way to greet your parents?”
Whitney’s finger froze on the keyboard. Her father and mother stood at the door, him in a tweed jacket and her in a pants suit.
Her mother fingered the trendy pearls around her neck. “It’s been nearly a year since we’ve spoken to you.”
A new record. She’d deliberately not reached out to them after her last conversation to how long it would take for them to reach out to her. Maybe they’d found out about her promotion at the business and were here to congratulate her. A tiny, barely-there firework of hope exploded inside her. Maybe they’d finally come to realize that even though she wasn’t a fancy Harvard scientist, she mattered.
“Well, as you can see, I’ve been swamped.”
“Too busy to make the
thirty-minute drive out to the estate?” Dr. Garfield Averton III took the seat Izzy had occupied earlier that morning. He looked exactly the same as he always had since she could remember. His side-parted gray hair, spectacles perched halfway down his nose, long fingers steepled in front of him.
The familiar lines of disappointment fanning out from his eyes as he peered at her over his glasses.
She shrugged and stood, gathering her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk and putting it across her shoulder. “Starving children all over the world need help, and every minute I have to spare is another life saved.”
“I thought you were just a secretary?” Her mother still hadn’t moved from the doorway, her unease with her youngest daughter palpable.
Her parents never knew how to handle her. Her disappointing lack of genius was something they’d never overcome.
But could she really blame her parents for their awkwardness? Their language was books and SMART Boards; they weren’t operating on the same playing field. Whitney blew out a sigh through barely parted lips, letting her pent-up tension out with it. “No, mother, I’m vice president of logistics. I’m the one in charge of ensuring all the donated food and water and clothes actually get into those children’s hands.” A fact that filled her with satisfaction and gratitude. Those kids actually needed her, not for her body but for her skills—skills she had learned on her own. And she intended to see to it that each and every hungry child got the help they deserved, even if it meant working through her lunch breaks. She had the luxury of eating whenever she wanted; they didn’t.
“How wonderful,” her mother said, “we had no idea.”
There were no warm hugs or claps of congratulations.
“So, why are you here?” she asked.
They’d never visited her at work before, and she’d been here nearly four years.
Her father stood, blocking her path. “We thought we could take you out to dinner.”
“Dinner?” The only time they’d gone out to dinner as a family was to celebrate her older sister’s accomplishments—valedictorian, summa cum laude, the Signet award for biochemical engineering research and development, the Edgar award for something science-y, blah, blah, blah.
Mayhem's Desire: Operation Mayhem Page 3