by Wright,Lulu
I glance at the department again.
Cock is everywhere. Cock will be in Mr. Hamilton’s face.
My shoulders slump. “You think he’s going to hate it,” I say. It’s not a question.
Brenda shrugs her shoulders. “I guess we’re about to find out.” She reaches out to pat my shoulder, and smiles sweetly. I wait for her usual confidence-boost, the kind only Brenda can deliver, practical but optimistic. She smiles at me. “Expect the best, but prepare for the worst.”
Well, shit.
“Gee, thanks,” I mumble. Brenda doesn’t hear me. She’s already headed out of the store. “You aren’t staying for the walk-through?” I call after her, hating how weak it makes me sound. Like I need her here to hold my hand. I ignore the little voice in the back of my head saying maybe you do.
“You’ve got this, Lily.” She winks at me, and there it is at last. The little confidence boost I needed.
Maybe too little too late, but hey, I’ll take what I can get to bolster my confidence today. The regional manager position dangles in front of me like a carrot just out of reach. One last meeting. One last walk-through. Today will determine exactly how close I am to that new promotion.
I take a deep breath. Almost time.
Mr. Hamilton steps out of the elevator and fills the entire space with his imposing presence. He’s tall, though not quite as tall as Jack, who’s escorting him onto the floor. But his age and demeanor make him seem taller somehow. His thick salt and pepper hair give him that wealthy, distinguished look and the glasses perched on the end of his nose give that extra physical twitch of scrutiny. Emanating power and privilege, he intimidates everyone without even opening his mouth.
He looks over our silent group as if his eyeballs will shoot laser at us. I stare at my shoes before his gaze reaches me, nervous despite myself. I’ve never met anyone like him. I’ve never met the owner of the entire chain I work for.
“Welcome back to Center City,” Jack says to him.
“Good to see you again, Jack.” Mr. Hamilton nods at him. It seems like Jack is the only person Hamilton doesn’t scowl down at.
I think about our date last night, about Jack impersonating him, and suddenly I have to stifle a grin. If only the prim and proper Mr. Hamilton knew what his manager here was really like.
Hamilton turns his eye on the rest of us as Jack introduces us one by one. I catch Jack glaring at Beckman when he introduces him, because Beckman is so busy staring at Adriana’s ass that it takes him a second to look up and shake Mr. Hamilton’s hand.
Figures.
Mr. Hamilton reaches me, and Jack smiles as he says my name. He didn’t do that for anyone else. I hope nobody notices.
I hope nobody notices the way his eyes rake up and down my body, either. I pulled out all the stops today—I straight-up wore a pantsuit. Black pants, a crisply pressed work shirt with a blazer over it. I did my hair in a sleek bun, and even wore makeup—though not the smoky, sultry eye I did for Jack last night.
I resist the urge to smirk a little, at the stunned expression on Jack’s face. At least someone appreciates my getup.
“This is Miss Lily Brook, who handles our Flash Fit contract. She’s put together the Basics Department today.”
“The one I’m especially looking forward to seeing,” Mr. Hamilton says as he grips my hand. His handshake is stronger than I expected for a man of his age. I smile and try not to wince as he pumps my hand. “Let’s start in Basics, shall we?” he suggests.
I pretend that my heart didn’t just leap into my throat. “Uh-huh,” I manage to squeak, nodding rapidly. What the heck is wrong with me?
Nerves, probably. That, and there’s something weird about the way Jack is staring at me over Hamilton’s shoulder. Like he’s scrutinizing my every move.
Probably doesn’t trust me not to screw this up for everyone. Defiance gives me a little of my usual sass back. “Right this way, Mr. Hamilton,” I tell him, before turning to lead the way straight to Basics.
Mr. Hamilton peers over his glasses at me as we walk, and my spine stiffens. “I hope these updates are consistent with our traditions and standards.”
I think of all the pictures of half-naked men, but shake off the doubt. “You are going to be beyond pleased, Mr. Hamilton.”
“Miss Brook, I’ll withhold my judgment until I see the final product.” His voice has gotten lower, harder. “Every new generation tries to reinvent the wheel. Most fail.”
Taking a deep breath, I give him a nod and a smile. “Let’s go rip the bandage then, shall we?”
It’s just the small group of us walking to Basics. The other managers scatter to tremble in their own departments waiting for their turn in front of the firing squad. Our group is just me, Jack and Beckman. Before we even set foot inside the department, Mr. Hamilton starts barking.
“These plexi trays are cloudy.” He points to a Mistletoe Murphy tower display. He squints at the second tray down from the top and I notice what he sees, a whisper of a crack in the plastic. It might be half an inch long. “Is that a crack? That’s a crack.” He thumbs the imperfection. “Make a note to have this fixture changed.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Jack scribbling the note down, and I chew on my inner lip to keep from smiling. I wonder if he’s drawing another Burt.
Focus, Lily. I force myself back to the present in time to find Hamilton scowling at a Ralph Lauren sweater poster. “Who approved this graphic? Macy’s has the same exact image.”
My cheeks flush. Maybe all this change was a mistake. Maybe it’s too much at once.
We haven’t even reached the underwear yet.
As we near the Sportswear Department, Mr. Hamilton knocks on the shorts table. “This is off-center. “If you can’t eyeball it, use a protractor.” He folds his arms across his chest and his eyes dart all over the table. “I don’t like the color blocking of these stacks, either. Why aren’t our private labels on the front aisle?”
I hold my breath. We’re almost to the Flash Fit racks.
Mr. Hamilton slows like a tiger approaching prey. He crosses his arms across his chest and studies the Flash Fit shop over his glasses. With his face pinched in an expression of anger and disapproval, a vein pops on his temple.
As Mr. Hamilton studies the department like cells under a microscope, I cast a sideways glance at Jack. He’s clutching his clipboard with white-knuckles, and yet, when our eyes meet, he smiles at me reassuringly. Even though he’s clearly nervous as well, he’s here for me, playing the strong one. I smile back at him, feeling safer at just having him here, close by.
No matter what Mr. Hamilton says, at least I know my Imitation Hamilton appreciates everything I’ve done.
The real Mr. Hamilton waves his fingers in the air, calling my attention back to him. “I understand this is all your planning?” he barks.
“I partnered with Jack, Clarice and Mark,” I say. “But the overall concept is one that I’ve been working on for some time, yes. Really, the whole store helped pull this effect together in the end.”
Walking around the fixtures, Mr. Hamilton pulls out drawers, squints at images and huffs at butt forms. “We are a traditional store, Miss Brook. We have a culture to maintain. A standard to keep no matter what the retail climate thinks. We maintain dignity.”
My stomach turns. Here it comes. But I hold my ground. “Of course we do, Mr. Hamilton. Flash Fit have a brand to maintain as well, so I completely understand. But there is a way to marry modern branding with tradition, I think. A way to maintain discipline and order, while still optimizing our sales. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Over Mr. Hamilton’s shoulder, Jack looks like he’s about to start hyperventilating.
Mr. Hamilton reaches around me to tug at the yellow jockstrap on the butt form nearest the entrance. “Who approved this?”
I open my mouth to speak, but Jack interrupts. “I did.”
I watch as Mr. Hamilton looks at the butt form in hand. “It’s daring,”
he says through clenched teeth. “Borderline inappropriate.”
I catch his eye and then cock my head at him. “It will sell underwear. It will encourage people to try new brands, and new styles, too. That is the point, right?”
Mr. Hamilton pushes his glasses up his nose. He picks up the butt form and turns it over in his hands for a moment. I hold my breath, and I swear the whole store holds it with me. Jack catches my eye again, and even he can’t hide his panic now. But I smile again, reassuring him this time.
We’ve got this. Whatever Mr. Hamilton thinks, I know I put together the best floor I possibly can.
Mr. Hamilton centers the butt form on the fixture with precision to line it up with the rest of the scantily dressed mannequins. “I see what you have done here, Miss Brook. You have made this shop fashion forward, attention-grabbing and impactful … but …”
Jack winces. I stand my ground, shoulders squared, braced for impact.
“But you have managed to do it and keep within Hamilton standards. It’s sexy, but not offensive. It’s daring, yet almost … classy. I like it.”
Our collective exhales should create a tornado in the department.
Without thinking, I launch into a thank-you that quickly devolves into a monologue about Flash Fit fabrics and silhouettes. After listening patiently about cotton v. poly-blends, Mr. Hamilton gently taps my arm. “I don’t like long conversations about underwear,” he says with a stern face. “I like to keep it brief.”
I can’t help it. I burst into laughter. “Oh, Mr. Hamilton.” I pat his arm, still cackling. I can’t help it. I love me a good Dad Joke.
Finally, Mr. Hamilton turns away from me, back to Jack. “Jack?” His face is back to stone.
“Yes, sir.”
“Show me the rest of your department. It better look like Flash Fit.”
I shoot Jack a thumbs-up over Mr. Hamilton’s shoulder as they turn to leave. He winks at me, and I swear I could not feel better. I’m on cloud 9 right now, and only rising.
At least, I think I couldn’t feel better. Then, less than a minute after they depart, a text flashes across my cell phone.
Meet me at 8 for your surprise, Underwear Queen.
Yep. Definitely sailing right over cloud 9 and up to the moon.
At 8pm sharp, the elevator doors open onto Jack’s penthouse, accompanied by soft light and calm music. Jack greets me with a slow kiss. “Are you ready for your surprise?” he murmurs, stroking my hair.
“Will it be an even better surprise than Hamilton actually liking my stuff? Because that’s going to be hard to top.”
He laughs. “I can’t promise anything. That was a shock to all of us I think.” He side-eyes me and leans in to peck my cheek. “Not because your stuff isn’t amazing, of course. But just because … Well … Mr. Hamilton … I’ve never actually seen him smile inside the store before.”
“Mission accomplished then.” I beam up at him.
He grins. “Indeed. So, let’s see if I can live up to that …”
He takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom where I see a large plain black trunk perched at the end of his bed. “That’s your surprise.”
I side-eye him. “You bought me a trunk?”
He grins and kisses me on the cheek. He takes my hand and we get on our knees next to the trunk. “Open it,” he urges with a nod.
I hesitate, wondering if this is some elaborate snake in a can joke. But the look in Jack’s eyes tell me he’s serious. I lift the lid, and the hinges squeak as a woody scent fills the air. The trunk is filled with scores of individually wrapped packages of various shapes and sizes; each has a letter written on it in black marker.
“A box of gifts?” I raise an eyebrow at him. He’s beaming.
“This is your Fantasy Treasure Chest.” His fingers dance up my spine, wreaking havoc on my nervous system. “Lily, you were quite clear last night about wanting to explore. Everything you mentioned wanting to try is in this chest. Plus a few extra ones. Got to keep things surprising, you know.” His eyes positively twinkle.
My jaw drops. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”
He gives me a smirk. “This was really your idea when you think about it.”
I feel my ears get hot at the memory of my restaurant confession. With a smile, he removes a small black satin bag secured with a red silk rope. When he shakes it, the contents rattle. He reaches into the bag and shows me a handful of scrabble tiles. “Every package has a letter. You pick a letter and open the package. Then we play with it.” I finger the tiles in his hand and look at the boxes. “If you don’t want to do what’s in the package. We won’t. We’ll draw another letter. I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable doing. OK?”
My smile widens. “OK.”
He slides the letters back in the bag and gives it a shake. “Go on, then. Pick your fantasy.”
Biting my lip, I slip my hand into the bag and scramble the tiles with my fingers. The letter in my palm is a Z and Jack chuckles.
“What?” I reach up to grab his tie and tug him down to my level. He’s still in his black work suit, but he’s taken off his name tag, and I want to tear this shirt off him without waiting for a present first.
But he slides out of my grasp. “I remember this one. It’s perfect.” He digs into the bottom of the trunk and pulls up a long flat package wrapped in pink tissue paper. He sets it on my lap. “Open up.”
I tear off the paper. Inside the box I find a riding crop with a small flap of a paddle on the end. “Time for a little discipline, Miss Brook.” He curls his fingers around mine, then plucks the crop from me. “Get to your feet and remove your clothing. Now.”
As I rise, I eye the riding crop with a strange blend of fear and arousal.
He watches me as I peel off my clothes. I love the way his eyes trace my skin, like he’s memorizing me. Devouring me with his gaze. “I am assigning you a safe word.”
“Safe word?” I parrot.
“That’s for your protection if things get too intense. You say that word and I stop. Your safe word is manties.”
I laugh and cover my hands with my face. “Oh, no …”
“Oh, yes. And one more thing.” He lifts my chin with the riding crop. It smells of well-oiled leather, and it feels flat and cool on my skin. “That’s the only word you are allowed to say.”
“Is it now?” I ask.
That earns me a quick, lightning-fast tap on the wrist with the crop. It’s so quick I barely see it happening, and I hardly feel the sting on my skin. He’s going easy on me.
For now.
“No speaking. Understand?”
He waits until I look up at him, silent and obedient. Then he grins.
“Now sit in the middle of the bed.”
Obeying, I position myself on his mattress. He pulls my legs straight one by one. “Point your toes up.” Jack rubs the leather end on the soles of my flexed feet. My feet?
Snap!
A tight slash of pain and a sweet flash of pleasure shoot from the soles of my feet straight to my chest. I gasp. He flogs the bottom of my feet one after the other; it’s intense, but not too painful. Instinctively, I move my fingers to my clit.
He stops dead. “Tsk, tsk. I did not give you permission to touch yourself.” The crop slashes across the backside of my thigh, and I jump a little.
Grinning, I pull my hands away from my clit, only to run them up my body and rub my nipples instead.
That earns me another quick slap from the crop, this time on my hip bone. “Stop touching yourself. You are not allowed.”
I put my hands on the bed. “Sorry.”
“I believe I told you the only word you could speak was your special word. You need to be punished for your disobedience. Get on your hands and knees.”
I get into position and peek over my shoulder at him to see him adjust his tie. Mm. I want to rip that off of him. “You’re misbehaving.” He smirks. “Keep your eyes forward. No looking back.”
The riding crop’s tip grazes the tender part of my ass cheeks. He teases me with a few gentle pats, but then upgrades to slaps. Oh my god, here it comes. Yes …
Whack.
It knocks the breath out of me, but fills me with warmth at the same time. When Jack rubs the area he just slapped, the sensation spreads, the sweetness of the pleasure brings tears to my eyes. He smacks me again, on the other cheek, and I can’t help but moan desperately.
“You need to be fucked.”
I agree. My body is singing with sweet sensation; hot electric blood pulses through me. Jack climbs on the bed behind me, the wool of his suit brushing my skin, the silk of his tie tickling my lower back. I hear the tearing of a condom wrapper and feel his strong hands on my hips. He penetrates me with satisfying force, thrusting hard enough to push me straight into a place pure of delirium. Shaking with throbbing, pulsing bliss, my arms give so I press my face into the mattress. His hands trace from my hips up to my breasts which he kneads as he continues to thrust into me from behind, deep and fast. His grip tightens on my nipples as he starts to lose control, until he’s pinching them, and I thrust hard back against him, groaning. His hard cock fills every inch of me, and I can’t get enough. The sensation of his hips smacking against my already sensitive ass only adds to the pleasure, a mix of pain and ecstasy that drives me wild with every plunge he takes into me. In no time at all, I’m right at the brink, shivering on the bed in front of him. Climaxing together, I moan until we collapse in a heap of tangled limbs. Then he envelops me in his arms, crushing my body tight against his.
When we recover, he rubs aloe vera lotion on my red-striped ass.
“I think Z is my new favorite letter,” I pant.
He smirks. “You might find others you like just as much.”
I know I will. I eyeball the shirt and suit pants he’s still wearing, having only shoved them around his knees in his haste to fuck me senseless. “Take off your clothes so we can cuddle.”
“Are you giving the orders now?”
“Yes.” I smile.
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Yes, ma’am.”