by Jamie Knight
A window in the corner of the huge monitor expanded and brightened into view revealing Harlan Dawes smiling at them.
“Good morning, crew. And I mean that. Welcome. Consider yourselves members of our team here at Nextthing.Net as we call upon you for your input. No idea is too small, too big or too crazy to consider around here.”
A second box split off from Dawes, to show Trace Linder in his mask.
“Good Morning, gang. If you take a moment to look at your desktops you will see a link and password for a Zoom session that will start in an hour. Take some time to familiarize yourselves with the resource the workstation offers then Haran and or myself will come on to moderate discussion and listen to ideas,” Linder finished and Harlan took advantage of the moment.
“And remember. This isn’t rocket science. You don’t even have to explain or justify a visual idea as long as it works. I want to apologize for this unorthodox setup. The Coronavirus is touching us all one way or another. I would have preferred tossing ideas back and forth across a conference table over take-out foods and industry banter. Industry banter is high underrated. A lot of great ideas are born in the midst of careless conjecture. Take advantage of Zoom. Banter is encouraged. Take out guaranteed. Ms. Kalinski has the menus of restaurants she’s decided to support that are still open for pick up an…”
Another tone interrupted Harlan.
“Ok. I have to take this. Good luck, everyone. Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines,” Harlan announced in a casual yet celebrative tone all at once as his window collapsed to a pinpoint of light and disappeared.
Disappointed but in some ways relieved, Tory looked over to Mahira, who was having trouble getting comfortable in the odd shaped modern chair and grinned in unobservable amusement. The social distancing experiment wasn’t exactly what she had expected after the night by the pool, but it might give her a chance at actually being able to apply herself to the iGo App efforts.
When the Zoom session commenced it was led by Trace who started out by asking Dan about what his initial take on the group of visual concepts he had come up in the last two weeks. Even in the smaller Zoom window, Tory could see something collapse in Dan at the prospect of going first.
“Uh, I really like number 3, if that’s, you know, one of the good ones,” Dan answered shakily.
“What is it that makes concept 3 a strong contender, in your opinion?” Trace asked him.
“It still says iGo, the familiar is still here. The shapes are more streamlined and modern,” Dan said, buoyed somewhat by Trace’s obvious approval.
Noting that Mahira managed to finally balance on the ergonomic chair, Trace sought her first impression.
“I think they should leave it as it is but make it a solid color that isn’t in popular use, so it really stands out. Nothing says new like doing something different,” Mahira said, joyful confidence in her voice, perhaps to make up for not being able to smile at anyone in the masks.
There was an inexplicable silence from Trace’s box as he seemed to stare into something unknown while considering how to react to her thoughts on the matter.
“That’s one good approach. Something different. I agree that it would have to be something different, maybe not necessarily an abandonment of the brand’s colors,” Tory interjected to try supporting Mahira’s statement, but it went sideways instead.
“Great, Thank you, Victoria. That is exactly what I’ve done,” Trace trumpeted proudly.
Tory continued, “In doing a little research, I could see that the three colors of the current icon are closely associated with the iGo brand. The user looks for those hues, perhaps even more than the individual shapes of the composite graphics.”
Harlan’s window brightened and expanded again as he listened in to try to catch up.
“OK, OK. Wow, research too. That’s great. So, which one of my designs are you likely to suggest to Mr. Dawes? We know Dan the man is a real big fan of concept 3,” Trace chimed grinning in his digital box.
“Wait, what is this?” Harlan said with obvious severity in his voice. “Trace, I asked them here for fresh perspectives, not to have you guide them to choose…”
He disappeared from the window. Somewhere a door could be heard slamming.
Trace turned away from his workstation and Harlan could be seen standing at the opening to his private cubicle.
“Get up. Now. Come to my office. We need to clarify a couple of things,” Harlan ordered brusquely.
They all watched as Trace nervously got up and turned back to reach for his tablet in its charging station.
“Leave it!” Harlan ordered.
Embarrassed, Trace could no longer face the faces looking at him and walked away briskly to face the music.
“Holy shit,” remarked Mahira, “if he thinks he’s going to treat people like that, I know all kinds of influencers that would tweet him right off the throne he thinks he has here. I won't stand for it.”
“I didn’t even know what to say, I just picked one and tried to be nice. Dawes is gonna tear me up when he thinks I agree with Linder,” Dan said, worriedly.
Tory was quiet and glad once again for the privacy the mask granted in hiding expression. She had found herself darkly enjoying the assertiveness implicit in Harlan’s tone and was tempted to offer something in Trace’s defense to see if Harlan would lash out but refrained, feeling childish for having thought of so obvious a challenge to his fiery ire.
Instead, she spent the time exploring the resources of the workstation as advised. She hadn’t completely agreed with Trace Linder. She knew he was right in thinking that the new design had to keep the colors associated with the brand, but it was just a matter of finding a new and unique way to do it.
Chapter 12
Angry, Harlan Dawes had Trace sit in his office and wait for him while he went up to the lounge and paced. He thought he may have overreacted a bit to Trace’s obvious intention to sway the group’s opinion for his own benefit. It really made Harlan upset as it jeopardized the balance he felt was in place by having the small group of creative winners in place should his own behavior and preoccupations get in the way of progress.
Of course, he could not explain this part of his thinking to Trace which started to make him laugh and lighten up. Harlan was really disappointed in Trace’s efforts with the iGo icon work.
Trace, it had seemed, had become comfortable for so long that his edge had become dull in economic stability. Not really his fault, Harlan concluded then mixed a drink while he thought about how to amicably take Trace off the iGo job and give him some time off without it becoming awkward.
***
Tory had ordered a huge Caesar Salad with chicken at lunch and didn’t finish it. She sat picking at the chicken while looking at color swatches and gradient settings in an Adobe App on her tablet that evening.
The dinner hour was exceptionally quiet until Mahira decided to approach and sit at the next table, slurping the remnants of her soft drink from the ice in her cup, mask hanging under her chin. Dan was sleeping off his hangover and Trace was nowhere to be seen.
“I think you made a good impression earlier,” Mahira confided in her suddenly.
“I don’t know. I just kinda agreed with everyone,” Tory told her, quite matter of factly.
“You held it together back there and hunkered down. I saw what you were getting into and I was walking out to lunch. You’ve got some seriously nerdy superpowers that may even eclipse my own. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think you have Dawes’s eye on you. It shouldn’t be hard to get his ear too,” Mahira joked, catching Tory off guard enough to put her at ease.
“I don’t know. There’s so much I’m uncertain about yet I have my expectations,” Tory confided, grinning.
“I bet you have them wrapped around your finger in Wisconsin, hey! Didn't you tell me back at the hotel that there was a young and overprotective hometown hunk back in Madison?”
Tory flushed red thinking about any real d
iscussion of Jude that would have to include that their relationship was never consummated and had been just a few daring steps beyond platonic, before she broke it off. Sensing something in the fair younger woman’s blush, Mahira pursued.
“What is it? I know you say he’s very possessive. What was his name again… Jules?”
“Jude. We’ve never actually been together. I mean…”
“You’re a virgin,” she whispered, even as they were alone.
“Madison is a small town. I’m at college but I live at home,” she explained.
“No need to defend it. I held on as long as I could. There’s a lot of fun you can still have and remain, um, intact, as some people say,” Mahira suggested.
“Jude was constantly asking me to hold it. Said I wouldn’t have to do much more than that and he'd be satisfied for a while,” Tory said, causing her new friend to laugh, so she continued. “We’d be walking down the street and instead of holding my hand he’d make me hold two of his fingers for practice. Really annoyed me for a while. I’ve distanced myself from him gradually but like I say, it’s a small town and our parents know each other, and have their own ideas.”
“Believe me, you can get a lot of affection and attention from men by offering up the beyond vanilla world they always dream of. I kept my girlhood together until twenty with oral and anal, and believe me, when you offer a man your back door, he’ll always come back for more. I have guys who still text me in the middle of the night,” Mahira confessed, making Tory giggle almost uncontrollably at the slightly older woman’s candor.
“You laugh,” Mahira went on, knowing she’d found a topic that tickled Tory in the midst of all the wonder and madness they currently inhabited together, “but butt sex can make you climax deeply if it’s hit at the right angle for long enough, trust me.”
“I’m not really opposed to any beyond vanilla fun. For the right man, I’d do almost anything. And I do believe vanilla can be very exotic in the right context,” Tory managed to say, calming down as she braved her intention and realized it all at once.
She had never done very much that was sexual, at all. But she had imagined doing plenty. And now she had someone very specific in mind to do it with – Harlan Dawes. Yes, he was technically her boss now, and she knew she really shouldn’t go there with him. But she was drawn to him and knew she would do anything he asked her to do.
She only hoped that he would ask.
Chapter 13
Harlan worked out in the gym until a point just short of physical exhaustion. In making certain each rep performed with each muscle was never less than a hundred pounds, his workout was not terribly long but gave him the kind of definition and stature he never had in younger years.
He waved his hand over a sensor and a door near the restrooms and changing area slid open to reveal a modern spa room with multi shower heads lining the walls. Harlan ordered a number 6 then slipped out of his swimsuit and sandals, entered and the door slid shut again and sealed with a hiss.
The warm water on his muscles left him feeling soothed, relaxed and woozy.
“Dry, please,” he commanded, and jets of warm air whipped past his body in a numbing embrace of warm air and white noise.
He slipped on his swimsuit and a fluffy velour robe from a locker nearby and drifted out into the corridor then paused wondering if he were dreaming as he gazed towards the huge window out on the city’s night.
Tory’s hair was a wild cascade of gold and light falling over her bare shoulders as she stood enrapt with the view. Taking a few more quiet steps towards her, Harlan realized that she wasn’t standing there in a pair of tight jeans and a bra but jeans and her bikini top. Her arms were raised high, stretched out as if to somehow capture the city and all its promises at once.
In fascination, he ventured closer, noticing his reflection was there for her to see the entire time he approached, sending an irrational surge of adrenaline into his system. There was no way to hide what Harlan felt Tory had glimpsed and no reasons to hide anything, in knowing she was aware of his approach. They said nothing with words yet plenty in gesture.
Harlan considered himself a hip reader, registering every thrust and swivel, the arch of a woman’s back that raised her tailbone to tempt and tantalize. He could feel his erection become a reality, straining against the snug fabric of his swimsuit, rising to meet nature’s highest drama and answer a poignant invitation made on a purely biological level.
With their bodies in conversation already, no preliminaries were needed.
“Don’t take your hands off the glass,” Harlan ordered sternly.
She turned to him for the first time. Tory’ lips parted, opening her mouth as softly as a bud opened for sunlight. Their eyes locked for a part of a second that eclipsed all else and felt as if it would never end.
“You have an amazing body,” he told her. “I love your curves.”
“So do you,” she said. “I had been imagining what you might look like, under your suit. And when I was able to do so, I realized it was even better than what I had been thinking.”
“So, you’ve been thinking about me, have you?” he asked.
“I have, Sir.”
“Good. Because I haven’t been able to get you off my mind.”
Contact came all at once as lips softly crushed upon each other, Harlan’s left hand flat on her smooth belly, the soft curves of her body in denim pressed to the hardness in his swimsuit, his brawny right arm across her bare skin, hand sliding under the bikini top, his fingertips brushing the soft perimeters of her nipple. She pressed her body into his, granting him more.
Both of his hands were on her breasts, smooth and then firmly squeezing, unable to take them completely in both hands but driving her to moan in desire. Harlan began to unbutton and unzip her jeans. When Tory reached to assist him, he brushed her hand away.
“Don’t move,” Harlan whispered, as he went down on one knee and peeled her jeans down to her thighs while rubbing his unshaven face in the fuzz over her tailbone, both hands smoothly exploring her thighs as he kissed and tongued along the fabric of her black thong.
Tory’s breath became gasps as Harlan firmly grasped her hips and pushed his tongue in beyond her thong. After basking in her moans of pleasure, high on her scent and wetness, Harlan needed more.
Slipping out of his robe and swimsuits he took hold of her again, her hands still pressed against the glass and night sky. Harlan’s huge hard-on found its way between her thighs, her body seeming to melt upon his as she turned to kiss again.
Harlan’s fingertips slowly and softly sought the tiny rising node of her pleasure as his longer middle finger sought entry into her tight, wet pussy hole. Then he noticed the unfamiliar in this young woman whose heart now pounded violently behind her breasts.
“A virgin,” he said to himself, almost certain he had gained another inch while slowly and forcefully rubbing the length of his engorged member between her legs, his middle finger on again swirling slow magic.
Her first orgasm with him began, her body clapping down on the tumescent huge stiffness threatening to break and burrow and sate itself within her. Tory’s moan’s lengthened and rose in pitch until becoming the siren call to Harlan’s own teeth grinding exaltation that went on and Tory’s body let go in a freefall of pleasure.
Still hard, Harlan took advantage of Tory’s wetness. With kisses and a firm hand over her ass, another twisting her left nipple short of viciously, he opened and entered her as she gasped and trembled. Harlan couldn’t resist bunching her golden locks in his fist and pressing himself as deeply as possible inside her tight pussy, then holding it there as long as possible before the thrusting. The flesh slapping unified efforts of their bodies to find orgasm again held them both until Tory’s next orgasm delivered them both to blissful satisfaction.
He pulled out his cock just quickly enough to cum on her gorgeous, curvy ass cheeks.
“Fuck yeah,” he groaned, as he emptied himself onto her pale ski
n. “You made me cum so good. Good girl, Tory.”
That had been the best lovemaking he’d done in a long time. If he truly admitted it to himself, it was probably the best ever.
Moments later, Tory lay on the crumble of her jeans, marveling at the tiny drops of drying blood on her thigh. Harlan smiled at her and kissed the droplets away before giving her the robe.
“There’s a great shower down here,” Harlan told her. “Come try it out.”
In silence, they stood before the hot jets of water, trading smiles, and looking at each other nude in the steam.
“I want to show you something. My favorite spot to watch this city,” Harlan said as they dried off.
The elevator opened to Harlan’s lounge on the top floor. As Tory walked down the steep steps, she gazed out at Harlan’s view of the city.
“It’s amazing,” she said.
“Yeah, but wait until you go outside,” he told her. “Sit down for a minute.”
Harlan went to his kitchenette and began to look for something.
“I know Spring is coming. But a little hot chocolate is great up here where it can get windy at night.”
He microwaved skim milk and stirred small bars of chocolate in the hot milk, then put them back in the microwave.
“C’mon. That will take a couple minutes,” he said.
Outside in the breeze, they walked with the glowing panorama of the city around them. Near the building’s modern helipad, a shaded table and chairs were set up to overlook the Avenues.
“This is where I like to come to get away from the studio for a bit or have my breakfast if I’ve spent the night here. Sit down. I’ll go get our cocoa.”
Inside, Harlan put the hot mugs on a tray. About to go back out, he paused and put the tray down.
Standing at his monitor, he commanded the AI to pull up the security cameras downstairs in the corridor, Recreation Center and gym. He backed it up to see the last hour.
“Erase last hour’s footage from cameras 4, 6 and 8,” he ordered, taking up the tray and stepping outside.