by Lana Hartley
It looks like she may be distracting Erik with her womanly whiles. It seems to be working too. Every time she touches him, he looks at the champagne fountain.
I’d like to see champagne spray over that hot body too. Why not?
If she wants to distract Erik, good for her. If she actually wants to get close to him, she’s going to struggle with details.
My job is not about details. My job is about making people feel good about themselves and building their confidence. All I have to do is use my charm, put them at ease and suddenly they’re happy to shift millions into my bank.
Looking calm and confident while Erik talks about the deals I’m directly involved in but can’t talk about is not even a challenge for me.
I don’t feel like I’m deceiving him. I’m not lying. I’m just not telling the whole truth.
While I scan the crowd, I check out the girls. I would like to get laid at this thing, or at least meet a decent woman. Someone that really turns me on.
I give Erik and Rose a wave as I start wandering through the crowd. If I stay with them too long, I could start tripping over their details. Not my scene.
I’m surveying the crowd, waiting for a woman to stand out from the rest. Just when I’m starting to think none will, my gaze is snagged by a sight so uncanny my brain does a flip.
A tiny, gorgeous brunette with wild, long dark hair is desperately balancing some very fine crystal glasses on a silver platter. Her other hand struggles with the heavy bottle of champagne.
It’s a goddamn miracle she isn’t wearing the contents of the bottle.
I start walking towards her. For a tiny, slender thing she’s got a great ass. Her tits jiggle around as she teeters back on forth on her too high heels. Much more of that and those gorgeous tits will fall right out the front of that blouse.
She’s hot. I can’t stop looking at her hands. There’s something about those smooth, long fingers that make my cock start to throb. Its not a frenzy of lust, no way. It’s a slow build. She lights my fucking fire.
I want to fuck her slowly for a few hours, sliding her on my cock from every angle. I want to watch those big, red, pouty lips devouring the swollen head of my dick while those gorgeous fingers grip the shaft.
She puts down the bottle and starts staggering forward with the tray. It’s way too heavy for her. The big silver thing would probably be too much for her delicate little wrists even without the crystal glasses full of champagne.
I rush forward to help her, but I’m too late. With a wide-eyed look of panic, she goes down, the tray crashing to the floor at my feet and the glasses shattering. Champagne splashes on my shoes and I, momentarily, close my eyes and grieve for them.
The tasty piece is crumpled on the floor. She looks too scared to move.
“I’m sorry about your shoes. I’ll buy you some more.”
“They were handmade, in Italy.”
“I don’t care. I’ll pay you back.” She still hasn’t looked up.
“Handmade, by an old man who is now dead.”
“Huh?” She looks up, bright blue eyes questioning as her mouth forms a cute little pout.
I smile as I lean down and offer her a hand.
“It’s okay, honey. Are you alright? Did you get hurt?”
She takes my hand, and I haul her up. She staggers several times, gripping my forearms as she struggles for balance.
“I think you’re the one that needs new shoes.” My smile gets wider as I pull her closer to me.
“Yeah, they are high, I guess. They’re the nicest I have, so I had to wear them.”
I nod slowly, as if this is sage advice. “Of course.”
We are so caught up looking into each other’s eyes that we’re both startled by a bark nearby.
“Grace. Honestly. What the hell are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Abigail!” She turns around, beseeching the tall, severe woman. From her expression, this isn’t a first offense. Abigail is perfectly composed and made up. Her blonde hair gleams, her features enhanced with flawless make up. Even though she’s pissed she maintains her poise. The difference between the two women is grating its so severe.
“I don’t know what to do with you. This is a joke.”
“Please, please give me another chance!”
“No. You clearly are a disaster that occurs regularly. Get out.”
“Now, now,” I speak up, “surely, we can find a job for this very capable lady. She’s under some tough conditions. This old silver tray is far too heavy for her.”
Abigail narrows her eyes at me.
“This is the second time today I’ve had my work practices questioned.”
“That should tell you something about them.” I stare at her firmly.
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Get into the kitchen, Grace. It’s your last chance.”
She walks off quickly.
I grin at Grace, and she grins back. Carefully, I let go of her forearms.
She wobbles, and I hold her up again. Her smile is so beautiful, innocent, and sweet, but it’s her hands that thrill me.
I could be putty in those hands. Fingers like these were made for sculpting, for massaging.
“You okay?” I ask again.
“Yeah. Sure. Thank you, mister.”
“Oh, I’m Michael. And it’s no sweat. Your name?”
“Oh, Um. I’m Gracie. I would really like to pay you back for the shoes.”
I smile, thinking that would be impossible, unless she has several thousand stuck in those tight pants.
“Tell you what,” I begin, pulling out a card and scribbling my table number on the back, “come and see me later, when you aren’t so busy. We can work something out.”
She takes my card, slipping it into her pocket.
“Thanks…Michael. I will. See you then.”
She starts slowly shuffling through the crowd towards the kitchen. I hope she’s not going to be doing any dishes. I hate the thought of those perfect hands getting ruined.
3
Grace
I am totally losing it, man.
This event has gotten on top of me. I’m so stressed out, I can’t think. I can’t stop my hands and legs from shaking, and that’s all I need right now.
I’ve already messed up so much.
I need this job.
I’m moving through the kitchens, trying desperately to make sure I don’t bump anyone or knock anything over. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be doing. Hiding from Abigail is top priority.
My rent is three weeks late. There’s nothing in my fridge except half a carton of milk. Nothing in my cupboard but half a loaf of bread.
I don’t need to spell it out. It’s obvious.
I’m fucked.
I need this job so badly. I thought I was lucky when my friend said she needed me to cover for her.
Now I’m not so sure. I just want to get out of here.
Every time plates of food move past, my stomach growls fiercely, and my mouth starts to water. I haven’t eaten all day, and this is just making my hands shake even more. I’m so tempted to steal one little piece when no one’s looking, but I’m terrified of being yelled at.
I’ve had enough of that in my life. Getting screamed at, abused. I seem to be everyone’s kicking post wherever I go.
I’m so used to feeling down and useless, it doesn’t even depress me anymore. I’m very sensitive to situations that might cause it to happen again, so, no touching the tasty mouthfuls.
Adding to my overall panic is the knowledge I have to meet Daniel and Michael after the wedding. Seriously, I could just sit down and cry right now. I can’t believe I screwed up so badly.
They’re so handsome and powerful. From a totally different world. I don’t know how to talk to them.
I’m scared of what they might think of me. What they might ask me to do.
Actually, that kind of turns me on a bit. My virginity has started to bother me a lot, especial
ly when I’m around guys who are so handsome and powerful. They are confident in a way I can’t even imagine.
With them around, I wouldn’t have to think. I could just do as I was told and there would be no danger of screwing up.
I don’t even realize it, but I’ve been standing stock still in the kitchen staring at two plates of food like a poorly dressed statue.
One is bite-sized smoked salmon on crisp bread with cream cheese. The other is a tiny pastry basket filled with duck paté. Both cultured and elegant, but one very bold and the other more subtle.
They look incredible, each one like a tiny artistic masterpiece. My mouth is watering, and I can’t seem to look away. Two perfect plates of deliciousness, so different, yet both so attractive.
I’m tempted to just eat one.
“Hey, missy!”
I leap up in shock and fear.
“Yes!” I scream, looking around for the voice.
Not far away, there’s a grey-haired chef watching me.
Shit. What have I done now?
“I can see you’re hungry, young lady. Why not try one? No one will notice. It’s okay.”
He smiles at me, nodding. He seems like a nice old guy, despite his stern expression. I was seriously worried standing still and breathing was getting me into trouble for a moment there.
I look back and forth between the plates, still helplessly mute. As I agonize over my decision, another chef hurries by, dropping a third plate on to the table to go out. It’s neat piles of caviar set on tiny little mini toasts.
I’m so confused and hungry, my poor brain is paralyzed. I just stand there looking among the three plates.
One is robust and bold. The other, subtle and delicate.
The caviar, well that’s just over the top. Exclusive, classy and overdone.
I know I’m being greedy. It’s not like me at all.
I should be happy with just one. But I can’t seem to choose.
“Um…do you think it would be okay to have one of each?” I ask shyly.
The chef smiles indulgently.
“Okay, sweetheart. You can try one of each. But can you hand out the caviar for me first? Then, when you get back, you can sit down and have a bite, okay?”
I nod eagerly, overjoyed. What a nice man.
“Wow. Thank you, thank you so much, sir!”
He smiles wider at me. “It’s okay. Go on now and get that caviar done so you can have your treat.”
I’m so excited I heft up the big tray, and it wobbles alarmingly. I grip the edges with both hands and hold it against my belly. I’m determined not to drop it.
I carefully place each foot down as I stagger along, not secure in the slightest in my too-high heels.
I can’t stop thinking about the food and how great it’s going to be. Of course, I’m so hungry you could put sawdust on a plate at this point, and I’d consider it fine fare. The fact that I’m really going to try excellent food I’ve never had before is just too awesome.
Lucky things like that don’t often happen to me. I’ve got to make the most of them.
I start circulating with the tray, keeping a keen eye out for Dan, Michael, or Abigail. I don’t want anything at all to screw this up. I’m going to hand out this caviar, then I’m going to get to eat.
I don’t want to run into any of those guys. I’ve already pissed Abigail off quite enough.
As I’m moving carefully along a wall trying to smile and stay upright, a guy up a bit further turns around.
Oh, shit, it’s that Chad guy. He smiles at me, and it’s not a friendly one.
Fuck.
“Did you find my keys, you fucking klutz?”
The tray wobbles violently. I fight to keep my hands still.
“I don’t have them.” I take a step back.
He steps forward.
“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. It really doesn’t matter. You’re so fucking insignificant, you know that? What the fuck is someone like you even doing here?”
He starts walking towards me, and I slide my feet back slowly, clinging to the tray. My knuckles are going white, and my wrists feel like they’re broken. I really don’t know what to do.
“You aren’t worth my fucking time or attention.” He sneers, turning to go around me.
I breathe a sigh of relief, and I relax a little.
That’s when he snags the corner of the tray with his elbow and jostles it.
I struggle with the tray, pushing it away from myself as it tilts towards me. I can feel my heels going out from under me, and I throw my arms out for balance.
The tray flies. It literally flies through the air.
For a few seconds, a random miracle of inertia keeps the caviar all on the tray. Then, it starts to flip.
The poor gentleman in its path doesn’t even have time to move. He just looks up as the tray goes belly up…and lands all over him.
It had to be the caviar tray. And he just had to be wearing a white tux.
I’m fucked.
4
Richard
I see that hot little piece of ass coming a mile away.
She’s struggling with a tray all the way from the kitchen. You don’t have to be good with numbers and odds—like I am—to be able to see that. When she moves past, I think I’m out of her range, so I stopped looking out for myself.
Suddenly, the tray and the caviar come out of fucking nowhere.
Too bad for her, she has to drop it on a prick like me. I’ll make sure she gets punished. I’m angry enough right now to punish her hard for more than a few hours.
As the tray clashes to the floor, she stumbles into me, and her hot young body presses against mine. Her tits are big and firm, and a skinny girl like her has no right to that round, bouncy ass.
I’m going to punish the fuck out of her. I’m going to squeeze those tits and ram that ass until I feel better about losing my fucking tux—handmade, tailored, made of fabric sourced from an animal that, three years from now, will likely be extinct…Priceless does not begin to describe it.
As I grab her forearm, she turns her face up to me, and I see her eyes for the first time.
Big, wide, and blue…such a deep blue…glittering like crystals. Jesus fuck.
My hand on her forearm tightens in excitement, and the tension pulls across her face, making her eyes wider and white-rimmed.
Those eyes are terrified. They are big, innocent, and pleading. The effect on me is extreme.
Tension sings through me as my cock hardens. I grip her arm even tighter—I can’t help it. Her eyes widen even further.
I want to see those innocent, big blue eyes staring up at me while I force my twelve hard inches down her fucking throat. I want to see them watering and pleading as I grip her hair and fuck her face.
She regains her balance and stares at my hand on her arm, as she starts to tremble.
“Can you let go of me, mister? I’m alright now. Thanks for holding me up.” She smiles uncertainly.
I don’t take my hand away. I keep my grip on her. My eyes bore into hers. My expression doesn’t change even for a second except for a tic in my jaw.
“Are you going to apologize?” My voice is low, husky and dangerous.
“I’m sorry! Oh, shit, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry for the caviar, for your suit, for everything…”
“How sorry are you?”
“Really sorry. So sorry. God, I don’t know what to say. I’ll pay you back!”
“Damn right, you will.” I pull her towards me, and she winces, body going stiff against the pressure. She turns those wide blue eyes back up to my face, and I feel my cock throbbing.
Yes, princess, just like that. Look up at me exactly like that: pleading, begging, helpless.
I could keep pushing. Part of me wants to just keep right on being an asshole until she breaks down and cries.
Oh, how lovely to see those eyes leaking tears, to see those tits jiggling under the force of her sobs. I can picture it now. It w
ouldn’t take much. She’s so close.
But a bigger part of me wants to save that for later, when I can really cut loose on her. I’ll give her something to cry about.
“I’ll do anything you ask. I promise. Please don’t tell Abigail—I’m in so much trouble already!”
Anything…
She’s just said she would do anything.
I lick my lips, feeling a grin coming on. I can’t help it. I let my face soften and I ease my grip without letting her go.
“Are you in trouble, sweet thing? Are you in it up to your lovely neck?”
She nods, gazing up at me. I want those pouty red lips on my cock now.
“I keep fucking up today. I’m in so much trouble. I’m really hungry, and I can’t think straight. Things just keep getting worse. I really need this job.”
I sling my arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.
“It’s okay, little princess. Richard’s got you now. What’s your name?”
“Gracie…Grace Evans.”
“Grace…your parents must have thought you had grace to give you that name.”
“Well, I don’t, clearly. I’m a fucking disaster area.”
I laugh softly. She’s still trembling a bit, and her curves feel soft and warm against me. My cock is straining in my pants, begging to get to her.
“I’m so sorry, mister—Richard?—I didn’t mean to ruin your suit or anything. Thanks for being nice about it and all. I appreciate it. I’m so, so sorry.”
As those gorgeous eyes search my face, starting to feel comfortable and to lose their fear, I let my business face take over—cold, emotionless calculation.
I see the anxiety start to rise in her expression immediately. Her eyes seem to get wider as she goes pale and worry starts to become fright.
I love how she looks at me. It makes me feel even more powerful than I do already.
I hold up my left arm, cuff soaked in dripping globs of caviar. “You can start right now by licking this off.”
She looks between my cuff and my face, easing out from under my right arm. “Um…what?”
“Lick it off—right now. This disgusting mess on my cuff, get it off.”