Office Perks

by S. L. Siwik

  Published by SL Siwik at Smashwords

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Office Perks: Copyright © 2014 by S.L. Siwik

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed in any printed or electronic form or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  To Amy-

  To naughty book covers bringing us together.

  The big difference between sex for money and sex for free is that sex for money usually costs a lot less.

  - Brendan Behan

  I’ll be the first to admit that I’m no saint. I’ve got a walk-in closet full of skeletons. I come from the wrong side of the tracks and spent my whole life trying to cover up just how broken my home was. My mother, when she wasn’t whoring herself out, was busy turning her body into a pin cushion. My father liked to get his cardio by using me as his punching bag. The only thing that was ever in our fridge was beer. In the cabinets, bags of heroin. I went to school hungry often. The most uncomfortable feeling in the world is hunger pains. Impossible to get a good night’s sleep when they strike.

  I know who the best dealers in the city are, who the kindest pimps are, where to go for the best time. I can tell you the easiest, quickest way to make money illegally. I’ve received my education on the streets, and I have connections in low places. I walked the streets as a high-class hooker myself for three years before I started working in the best gentlemen’s club in New York City. As soon as I figured out that men were attracted to me physically, I seduced the hell out of anyone that would give me an edge, help me survive. I never thought too closely about what I was doing at the time. Instead, I bucked up, while I fucked and sucked my way across this city. That was all before I got the call…

  As far as Kendall, the thirteen-year-old whom I care for, knows, I was life-long besties with Mother Teresa. Drugs? Just say no. Sex? Only appropriate on your wedding night. Your body is a sacred treasure to protect always. She believes that I used to work at a dance club that sold people water when they were thirsty from all their exercise. I color her imagination with Little House on the Prairie-like stories, cover up her vision with Norman Rockwell paintings. And she’ll never know otherwise. Not while I’m alive. She doesn’t need to know those horrors. She’ll get into an Ivy League School and have the life she has always dreamed of- the kind of life you see on Hallmark movies. She will know only the best about her mother and father: how kind they were, how much they worshipped her, how better they made the world by existing. I won’t let their memory fade to little more than dust. Most importantly, she’ll never know that her Aunt Vikkie used to sell her body for money.

  I’m not bitter or angry about my past though, despite what you might think. My parents are both dead, torturing their bodies with years of drug abuse. As their own worst enemies, they punished themselves better than I ever could. But, the real reason I’ve learned to let go of the anger is that I’m still alive. I’m still alive when incredible people like Evalyn and Rich are dead- killed by a drunk driver on their way home from a date night. They’ll never see the woman their daughter will grow up to be, never give her away on her wedding day. How can I hold on to such hate when I’ve been so blessed?

  For the past five years, I’ve been raising Kendall. When the police called me to tell me the news, and the social worker told me that I was who Evalyn and Rich wanted to raise their daughter, my life needed to change…fast. I cut everyone out of my life except for one friend, Andrea, who was also friends with Evalyn. Through a connection at the club, a CEO named Chris that had been trying to get in my pants for months, I found out that a wealthy business man in the Finance District was looking for a secretary. The man was none other than Mr. Townsend, one of the wealthiest men in New York and connected to the infamous Hurleys by marriage. In case you’ve been living under a rock, or are far removed from New York, the Hurleys own this city. Buildings are named after them. They whisper in the mayor’s ear. They have a few senators in their pockets if the stories are true. Several generations of their families have been in high political positions since America’s Civil War. Their money is as old as it comes. If the city was human, the Hurleys would be its lungs, breathing out its influence in everyday life. The Townsends were just as a huge in this city. Their money wasn’t as old, but no less influential, and every gold digger and business man in the city knew that my boss, Blaze, and his step-brother, Benjamin Hurley were very close. Mess with one, and you’d get the wrath of the other. They were a package deal. I screwed Chris senseless for a recommendation and an interview and then marched myself into my future boss’ office with a take no prisoners attitude.

  For these five years that I’ve worked for Mr. Townsend, he’s never laid a finger on me, never said a single inappropriate word to me. Five years I’ve wanted that man, and I receive nothing more than polite smiles, “Good Morning, Miss Wright”, and a lot of cashmere scarfs at Christmas time. Five whole years. That’s 60 months, or 261 weeks. Once Kendall was in my custody, I shunned away all men, not wanting her to think that I wasn’t dedicated to her completely. I’ll admit there have been a lot of frustrating nights…1,845 to be exact. I have spent all of them thinking about him.

  I wouldn’t recommend being in love with your boss for five years; it makes it extremely difficult being at work and doing practically anything. We are two souls from two different worlds who have no business being together, and so I have never tried to be with him. I don’t belong with him. Some rich, uptight woman with a tiny dog in her purse who has been fed from a silver spoon all of her life does. Unrequited love also hurts like a bitch.

  My father, Charles Townsend, changed the business world with a simplified mathematical formula that he followed, tripling my family’s worth. He then patented the formula, released it in a series of books and articles, and earned hundreds of millions. He was an incredible man, a hell of a businessman, and an amazing father before aggressive cancer claimed him. Growing up, there were three principles that my father pounded into my head, three business ideas that he said I should die by. The first was never ever mix business with pleasure
. Second, have male secretaries: It’ll keep you from mixing business with pleasure (and keep your wife/girlfriend/lover happy). Third, don’t take work home. When you leave the office, come home and decompress. My father believed firmly that you’d be a better man and ultimately a better businessman if you did so.

  I broke the second principle the second Miss Victoria Wright strutted into my office for an interview that was practically shoved down my throat by a business colleague, Chris. She had the job the second she walked through the door. I broke the first principle when I fell in love with her, and I break the third principle every night when I come home fantasizing about her. It’s gotten to the point where I now call her into the office after business hours to print up documents or give me some report, claiming I can’t find them on her computer system. I do it just to have a few more hours with her, to pretend that I’m actually part of her life. But, the truth is: I’m an outsider standing out in the cold peering through the house window at her sitting by the fire. I’m not in her life; I’m simply her boss deluding myself that I have any place with her. I am one of the wealthiest men in America. My step-brother, Benjamin Hurley the Third, is tied to the most prestigious and wealthiest name in the country. But, it all seems worthless since Victoria looks at me as no more than her paycheck provider. Sometimes she even flinches at my touch. I try to touch her as little as possible.

  Five years I’ve put myself through hell, torturing myself with wanting her. I remain strictly professional with her. The last thing I need is a sexual harassment lawsuit. It’s only now that I realize just how wise my father was. Five years is a long time to want a woman. I have no one to blame but myself.

  Five long years.

  At this point, I would do anything to be with her.

  If the opportunity ever presents itself, if fate ever steps in and lends a hand, I would be with that woman any way I could. At this point, I am beyond all reason. I am a man who wants to be burned by fire. The situation is a six-car pileup on the freeway waiting to happen. I know that. The problem is…I don’t care anymore.

  “Tori, stop day dreaming about sleeping with your boss again!” I glance up, coming back to reality. “I get one night a week with you. You can fantasize about him when you’re not with me.” Andrea huffs in annoyance before throwing up her arm. “Waiter, can I have another glass of wine?”

  He turns in her direction. “Red or white, ma’am?”

  “Pink,” she replies.

  He nods before turning in my direction. “And for you, ma'am?”

  I shake my head. “Just water.”

  “Oh, come on. Get a refill. I told you that I was treating,” Andrea says.

  “The house red then, please,” I reply, holding up my empty glass. The waiter takes the wine glass before walking away.

  “For the record, I was not daydreaming about my boss again,” I say, crossing my legs to control the aching desire.

  “A-huh,” Andrea begins, though her attention is currently on the twenty-something-year-old waiter whose backside is turned to us. “How’s Kendall?” she asks after turning her attention back to me.

  I smile brightly. “She’s good. All As in school.”

  “Well, thankfully, she got her mother’s brains,” she replies in between bites of her cobb salad. “So, how else are you doing?”

  “Me? I’m okay,” I reply. Andrea hands me her fork, sliding her salad between us. I take a bite.

  “Finances still shitty?” she asks, concerned.

  I shrug. “We get by paycheck to paycheck. You know how it is.”

  “How many years have you been at that office?” she asks.

  “Five now,” I reply.

  “And is Mr. Townsend still hot as sin?” She asks, smirking.

  I sigh longingly. “God yes.” I bite my lower lip. “What that man does to a suit should be illegal.”

  “And when’s the last time you’ve gotten laid?” she asks after finishing her bite of salad.

  I think for a moment about the answer to that question. Has it really been…?

  “Five years,” I reply.

  “That’s what I thought.” She frowns. “Listen, I’m concerned about your pussy shriveling up and falling off. It’s clear that I have to care about it, because you certainly don’t.” She pulls a bag out of her oversized pocket book. “So, here you go.”

  I take the bag from her and peer inside. “What the hell is this?”

  “It’s a mini- vibrator. It can go right in your purse. So, when Mr. Townsend is looking particularly sexy…”

  “That’s every day,” I inform her.

  “Then you can just take care of business discreetly behind your desk.”

  “Andrea! What the hell am I going to do with this! I can’t bring this home! What if Kendall sees it!” I exclaim.

  She grabs the bag out of my hand, yanks the packaging apart, and takes out the toy. “Now give me your purse!”

  “No!” I reply through giggles.

  Andrea leans over and grabs my purse from the empty chair between us. “Trust me. You’ll thank me later,” she says as she sticks it into my clutch.

  “I will not thank you later!” I shriek while giggling.

  “Mark my words. This vibrator will somehow save you. I guarantee it.”

  “I’m pretty sure that there is no situation that I’d be in where I’d want a vibrator to save me,” I snort indignantly.

  She waggles her finger at me. “Mark my words. You’ll see.”

  I sigh. “Speaking of saving me….I need a favor. Kendall has a huge project that she needs to bring to school tomorrow. She can’t take it on the bus.” I glance up at her with puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

  Andrea looks alarmed. “What time?”

  “Seven,” I reply meekly.

  “Oh, hell no!” she shouts, brushing her caramel hair out of her face, her gold bangle bracelets jingling in the motion. “I don’t do seven. You know that. I’m usually just going to sleep.”

  I sigh. “I know. It’s just this one time, though. I don’t know anyone else with a car.”

  Her lips twitch into a smirk. “Why don’t you call Mr. Townsend and see if he could give you a ride in his limo? After you drop off Kendall, you could show him your appreciation.” She waggles her brows suggestively. Heat courses through my body as the mental image Andrea has now given me plays out in my mind. Really, it isn’t a terrible idea. What are you talking about? Of course it is! You’ll feel terrible when he looks at you with disdain that you’re a white trash single mother, and he’s well…him.

  I roll my eyes at her. “Come on, it’s for Kendall. You love her as much as I do.”

  She frowns. “She is an awesome kid. You’re going to have your hands full soon, Tori, with the boys, because she’s turning into a hottie.”

  I bite my lower lip. “Maybe not…if I teach her how to respect her body and let her know what guys her age are really about.” I rub my forehead. “Shit. I’ve gotta figure something out. Evalyn and Rich will probably haunt my ass if Kendall starts trampin’ it up.”

  Andrea laughs loudly. “You know they so would!” She continues laughing to the point of tears. Wiping them away, she finally says, “Alright, I’ll give you guys a ride tomorrow. I don’t want them haunting me either.” She finishes the last of her wine. “I think I need another one now.”

  I glance at my watch. “I’ve got to get going.”

  “Already?” Andrea asks, frowning.

  “Babe, it’s eight o’clock. Mrs. Hutchins is seventy-five- years-old. She’s probably already fallen asleep on Kendall. Plus, you’ve got work tonight,” I reply.

  Andrea frowns. “Alright. Let me drive you back.”

  The wind whips through my hair as we cruise down the New York Turnpike in Andrea’s convertible. For a few fleeting moments, I hold my hands high in the air, letting the wind flow through my open fingers without a care in the world. For a few moments, I’m not a single mom. I’m a woman with nowhere that I need to go
, nothing that needs to be done, and no bills piling up on the counter waiting to be paid. For just a few moments, I don’t have a care in the world.

  All too soon, Andrea pulls up to my apartment building. After parking the car in an open spot, she glances over at me concerned. “All kidding aside, how are you doing financially?”

  “We’re okay. We could always be better, but we could be worse, too,” I reply.

  “I know, but you told me that your rent just went up, and I know Kendall’s birthday is coming up.”

  I rub my forehead, frowning. “I know. Like I said, hopefully I can charm him into a raise.”