by Violet Blake
“Yeah. So you can be a rock star and do your best and win this contract, but at the temp agency hourly wage for half the hours you’ll actually work.”
My heart squeezed and burst in my chest like a water balloon missing its target on the pavement. “That’s…”
No, it wasn’t okay. But it was all I had right now.
She put a box of paper on the cart and when she straightened, she brushed her strawberry blond hair behind her shoulder. “I also have another thing I should bring up now, before you feel too invested.”
What else could she possibly say at this point that would make this worse? “Okay.”
“Don’t think nobody’s noticed the Armani suits, Louboutin heels, or the expensive jewelry you wear.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Some people actually need a job. Clearly, you’re a little better off than everybody else.” And with that, the small amount of camaraderie disappeared.
“I work just as hard as everybody else.” I might’ve said that through clenched teeth.
“True, but when you get bored, then what? It’s a pain to get good people in here. We went through three of you before you came along.”
Time to clear the air, in a non-nondisclosure-busting way. I didn’t need my parents coming after what little money I had now, too. “I grew up in a comfortable home, but that’s no longer the case. What I have now, I earned. No handouts. I live in a shitty apartment, drive a shitty car, and I have shitty bills to pay, just like you.
“And yeah, I wear designer clothes, but they’re all I have. My parents might not have let me keep anything else when I left home, but they weren’t so crappy that they’d take the clothes off my back, too. I don’t like them, either, but I also don’t like being naked. It may not look like it at first glance, but when I say I need this, I really freaking need this.”
For a few seconds she mulled that over, her expression impassive. “Okay then.”
“Okay.”
She put a gentle hand on my arm. “I don’t want to make you feel bad, but I do want you to know what you were getting into. People here talk. You’re going to have to work a little harder to fit in.”
I figured, considering not one of them had been more than professionally polite. Although I’d guessed it was because I was a temp, there were always people who didn’t like policies my mother voted on, or didn’t like her political party, and lumped me in with them as well. I’d also had my fair share of users, total hangers-on who thought they’d get an “in” with Mommy Dearest by being my friend. You get used to it.
Eva continued. “Before I got hired, she offered the same assignment to me, and the three temps who didn’t make it before you came in. They followed their contracts to the letter and were let go after their ninety-day trial. I’m still here. So decide what’s important to you, and make your decision accordingly.”
I groaned and leaned into the supply shelf. “Thanks, Eva.”
“No problem. If it’s any consolation, I love it here. Best place I’ve ever worked—the salary is good, the benefits are decent, and if you’re a recent college grad like you and me, it’s like having the keys to the city handed to you.”
I nodded, feeling just a wee bit better. “Sounds like I have a lot of unpaid work ahead of me then, huh?”
It wasn’t the best situation, but it was enough.
We put the paper by the copier and went back to our desks. When I pulled up my email I found a message from my sister, Breanna. Good feelings over.
Anger simmered in my gut, and although I’d never really felt the urge to punch anybody, my fingers curled into a fist and I had to press it into my thigh to stop myself. Not only had she reached out to me, but she’d somehow gotten ahold of my work email.
From: Breanna Devereaux
To: Blair Bartlett
Subject: We need to talk
Hi Blair!
I tried to call, but I can’t get through. Did you change your number? Anyway, I found out where you’re working and thought I’d try you here.
I miss you!
XOXO
Breanna
She had to be kidding. The night I’d gotten so sick I almost died, I’d had to fend for myself in ways that nobody ever should. Not when my own family and fiancé partied under the same roof. I’d been let down by the people I loved, and after waking up from my surgery—alone—it’d put a lot into perspective.
Namely, my relationship—or lack thereof—with Ethan. I broke up with him, which made my family break up with me. Breanna, never one to let a good opportunity go to waste, positioned herself over his freshly dumped body like a Chanel-clad vulture. And last weekend, instead of me walking down the aisle to become the new Mrs. Devereaux, the blushing bride title had gone to Breanna.
So no. No love lost there. Not at all.
From: Blair Bartlett
To: Breanna Devereaux
Subject: No we don’t
Breanna,
The reason you can’t get through to me is because I had your number blocked. That’s what happens when you marry my ex-fiancé instead of having my back.
Blair
Channeling all the Zen I possibly could, I finished replying to work emails, making notes for my to-do list for the day. My office phone rang, and I picked it up.
“This is Blair Bartlett.”
“Blair. Don’t hang up.”
Ice ran through my veins, and my ears rang a high-pitched tone. She was persistent, and I had no doubt that if I did hang up she’d just call again. Or worse.
“What don’t you understand about not contacting me?”
“I know you hate me, but one minute. That’s all I’m asking.”
How I kept my voice even, I’ll never know. Probably self-preservation, considering how much I needed to keep this job. “Only if you promise me that you will never call me again. The timer starts now.”
“She’s losing it.”
She could only be my mother. Newsflash: anybody who would willingly become a professional politician had lost it long ago. Not that I didn’t appreciate what politicians did. But the lifestyle? Crazy.
“She’s running for Senate re-election and she’s everybody’s favorite pick for House Majority Leader. Now she’s going through everything with a fine-tooth comb. I mean everything. NSA everything—”
“Okay, I get it. Everything,” I said. “Why do I care? I’m not a part of the family anymore. I can’t possibly tarnish the good Bartlett name further.”
She sighed. “She’s completely freaking out over you. I know you have no reason to trust me or think that I’m looking out for you, but I am. I wanted to make sure you were prepared.”
Breanna had always been a drama queen. Her life, when viewed from her eyes, was like an episode of a reality TV show. I swear she framed her shots and everything, and I could just imagine her now, wearing makeup that was perfect, but with just the right amount of mascara running down her cheeks to make her concern for me appear authentic.
She—and her mascara—could bite me.
“Thanks for the heads up,” I said. “I’ll take it into consideration. Now, if you don’t mind, your minute is up. Take care.”
I hung up the phone. If Breanna’s life was an unscripted reality show, mine was straight out of The Twilight Zone. If I suddenly started screaming and running around the office like a banshee, I would not be the least bit surprised.
Chapter Ten
Balancing two file boxes in my arm, I teetered my way to my car. The heat was excruciating, still high nineties, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight, even at 7 p.m. I set the boxes on the roof of my car and scouted around in my purse for my keys. Once me and my collection of boxes were inside the car, I stuck the keys into the ignition and turned the car on.
Sort of.
Pathetic wheezing sounds came from the motor, and the lights flickered faintly before petering out.
Shit.
I’d just bought the thing
four months ago, after pawning all the jewelry I could part with. The car was European, a fifteen-year-old version of the car I’d left behind in Boston. It was well cared for, and I’d been able to pay cash for it—no bank in its right mind would give a girl with no credit and no steady job a loan. So I bought the best car I could afford¸ hoping it would be enough to get me through until I could qualify for something better.
I wiped a layer of sweat off my brow and cracked the door open to let air in. I still had AAA from when I lived in Boston, or at least I thought I did. Surely my parents wouldn’t have canceled it.
A quick phone call confirmed it was still valid, and they’d send roadside assistance within the hour.
Which brought more bad news.
It wasn’t the battery. It was mechanical. And the mechanic they’d sent told me the head gasket needed to be replaced. He’d opened the hood, connected a wire to his iPad, and used it to diagnose the issue.
I stared at him, dazed. “How much will that cost?”
“Could be two to three grand, depending on what else is broke. You have a garage I can tow this to?” he asked, his voice so droll I bet he’d delivered this kind of news at least a dozen times a day.
“The car isn’t even worth that much.”
“I could tow it to your house and leave it there,” he said, wiping the grease on his hand onto his coveralls leg. “You could always save up and use your membership to have it towed to a garage then.”
“Okay,” I said, although I knew the only place that car would be towed would be the dump.
I climbed into the cab with him and directed him to my apartment, where he unloaded my POS in the parking lot. In need of a shower, a cold glass of water, and then a stiff drink, I dragged myself up the stairs and collapsed onto the couch.
Minutes later my phone rang. It was Sawyer, and when I answered his tired voice replied. “Missed you today.”
I could almost picture him kicking back in bed, running those long fingers through his hair, and closing his eyes.
“Me, too. Long day?”
“You have no idea.” He sighed and the shuffling in the background sounded a lot like sheets and pillows. “How’s your day?”
Right now was not the time to tell him about my shit day, so I put on my brightest, happiest smile and tried to keep it positive. “Staying busy. Victoria just gave me a huge account so I’ll be working my heinie off until that’s all done.”
“Congrats. They’d be stupid not to hire you. Speaking of work, I had to make a last-minute trip to Summit for the week.”
At least he couldn’t see my pout in person. “Jess told me there was some sort of theft?”
“Yeah. I have to figure out who was involved, and how deep of shit we’re in now.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He grunted. “I can’t wait to see you again.”
“It’s only a few days,” I said, but secretly was thrilled that he missed me. “I loved the flowers. And the vase? You are crazy.”
“I’m still thinking about your pink parts. I don’t even have a picture of you to…never mind.” He cut himself off with a gruff laugh.
“To what?” I asked.
“Sorry, sweet stuff. I’m exhausted and my filter is broken. What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“Oh, no, mister. You’re not going to sweet talk your way out of this. What do you need a picture of me for?” Please let it be what I hoped.
“Lonely nights. I’ll let you fill in the rest.”
I burst out laughing. Sexting was one of the list items. “You want me to sext you?”
I’d hoped it would be the other way around.
“It’s part of your list, yes?”
I couldn’t. It was just so…I mean, high school kids did that kind of thing, and they got busted all the time. Next thing I knew I’d be all over some busty babes website, and then my mom would really have something to shit her pants over.
Still…
“You don’t have to,” he rushed out. “I remembered it from your list.”
Don’t be a wuss, Blair. “What do you want a picture of, exactly? And if I send it, do you promise you’ll delete it before you come home? You know, so it doesn’t accidentally get out?”
“Are you serious?”
“There’s no time for questions—if it’s going to happen it has to be now, before I change my mind.”
“All right. I love your nipples. Your tits in general are what make me wake up in the morning.”
“Wow, if you keep up with the sonnets about my lady bits I might just fall in love.” Which was way, way too far. My breath halted in my throat, and the objects of his obsession tightened and felt heavier with every word. Time to take action. “Hanging up now.”
Before he could protest I clicked the end call button, tore off my shirt and bra, and struck a pose on my couch. Careful to crop my face out of the shot, I snapped a few pics.
Not that I’m a big fan of my own body, but even I had to admit my boobs were pretty all right. They were average in size, but round and plump, with small, pale pink nipples. Speaking of the little devils, I noticed they weren’t at attention as much as I would’ve liked. I erased the pics I’d just taken and licked my fingers. Using slow, deep pressure, I plucked the skin until the areolas were a rosy hue, and the nipples hardened.
Son of a bitch, I was turned on.
I’d accidentally left part of my face in the shot, but before I could think too much about it, I texted it to Sawyer. If he said he’d delete it, I had no doubt he’d do just that.
My phone rang less than a minute later.
“Your nipples are wet,” he said, his voice making them harder.
So my eye for art did come in handy. “I had to make sure they were photogenic.”
“Photo—” He broke off with a laugh, but it was strained. “You have the best fucking tits I’ve ever seen. Send me a picture every day, will you?”
“It can be arranged.”
“Don’t put your clothes back on, Blair. Promise me.” In the background I heard the sound of his zipper.
“Promise.” My nipples reacted to his voice, and the idea that he was sitting alone in bed, sans pants. And my clit was wound tight and drenched. Clothes would be superfluous tonight, no doubt about it.
“Take off your underwear,” he said. “I want you to send me a picture of your pussy now.”
With that he hung up and I sat there, shaking, terrified over the hold he had over me and the way my body responded to just his voice. Hadn’t the boobs been enough? I bit my knuckle and stared at the phone.
Trembling hands fumbled with my pants and underwear, shucking them off. I stepped out of them and sat on the couch. I could do this. I would, damn it. I had a bet to win. A personality to grow. Yada yada.
How to pose? This was the most intimate picture I’d ever had taken of myself. You just couldn’t mix sexy and ridiculous. I had to make this good.
I held my camera and switched to the lens that faced me so I could frame it just right. Sure, I’d watched a few adult films—who hadn’t?—but when it was your own body on the screen, it was totally different.
Thrilling.
The skin was wet, shiny, and blushing, my clit swollen.
I shook myself out of the haze and remembered I had a mission. The angle was a bit awkward, but I switched on the flash, which made it all the more there. Quickly I snapped a few shots and fired my favorite off to Sawyer.
“Christ, woman,” he said when he called a minute later. “Tell me you’re touching yourself.”
I put my hand between my legs and ran my fingers over my clit. Sucking in a breath, I moaned.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He let out a deep chuckle. “All I can think about is running my tongue up and down your cunt until you’re wet and dripping and screaming my name.”
I closed my eyes and imagined his tongue was in place of my fingers, and a shudder ran through me. Goosebumps broke out on my entire body,
making my nipples especially erect.
“I love the way you do it,” I said, my voice breaking. “Are you, um, touching yourself?”
“Hell, yes. I’d send you a picture, but I want to hear your voice right now.” He panted, and I knew he had to be close. “While I’m gone I want you to make yourself come at least three times a day and think of me.”
“Done,” I said. With my other hand I stroked my nipple, twisting it with my thumb and forefinger. Out of curiosity, I switched hands and let the wet one touch my nipple while the other delighted in all things G-spot.
“What are you doing now?”
“I just switched hands. My nipple is wet again, but not from—” The pressure had built so high I was about to come. Moaning, I pressed the palm of my hand against my clit, feeling pleasure in all the right places.
“Fuck, Blair. The sounds you make. Are you going to come?”
“Yes.”
“I want to hear you.”
I found the sweet spot on my clit that would make me come undone, and pinched it, putting enough pleasurable pressure on it to make my hips jerk up. I cried out and the phone fell off my shoulder, but I was so caught up in my orgasm I couldn’t find a fuck to give.
When the orgasm died down I caught my breath, came to my senses, and picked up the phone.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey yourself.”
“Did you…”
“I was going to wait for you, but you are ridiculously fucking hot when you come. Next time?”
“You got it,” I said.
“I’m erasing those pictures when we hang up. I don’t want to, but I know you’ll send me more tomorrow.”
“You assume a lot,” I teased. “You’re going to have to earn more.”
“Oh yeah? And what exactly does that entail?” His voice was playful, but I could tell he was turned on by the very thought of what I’d make him do.
“Hmmm. Well, for example. I didn’t get any pictures of you tonight. I had to use my imagination. So tomorrow, before you even call me, you’d better send me a picture of you. Full monty.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
“I love the sound of that, my minion.”