Conspire

by SE Hall

  I hope having him talk for a few minutes will give me a chance to quickly scroll through his résumé, and a moment for my body to calm the fuck down. Unfortunately, my plan backfires. As he rattles off something about his schooling and active position as Regulations and Development Director at Phillips & Taylor, my attention is drawn back to his strikingly handsome face—the way his cleanly-shaven, strong jawline moves fluidly as he speaks, how his nose is ever-so-slightly offset to the left, and the glimmering of something intense in his gaze every time our eyes meet. I wonder if they darken or lighten a shade when he comes, an unknown hue all his own only shared with his lover. Where did that come from? Focus, Jocelyn, focus.

  He wraps up his pitch with a confident, but not smug, smirk. He knows he’s good, and damn if I’m not sold on everything about him. I somehow manage not to blurt out, “You’re hired!” without asking a single question, so I nod and hmmm as I pretend to scrutinize something on my computer. Everything looks perfect, almost too perfect, and the only thing I can think to ask him—that actually pertains to this interview, that is—falls from my lips. “Why do you want to work for JCC? Moving here from our competitor would be a step backwards for you, as well as a pay-cut. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  Bryce raises his hand to run his fingers through his sandy-colored hair, which is cropped short to his scalp, as his powder blue business shirt stretches taut over the toned biceps underneath, and a pained expression flickers across his face, but is immediately replaced with a tight-lipped smile. “Money in the bank isn’t the key to happiness, Ms. Craig,” he says in a softer tone, staring at his hands clasped in his lap. “I’m always looking to move forward, professionally and personally. To me, that means opening new doors and creating new experiences, until I find the place that I know, without a shadow of a doubt, is where I belong.” He pauses briefly and lifts his passionate eyes to mine, penetrating my comfort zone; his words tug at strings of my reality he couldn’t possible know about. “I’m here to broaden my horizons. JCC may hold the answers to everything I’m looking for.”

  I throw out all other considerations—what my dad or Hunter will think, who might be coming to interview after him, or how having to see this incredible specimen of a man around the office each and every day will affect me or my panties budget—and offer him the job on the spot. Within minutes, we’ve settled on financial terms and Bryce has agreed to start next Monday so Andrew will have a week to train him before he leaves. We stand simultaneously from our chairs and shake on the terms; again, his touch elicits a rush of tingles across my skin, causing me to blush.

  Not wanting to leave his presence quite yet, I offer to give him a tour of the entire facility before escorting him back down to HR, where he can sign the contract and Grady can enter him into the computer database. I hope it’s not my imagination, thinking his eyes light up a tiny bit at my suggestion, but nonetheless, he smiles widely and nods.

  As we pass Alyssa’s workstation outside my office, I formally introduce Bryce as our newest member of the company and I can see the lustful thoughts running through my best friend’s mind. She’s all but drooling on the countless papers scattered across her desk, and I do my best to cut them short.

  “Alyssa, can you please let Grady know I’ve hired Mr. Griggs? I’m going to show him around, then we’ll be back.” With a smile, I stride toward the elevators and without turning around, I know he follows.

  I never realized how small our elevators are until I’m in one with only Bryce. No matter where I stand, it’s close to him, too close, and my body, despite the reprimands from my brain, responds to his nearness.

  “So,” I struggle for something to say, his very manly, yet clean scent reminding me of a summer afternoon rain shower—refreshing and invigorating. And even though I already noticed how well his chest and arms fill out his button down shirt, I’m now hyperaware of how perfectly he wears those charcoal gray slacks, too. He may have the nicest ass I’ve ever seen, man or woman, but of course, I’d like to know what it looks like unclothed as well. Fuck! Focus, Jocelyn, focus.

  “After you,” he grins, motioning for me to exit first, stepping out right behind me.

  “T—thank you,” I stammer, cursing the heat I feel crawling up my neck. He nods, his smile spreading, a knowing glint in his blue eyes.

  It takes concerted effort to give the tour, take each step, one foot in front of the other without toppling on my face. Which of course, the more I think about, the closer I get to tripping. “And this is the break room. I’m not positive when your department takes those, but if, well I could ask,” I mumble and bumble like a schoolgirl. Wonderful.

  He chuckles, rubbing a hand up and down his jaw. “Shouldn’t I be the nervous one?”

  Oh good, the backs of his knees are sweating too! I join, nervously, in his faint laughter and glance away, then back. “Not at all, you’ll be a great fit.”

  “Hmm,” he gauges me with considering eyes, the sound vibrating me in hidden places. And visibly, he remembers where he is and what he’s there for, a sudden and deliberate shift to his demeanor. I can practically see the bubble over his head, ‘quit flirting with the new boss.’

  I consider tendering my resignation, then shake my head and clear my throat. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

  Nearly an hour later, I’ve given him, and the elephant now in the room, or hall, with us, the most drawn out tour possible without making my reluctance to leave his side any more embarrassingly evident or awkward. We approach Grady’s office and I welcome him to the team one last time before leaving him to fill out paperwork.

  “I look forward to seeing you next Monday, Bryce. Enjoy the rest of your week,” I say as I turn to walk away.

  His hand shoots out from his side and gently grabs my forearm, spinning me around to face him again. “Thank you, Ms. Craig. I truly appreciate you opening this door for me.”

  I swallow hard as my head bobs up and down; I’m unable to conceal my huge grin. “Please, call me Jocelyn, and you’re more than welcome.” Turning around, I float off to the elevators, thinking, I’d open more than just doors for that man.

  The rest of Tuesday and all of Wednesday pass rather uneventfully at the office. Alyssa won’t shut up about how excited she is over Bryce starting next week, and how she thinks he was giving her the interested eye—whatever the fuck that is. I cringe every time she says his name, wanting to scream, ‘He’s mine! I saw him first!’ like a small child claiming a prized toy. But the truth is, he isn’t mine, nor did I see him first, and I’m assuming it wouldn’t sit too well, considering I’m in a relationship with her brother. Granted, Lys has told me from the very beginning I could do better than Hunter, that he’s a selfish prick looking to climb his way through the social scene of the country clubbers our dads like to associate with, but ever since I was a little girl, I thought he was who I wanted.

  Now, I’m not so sure.

  Stripe is anxiously waiting for me as I hurry through the door of my townhome Wednesday evening, forcefully rubbing the length of her petite body against my lower shins, meowing loudly. I squat down to pet her downy soft fur as she figure-eights in-between my legs, and I chuckle aloud thinking back to the day I adopted her only a few weeks ago. Perhaps naming a solid white kitten ‘Stripe’—or adopting an animal, period, when I know Hunter is allergic to pet dander—should’ve been a strong indicator my defiant blood was beginning to boil, but at the time, I didn’t see it for what it was.

  Rebellion.

  I’m not talking about stubborn-teenage-rich-girl-I-want-my-parents’-attention rebellion. No, I’m twenty-four years old, have an MBA from Villanova, and have proven to be more than effective in the high-ranking position my father placed me in. Not to mention, I’ve never been in any kind of serious trouble with the law, or anyone else, for that matter.

  Up until recently, I’ve always desired to be my mother. As a young girl, I’d even emulate walking and talking like her, hoping someday I’d be lucky enoug
h to live her life. However, now that I’m old enough to open my eyes fully and see her true reality, I think I’ll pass. Marianne Craig devotes her life to her husband and daughter, which is all fine and dandy to an extent, but never once—that I know of—has she done something to please herself. Call it selfish, call it arrogant, call it whatever the hell you want, but my happiness and the life I want to live isn’t going to be disregarded, discounted, or dismissed in order to satisfy my parents or some guy who devotes the minimum amount of effort and attention to keep me content.

  A knock on the door startles me. I haven’t even had a chance to take my shoes off or set my purse and keys down, as I’ve been lost in my narcissistic thoughts while Stripe has shamelessly enjoyed her lengthy belly rub. Popping up from my crouched position, I straighten my wrinkled blouse and skirt and call out, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Hunter; open up, baby.”

  With a quick roll of my eyes and a mental pep-talk reminder to stand up for myself, I open the door to let him in. “Hey, you, I didn’t know you were stopping by,” I say with a small, forced smile.

  He breezes past me into the living room without a hug, kiss, or any other form of affection, only a brief pause to snarl at Stripe, and then plops down on the couch. “I told you to be ready to show me how much you missed me when I texted you yesterday…which you never replied to, by the way,” he turns the television on to the Phillies game, not even bothering to look up at me.

  I stand there staring at him, with his flawlessly-styled chestnut brown hair, matching eyes, perfectly symmetrical facial features and always dressed in designer labels, and think to myself, he reminds me of a museum: snobbishly aloof, icily reserved, nice to look at until you’re plain bored, but untouchable! Definitely not someone I want to spend the rest of my life with.

  “I didn’t reply, because I was busy.” I scoop up Stripe and kiss the tip of her nose, reveling in the soft purrs against my cheek before setting her back down. “Plus, I don’t feel like doing anything tonight, I’m tired. I just walked in the door from the office.”

  I stride across the room to the kitchen, placing my purse on the breakfast table and grabbing myself a beer from the refrigerator. “I’ll take one of those too,” he yells.

  Apparently, he didn’t get the hint. Slamming the bottle down on the countertop, I stomp back out into the main area and put my hands on my hips. “I said I don’t feel like doing anything, so that means I’d like you to leave.”

  Hunter’s head swivels in my direction, his aggravation with my tone evident in his expression. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I haven’t seen you in two days and you’re dismissing me? Have you lost your mind? I said I want to spend time with you tonight, so you’re going to spend some fucking time with me!”

  “News flash! It’s not always about what you want, Hunter—not that you’d know what I want, because you NEVER ask!” He rises up from the couch and marches over to me, his tall, lanky frame towering almost a full head above mine, but I refuse to back down. “Since you won’t ask, I’m telling you. I. Don’t. Want. To. Do. Anything. Tonight. With. You.” I jab my index finger into his chest, accentuating each word.

  His eyes practically widen to the size of basketballs and his jaw falls open, flabbergasted at my insubordinate behavior. “Has my sister been pumping your head full of this shit, Jocelyn? There’s a reason she’s single, you know; nobody wants to deal with her unruly, uncontrollable bitch ass.”

  “Don’t you talk about Lys like that, she has nothing to do with this. Hunter, I’m just,” I blow out the defeat, and inhale fortitude, “tired. Tired of you never finding the time to speak to me, unless it’s to tell me what, when and how to do something. Never a touch unless it’s in hopes of a quick lay.” My body’s aflame with the rage and newfound strength propelling through me, every minute of this conversation elevating my temperature another few degrees.

  “I don’t have to put up with this shit! There’s a line of girls who’d love for me to boss them around, some more,” he sneers, “and make their decisions for them, who are a helluva lot more exciting in bed than you are. I’m with you as a favor to our families, and to help you run JCC one day,” he spits nastily.

  The cruel words sting. I knew he slept around a lot in high school and college, and probably still did, if I’m being totally honest with myself, but for him to stoop to that level is uncalled for. I’ve always been self-conscious about my bedroom skills, inexperienced before or outside of him, and he knows it. “Then why are you getting so upset?”

  “I’ve worked too hard Jocelyn, stayed with you,” the drama queen I now clearly see, as he wraps his hands around his own throat, “a fucking anchor around my neck, all for the future. No way I let you and your new set of balls you’ve found, screw me out of it.”

  “As romantic as that was, my betrothed,” I flutter my eyelashes in blatant, feel-good sarcasm, “get the fuck out.”

  “You’re going to regret this tomorrow,” he states arrogantly, “and you can tell Daddy Dearest this was all your doing.”

  “GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!” I scream, done, game over, my entire body trembling with frenzied fury.

  Thankfully, he leaves, but not without slamming the door so violently a picture on the wall shatters to the floor.

  I think he took it well.

  I’M GOING TO ALLOW MYSELF twenty minutes, twelve-hundred seconds, of distracted indulgence, then be done with it—refreshed and refocused.

  I am but a man, libido in-check for that of a healthy, twenty-five year old whose job dictates that he last enjoyed supple, feminine company months ago and…interviewed with Jocelyn Craig. I’d been fine until then, but as she walked ahead of me with that ass swishing back and forth in that figure-hugging power-suit, right over the edge I’d gone, only able to take so much. God damn but she’s astounding, not at all the pretentious, self-absorbed, work-for-Daddy brat I was expecting.

  Shit, I’m still standing here reminiscing, having burned three of my allotted twenty minutes. I hustle to the shower, ultimately killing two birds with one hand job, and turn on the water to hot—cold reserved for the times I don’t allow myself amnesty, and with my ultimate agenda and its demand of my focus, I’m gonna get plenty of those.

  Once under the spray, I rush through washing, leaving myself all remaining time to savor what’s to come—pun intended. It’s effortless conjuring up the image of her in my head as I wrap my hand mercilessly around my achingly hard dick, starting at the base. Long legs that led up to perfectly curvaceous hips, and the ass…fuck me, the ass on her; one smooth stroke up and back, and I groan audibly as I imagine two ripe, taut globes popped in the air for me as I take her from behind, burying myself deeper with each of her shrieked pleas.

  I fight the urge to explode right now and let my head fall back, making it last, not knowing when I’ll get the chance to partake of my fantasy again. Now, the breasts—natural, plump Cs bouncing as we took the stairs, and I tug myself harder, urgently as I picture them. What my mouth could do to those luscious tits. Suck, lick, nip—anything she begged me to, as long as she’d allow…before she had to have it.

  And finally, my mind wanders up that slender, tan neck until my memory arrives at her face and the battle is lost—brown eyes brimming with vibrancy and intelligence, plump lips needing to be ravished. The vision dances in my mind’s eye as I grunt through my release, the exit of pent-up attraction forceful and never-ending. Slowly, I open my eyes, catching my breath and relocking my single-mindedness in the prominent position. All right, Graham…I mean, Bryce, back to business.

  More at ease, I get dressed and return to my vigilant post at the window. If you aim randomly, haphazardly, at…whatever, that’s exactly what you’ll hit, innocent casualties be damned. This is why I must keep my eyes directly, unfailingly trained on my targets, the keys to answering one question I won’t rest until I have answered—who killed my brother?

  Absolutely, I think it was cold-blooded murder. If one adamantl
y believes he didn’t commit suicide, which I do, that’s the only other option. There was no car wreck, natural cause, freak tornado…and he damn sure didn’t ‘accidentally’ slip a rope around his neck and clumsily tumble off the chair.

  Power of deduction or faith in my brother, pick one…I’m not buying the bullshit.

  I owe this mission to Devon. As the older brother, it was my right of order to protect him. As old as Genesis 4:9 to be exact, I was to be my brother’s keeper, and I failed. I won’t fail him again.

  Squeezing my eyes shut tightly, I mentally recite that mantra, then open them, all thoughts of breathtakingly beautiful, intelligent, and hypnotic Jocelyn Craig brutally rejected, and fixate on the apartment across the street.

  Devon’s roommate, Reagan Pennington, is quite the pistol. I like her, even having never spoken to her in my life. I know her basics via conversations with my brother, as well as research. She’s twenty-one, a junior at Temple studying Art Education, works part-time at the desk of a nearby auto-repair shop, and doesn’t see anyone regularly.

  I’ve since added to the databank of knowledge that she likes to experiment with hair dye, is either colorblind or dresses to the beat of a drummer no one else can hear, and will stop, turn around, and open the door for people with a smile, despite the skittish cloud of paranoia hovering over her head. She strives, fights with everything in her eccentric little body, not to peer over her shoulder more than once a trip to her car…but has yet to win that battle. She’s determined to be brave, act as though nothing’s got her on pins and needles—but to the trained eye—mine—it’s there.

  Easy to see why my brother was able to live amicably with her though; she’s full of fight.

  According to my three days of surveillance, she should be leaving in approximately one hour, gone for at least four, to her shift at work, at which time I’m going in. Of course, I’d prefer the veil of night, but she’s not a partier or out all hours, and I start work on Monday. I need to tackle this phase before beginning to balance that one.