Strapped

by Nina G. Jones

  He paces in his office while using me as a sounding board, turning some of the dictation into teaching moments for me. There are times I catch myself watching him walk across the room. His eyes are stone cold, fiery, and intense. He is wearing a grey pinstriped suit with a white shirt and lavender tie. After the first hour, he heats up from the movement and removes his jacket. He pulls on the knot in his tie and unbuttons the collar. Hello. His hair becomes more disheveled as time goes on. I notice he runs his hands through his hair a lot when he is concentrating. I catch myself biting my lip more than once. I hope I am not obvious. It’s about one o’clock when he abruptly announces: “Let’s wrap this up for a while. You can go grab lunch or you are welcome to join me in the kitchen.” I decide I should leave him to his own devices for a while as I am sure he is just trying to be polite. The man must want some alone time in his home.

  “I think I’ll step out for a while. Can I get you something?”

  “No thanks. I am fine for now. Oh, please see Harrison on the way out. He has something for you.”

  I head to the great room and wander around looking for Harrison. I finally see him emerge from one of the guest rooms.

  “Hi Harrison!”

  “Hello Ms. Ball, good to see you.”

  “Same here. Mr. Holden said I should see you? That you had something for me?”

  “Oh yes,” he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small envelope and hands it to me. I pull out a black American Express card, the material used is unlike anything I have ever seen for a credit card. It says Holden Industries, Inc. just underneath my name.

  “You can use this card for your meals and errands for Mr. Holden. Just submit the receipts to accounting.” The perks of this job just keep coming. Maybe Marsha was the wrong person to ask about Holden. I feel him out with a question. I whisper: “Can I ask you something?”

  “Certainly.”

  “How did Mr. Holden know I was early? I have to admit, it was a little disconcerting. He seems to know everything.” Mr. Harrison smiles.

  “There is external surveillance throughout the house and we also receive alerts whenever any external door is accessed.” I sigh, a bit relieved that I wasn’t being watched as I walked through the house.

  “Mr. Holden likes to play games doesn’t he?” I whisper to Harrison with a smirk. He simply grins and shrugs. I know I can’t press him any further and I head out to lunch.

  Upon my return the afternoon is spent reviewing notes we made in the morning and creating an outline to submit back to the proposal team. A little after four o’clock, I complete the task.

  “Mr. Holden. What should I do with these?” I ask.

  “You can email them to Marsha who knows what to do. Then I would like you to run an errand for me.”

  I quickly email the attachment to Marsha and let Mr. Holden know I am ready for the errand. “I need you to go here and pick something up. Bella will know where to guide you. Please bring it back and then you can go on home. Size four.” He hands me a business card. This must be the “personal” part of being a personal assistant.

  The card is a soft cream color with decorative gold filigree borders. It reads:

  Bella’s Intimates

  Delectable Intimates for the Discerning Mademoiselle

  Lingerie shopping? Isn’t this Mona’s jurisdiction? He says he needs it for tonight. My heart sinks at the thought. Of course, he has a lady or maybe even multiple ladies in his life...Look at him! Here I was the other day, feeling sad for this poor, lonely, rich man. He is not as lonely as I thought. Shyla, you have Rick. Stop with the schoolgirl crap. I hesitate.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Well, I just thought Mona would be more qualified to pick out this kind of stuff.”

  “Mona is out of town. As I said Bella will take care of you. Is running errands beneath you?”

  “No, that’s now how I meant it. I’ll go, it’s no problem.” I do my best to look unaffected as I head for the door. While my rational side is screaming to me that this is inappropriate, Mr. Holden has found a way in just a few words, to make me feel like I am some sort of snob for questioning the errand, as if I think I am better than Mona or something.

  Bella’s Intimates is a very small boutique that looks like a French lace factory exploded throughout its interior. As I soon as I walk in, I eye a dainty baby blue bralette. I lift the price tag: $580. Holy shit! Now I know why I have the black card.

  “Hello beautiful! You must be Shyla!” A portly older woman emerges from the a door behind the counter.

  “Hi. You must be Bella. Mr. Holden said you could help me select something for him?”

  “Of course! I know Mr. Holden’s tastes well. Let me show you what I have preselected.”

  She takes me to a table with individual pieces laid out. There is a clear theme of black lace and satin. A pair of crotchless panties lays on the white decorative table, the crotch spread slightly open. I start to feel warm all over and remove my cardigan. There is a black bustier, a black bralette, and a thong, all lace. There are also black satin pieces: a teddy, a garter belt, and a nightgown. This is more than I am prepared to know about Mr. Holden. This whole errand is oddly intimate, learning his taste in lingerie. Crotchless panties? That’s pretty kinky. I won’t lie, I have had thoughts about him, lustful ones, but this is too real. Lying in front of me are the pieces of lingerie his girlfriend or lover will be wearing as he makes love to her. It takes my thoughts about him from the abstract to the concrete. Then I feel it. It is a hot, uneasy feeling. It is something I haven’t felt in a while. Apparently, I am not the only one who can touch him. It now makes sense, why he has chosen to work with me. Not only is he okay with my touch, but he is not attracted to me. This is the perfect work arrangement for him. I am a fool for acting like a child and gawking at this man. I think he knows what he does to women, what he does to me, and he likes to get a rise out of it. He uses his money, his power, and his looks like pieces on a chessboard. He has it all and I am just another tool at his disposal. I must remind myself that he is just a man. A man that happens to have the perfect collection of eyes, lips, hair, skin, and physique. He is just a man.

  “I’ll give you a moment to look at everything. Please let me know if you need any help.” Bella heads to the dressing room area out of sight.

  For the first time I begin to seriously reconsider my decision to work at H.I. Every time I feel like I have a grip on this man, he throws me for another loop. I want to call Kristin and tell her everything, but I can’t. The feeling is incredibly lonely. I am not used to making big decisions like this without talking it over with Rick or Kristin. My rational side starts to scream at me again. Leave. This is not appropriate. Tell him you can’t work for him. My rational side used to be the loudest, but lately, this other side, one that is unfamiliar, has taken hold of me. I don’t have a label for her, but she is almost devilish. Don’t be so sensitive. You’re his assistant and he wanted you to run an errand. Stop being such a pussy. You know you want to see him again. You know you want to go to Russia with him.

  She wins.

  “I’ll take it all.” He can sort this shit out himself. I nearly pass out at the total...$3387.52.

  I enter the house with the bags and walk straight into the office. Mr. Holden is on the phone. He looks up to acknowledge me without skipping a beat with the person on the other end. The call is clearly business. I place the bags on the desk with a loud thud.

  “I’ll be here tomorrow at nine,” I say firmly and turn on my heels without giving him a chance to respond. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his eyes widen. I am out of line, but it feels right. If he wants to play games, I can play them too.

  Chapter Six

  I take a detour to my office to do some reading alone. I am in a sour mood and I don’t feel like answering Rick’s questions about my day. Mr. Holden has his fortress in the woods and thanks to him, I now I have one high in the sky.

  The 45th floor is ghostly
by the time I arrive in the evening. I eat some soup I purchased at the 24-hour diner down the street. At first, I read at the desk, but then I spy my white loveseat and it beckons me to snuggle up with a book. My book of choice: one about anxiety disorders that I picked up with the business materials the other day. I can only hope this helps guide me through the labyrinth of Holden’s behavior.

  The glare of the sun wakes me from my unplanned slumber. The book I was reading is resting on my chest, and I have a terrible crick in my neck. When I register where I am, I jump up from the couch completely disoriented. What time is it? I look around trying to desperately find a clock. I dig into my purse for my cell phone and it’s dead. I run over to my unfamiliar desk and I spot a very futuristic mini clock. 8:47am...Fuck! I slide on my shoes and take a quick look in the small mirror on my wall. I smooth out my hair, grab my purse, and run.

  “Bye Marsha!” I yell as I run past the front desk, no doubt she is surprised to see me. I pop in a piece of chewing gum and plug my phone into the car charger. Shit! I want to speed to work and a seasoned driver would be able to do so with Ladybug (that’s what I call her), but I am still getting used to driving this thing. My iPhone is so dead, it takes about 5 minutes to even turn on and is followed by the familiar pings of text messages.

  Rick:

  Lala? Where are you. Are you ok?

  —

  Lala, I am worried. Can you text back? Is something wrong?

  —

  Lala, call me, please. No one knows where you are

  Then I see a text from Kristin:

  Kristin:

  Where r u? Rick just called me and said you never came home. We’re worried over here. Please let us know you r ok.

  I can’t manage the car and text them. They will have to wait at least 20 more minutes until I can get my hands free. I am such a jerk. Once I hit the freeway, I am a mad woman until I have to abruptly slow down for an accident. I hate being late. I hope being early the past two days will make up for this. The clock on the dashboard reads 9:10 am. I left on a rather ballsy note last night and who knows if Holden was already thinking about reprimanding me. Now he has a reason to be a total jerk. By 9:12 am I am practically at a standstill. I know I should call him, but after last night, I fear that the interaction will be painful. As I look down at the phone, debating with myself, it rings. The caller id says Taylor Holden. I let it ring once, take a deep breath, and answer, expecting either anger or a cool reprimand:

  “Are you okay?” He almost sounds frantic.

  “Ummm, yes. I’m sorry I overslept. It won’t happen again.”

  “I know. I mean you didn’t have an accident?” I am puzzled for a second and realize he must think I could be in the accident that is clogging the freeway. I can’t help but feel the concern in his voice is a bit of an overreaction, but I feel it is my duty to assuage him.

  “No. I am fine. It’s okay. I am stuck in the traffic, in the aftermath of the accident.”

  “The news helicopter showed a red car that looked just like yours. The wreck is terrible and they said a young female was the driver. For a second, I thought you might have been rushing to get here on time and...” I imagine him cooly sitting at his desk, thinking of ways to toy with me as a punishment for my tardiness. Then, Harrison walking into the office with the news of the red car in an accident and his mood changing into panic. He cares more than I thought.

  “No, I am okay. I’ll try to get in as fast as I can.”

  “Take your time. I’m just glad you are okay”

  I finally pass the scene, which has been cleared, except for pieces of red and black debris strewn along the shoulder. An ominous feeling chills me. I finally make it past the horrendous traffic and into the house at almost ten o’clock. I still haven’t contacted Rick or Kristin and shoot them each a quick text.

  Shyla:

  So sorry!!! I am fine. Fell asleep at the office downtown. Late to work so can’t talk. ttyl

  Kristin responds with a friendly reprimand, but I don’t get anything back from Rick. Harrison is no where to be seen upon my arrival. I walk right into the office and Mr. Holden gives me the once over, he probably notices that I am wearing yesterday’s clothes.

  “I’m here!” I say with a twinge of shame in my voice and give him a little waive.

  “Did you have a good night’s rest?” There is humor in his voice. Maybe he is just happy I am not being scraped off the freeway. He clearly knows that I slept in the office. Marsha, you snitch!

  “I am a little embarrassed about that,” I say as I plop down into one of his chairs. I am feeling easy around him today. “Did Marsha tell you?”

  “Well, she phoned me to tell me you were on your way, but security protocols are to tell me when someone enters the 45th floor after business hours anyway.” Of course.

  “Well, the couch is lovely in my office, but I think I broke my neck sleeping on it.” We both laugh. Yes, he’s laughing, and when he stops, he holds that crooked grin of his.

  “Is everything alright? I mean, you sleeping in the office?”

  “Oh yes, fine. I was just going to do some reading, but that didn’t pan out the way I had hoped. Where’s Harrison?”

  “He took the day off. His mother is sick and he is taking her to the doctor.” This means we are alone in the huge fortress.

  “What a good son. Family is important,” says the woman who has not called her mom to say hello in two weeks. He diverts his eyes from me. Did I strike a chord with that comment? Now I have changed the mood. His disposition is so easily affected.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No, I pretty much woke up and ran over here.”

  “As usual, there is breakfast on the counter.”

  “Great, I am pretty hungry.”

  “Mona did keep some clothes here for you, just in case. You could shower and have breakfast. We can start working later and end later. That’s one of the perks of working with me here. I can be flexible.” Sometimes when he says things, I swear they have more than one meaning. Normally, I would say no, but I feel grimy and I think the warm shower would do wonders on my neck.

  “Would you really be okay with that? I feel so terrible about being late. As you know I usually have a problem with being too early, not the other way around. My neck really hurts though and I think the shower would help.” He looks at my neck. Would you rub it for me please?

  “It’s fine, really. I have some phone calls to make. I can take care of that while you are in the shower. I would recommend the bathroom upstairs with the massage jets. It will do wonders for your neck. Everything you need will be in the closet, just take the elevator to level two. Two doors to your right.” Again with the elevator, I don’t even know where the stairs are in this house.

  The bathroom is the stuff of Kohler commercials. Pale gray limestone tile lines the floor and walls, giving the room a modern, yet relaxed atmosphere. The shower is enormous and has massage jets as well as multiple showerheads. This is a shower made for two. The tub is also enormous and shaped like a giant bowl in the center of the room. It stands alone, like a piece of art. At first I can’t decide what I want to do, but finally, I opt to use the shower. The shower jets explode all over my body. My muscles begin to relax. He was right, the jets do work wonders. I could get used to living like this. I wonder if she was here last night, the one that I bought the lingerie for. Did they shower in here together? I close my eyes and tilt my head back, trying to clear my head of these thoughts, but I can’t stop thinking of him in the shower: naked, hot, and wet.

  Images of dark unkempt hair, full lips, crooked smiles and smoky eyes corrupt my thoughts. I try to convince myself that this is just the result of all the time Taylor and I are spending together. The image of his lips grazing a strawberry pierce my mind. Those lines that curve down from his abdomen into the waistband of his sweatpants...They tease me, taunt me, daring me to follow their path. Now the area beneath my waist begs me for relief. I can feel it, the rush of s
timulation, the tension. I have to let it go, give her what she wants. Like if pulled by a magnet, my hands glide down my belly, then in between the flesh of my thighs. I have no choice but to surrender. I imagine my fingers are his tongue as he expertly pleases me, then I turn towards the jets and let them do their work. I grab my breasts, caressing them, pretending my hands are instead his and it isn’t long before I tense even more and then explode into the glorious release. My body twitches with every pulse as I try to stifle my moans. Every muscle relaxes and for just a few seconds I experience a perfect moment of stillness. It isn’t long before the uneasiness creeps back in. I have crossed a line with him, even if it was not in the flesh. This illusion has only stoked the flame and I know what I just committed isn’t enough to satisfy the craving.

  I stay in the shower in an attempt to cleanse myself of my transgression when I hear the faint sound of music. It is so faint in fact, that I am not even sure if my mind is playing tricks on me. A voice barely rises above the music singing a love song.

  The dagger goes straight to my chest. The voice hovers over each word, as if she is speaking to someone and the meaning is so beautiful, it only happens to come out in song. Could the lyrics be for me? Taylor Holden haunts me; his timing gives me goosebumps.

  I wrap myself in a huge, plush bath sheet and very soon realize I don’t know where my clothes have been stored. I assume they are in the same guest bedroom I changed in last time. I feel ridiculous riding in the elevator barefoot, wrapped in a towel. I hope that Holden will still be in his office so he doesn’t have to see me like this, but of course this isn’t the case. He is walking in the hallway towards his office when we run into each other.