by Jani Kay
"You're new to this, aren't you?"
I kind of laughed, out of nervousness alone. I didn't remove the sunglasses from my eyes, even though the room was low lit. "Is it written all over my face?" I asked.
"No reason to be shy, hon. We all started somewhere. It's funny how the curious ones tend to wander in like lost sheep."
I slid the sunglasses to the top of my head and looked around. I took it all in: the clothes, accessories, and toys. My eyes roamed to the various mannequins with lace tightly wrapped around their plastic bodies. Others had leather covering every inch, except for their privates, eyes, and mouths. Each one wore a bright-colored wig: hot pink, neon yellow, and orange. Curly-H Helen led me through the store, giving me the grand tour.
"I was told to try on the leather cat suit."
She smirked. "Full body, half, or lingerie?"
"I suppose half?"
She brought me to the back of the store. We passed the bondage section with whips, floggers, handcuffs, and chains. Letting my eyes gaze across the rows of collars, I thought about what it would be like to be owned, and for a slight second, the idea excited me. I wanted to be tamed because kink clubs and one-night stands wouldn't satisfy me forever. Deep down, I knew this.
Helen looked through the various leather suits, then looked me up and down and decided that the small would fit. She explained that it stretched just a little bit, but it was meant to be a second skin—tight, and sexy.
"It's all about the confidence you have when you wear it," she said, then handed me a liner for the crotch. She ensured me that most people who tried on the leather bought it. Apparently, it was magical like that. Once the dressing-room door closed, I removed my clothes and struggled to put on the suit. Second skin described it perfectly, but once it was on, holy fucking hell. It accentuated every single part of my body—my ass, waist, breasts, hips—and I looked good enough to eat.
I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and took a picture, then sent it over to Stacey. The message I attached simply said, you were right about the leather. Moments later, I swung the bag over my shoulder and walked to the car with a hop in my step. Between the leather and the sexy outfits hidden in the back of my closet, I had tons to choose from for tonight.
As I drove home, I couldn't stop thinking about what the night would bring and what last night had already brought.
When I stepped inside the elevator, Mr. Marcy—the Hugh Heffner of the building—was there with another woman, one that I actually didn't recognize. He tilted his head at me and smiled. He was such a nice old guy, probably in his seventies or so, but he got around. That old man fucked more than anyone I knew, maybe even more than Stacey. Once inside, I threw the bags on my bed, then I lay back and stared at the ceiling fan. Before I fell into a nap, a text message went off of on my phone.
Dad: Call me.
I rolled my eyes, but did. It was about business. Always.
"Yes, Jeffery," I said when he answered.
"Honey, I've told you a thousand times to call me Dad. Can you come to the office in the next hour? There are a few resumes I'd like you to look over before Monday."
"Can it wait until Monday?" I asked as I placed my arm over my eyes, knowing what his answer would be.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"Okay, I'll be there in twenty minutes."
The responsibility that came with the position was sometimes not worth it. I understood why I was where I was, but I didn't expect to be the one in charge until I was at least in my forties. The business came first, ahead of my love life or dating, which were both practically non-existent. I often wondered if I would be the Oprah of my generation: fifty, unmarried, but successful as fuck. It couldn't be that bad, right?
SINGLE: VOLUME 1 BY LYRA PARISH
7
Before I left my house, I put on a black skirt, a silk blouse, and a navy-colored cardigan. Just because I had the weekend off, didn't mean everyone did. There were a few marketing teams that worked every other weekend, and I appreciated their diligence and commitment to work.
On the way to the office, I rode with the windows down because it felt so amazing outside. I parked in the front, pulled the sunglasses from my face and tucked them inside my purse. A security guard opened the door and greeted me as I entered. The building had a certain smell to it, like an old school library or museum, though the interior had been updated. Somehow, the smell didn't get old, and it reminded me of my childhood. I pulled my badge from my purse and scanned it, then stepped onto the elevator. Once the door closed, my phone dinged with a text message.
Dad: Main meeting room.
I didn't quite groan out loud, but I knew for a fact that he wasn't the only one in there. I knew that he’d called the entire board, all seven of them, to look over the resumes. Sometimes it was the little things that bothered me about him the most. If he wanted to control everything, then he shouldn't have retired, but he constantly kept me on my toes, and I constantly refused to fuck up.
The elevator doors opened on the eighteenth floor and, just as I suspected, the marketing team was busy at work discussing sales and metrics. Gently, I tilted my head toward them, not wanting to interrupt their conversation, then continued walking. Their voices fell silent as I passed. All I could hear were my heels connecting with the marble floor. I hated that so many people were intimidated by me.
At the end of the hall, the conference room had the blinds pulled down. Before I stepped in, I took a deep breath, fully aware of the bodies that sat around the table on the other side of that door. When I entered, the room was full of the directors, as I suspected, and resumes were spread across the table, hundreds of them in stacks.
"Hi, hun. Glad you could join us," Dad said.
I forced a smile as confusion swept over me.
"I thought all the candidates were already called, and appointments were made for their interviews on Monday," I said.
"I decided that I wanted to go through every resume that was submitted, because the final candidates that were chosen, well, I think we can do better than that. Who was originally chosen didn't seem like VanBuren material, so reviewing them again was the alternative," my micromanager dad said.
"We are placing them in piles: keep, discard, and maybe," Gregory said with a wink. He was an older guy who had been on the Board of the Directors since the beginning. He was like a second grandpa to me.
Dad handed me a stack at least six inches thick, and as I looked around, I noticed each of the directors had the same amount. "We need to go through all of these before this afternoon. I've called Jane in to start compiling the paperwork for the interviews, and to set up times. Let's try to narrow it down to five per position, which are—"
"A corporate lawyer, an accountant, and an executive secretary," I said, interrupting him.
My eyes widened at the fact that there were so many resumes and so little time, and my reaction was not lost on my father . . . nothing was. I bit my lip and began going through the process. This wasn't something that could be done quickly. Everyone in that room knew it.
"So we have every single person’s resume, even those that were pre-screen rejected?" I asked.
My dad nodded his head. It was unbelievable that so many people had applied for the three available positions. If the formatting looked unprofessional, if the individual didn't meet the minimum qualifications, or if the resume was over one page, I placed them in the reject pile. There were a few applicants who were overqualified, and a high number who didn't have the experience to successfully complete the job's basic tasks. After an hour and a half, I narrowed it down to a total of six in each category, and discussed why I believed these were the best candidates for the job.
A text message went off, and I checked it under the table.
Stacey: I'll pick you up around six tonight.
Me: Make that seven. I'm at the office.
A smirk took over my face as I tucked my phone into my purse. The board finally agreed with the de
cision of candidates, and we are all on our merry way. When Jane entered, my dad handed her a small stack of resumes and instructed her to shred the rest. She was annoyed, but had been with the company for years, so she knew how important the hiring process was and what went into it.
We all stood, said our goodbyes, and as we exited, Dad stopped me. "I know you think going through resumes at this level is ridiculous, that it's a menial task, but your grandfather is and has been very clear about knowing who is working for our company. We were founded on family, and we treat our employees as family, so we need to be in tune with who is joining our family. It was the only time we could all get together," he said. His voice was calm, and the truth was, I did understand.
"I get it, Dad. I'm just tired and wish you would have said something, I don't know, yesterday, when I saw you. This last-minute stuff gets to me. You know that."
"It comes with the territory, pumpkin. Just keeping you on your toes. You have to be ready for anything at anytime. You, Pops, and me will be conducting the interviews on Monday starting at eight. Do not be late." He leaned in and gave me a kiss on the forehead and, as much as I wanted to be pissed, I couldn't.
I understood that he only wanted me to be successful. I knew the field was forever evolving and changing, so I had to be ready for anything, even something as simple as sorting through resumes. I got it, but sometimes I wished he had more faith in me and let HR do its job.
Jane, my father's secretary, because she would always be his secretary, stopped me on the way out. "Roxane. Any particular order you'd like these interviews?"
"Maybe the lawyers in the morning? Those interviews tend to last the longest."
She nodded her head, then immediately began dialing the first person. I heard her say something along the lines of congratulations, and like to setup an interview for Monday. Her telephone voice was nice. I would have to compliment her the next time I saw her.
SINGLE: VOLUME 1 BY LYRA PARISH
8
Stacey: What is your ETOR?
Me: What in the hell does that mean?
Stacey: Estimated time of readiness.
Me: Fucking models.
I laughed, of course, and texted back to pick me up in thirty. I had just enough time to take a shower and put on the leather shorts suit. In the back of my closet, I had a pair of Pretty Woman boots hidden, and until tonight, I never had anywhere to wear them. Boots like that weren't something a person could sport daily, unless that person was Stacey. The leather suit stopped upper thigh, which left a few inches between the tops of the boots that zipped up my legs. The heels on them were around five inches. I would be as tall as my bestie tonight, and I smiled at the thought.
After applying makeup and scrunching my hair for a while, Stacey called from down below, and I buzzed her up. When she opened the door, she whistled and gave me catcalls. She was wearing a slinky little dress and high heels, giving her four inches on top of her six-foot frame, but she was used to seeing the top of everyone's head. The gold bracelets on her arm clinked together as she ran her fingers through her straight blond hair. She always looked like she was ready for a photo shoot, especially with her perfectly-matched golden eye shadow and red lips. Tonight, her makeup screamed Goddess.
"Fucking hot," she said, as she walked completely around me. "That ass! Can I borrow some?"
I playfully slapped her on the arm and rolled my eyes. "You always say something about it. I wish I could just let you borrow a handful or two."
Of course, she laughed. "Masks?" she asked, and I grabbed the leather one I bought from the store as we headed out the door.
My heart raced at the thought of the night. We drove to the other side of Houston and pulled into a nice subdivision with gated homes. At the end of a cul-de-sac, a large mansion with flame-lit lanterns awaited us. We placed the masks over our faces. Stacey slowed as she pulled into the drive. A man wearing a black tuxedo and white gloves—and of course, a mask—greeted her. My heart pounded in my chest, and a spike of adrenaline shot through my body. I had no expectation as to what would happen or who I would meet. The inescapable unknown teased me. Then it dawned on me that there was valet at a house party. That alone was impressive.
She pulled a black card from her purse and handed it to the gentleman. He read it, then opened the car door, and took her keys. Another man opened my door, and we walked to the front of the car where she looped her arm through mine. The stone-covered sidewalk led straight to the double wooden doors. Pumpkins covered the porch, along with fall themed décor. Before we could ring the doorbell, the door glided open. A tan skinned man, who had the sexiest smile I'd ever seen, greeted us. He and Stacey exchanged two kisses on the cheeks, like celebrities, and he led us inside.
"Marcus, this is my best friend. I believe you've met her before," she said.
My eyes went wide, and I nudged her.
"It's okay, Rox. We are old friends, and his lips are as tight as his ass," Stacey said, laughing as she grabbed it.
"Oooh, baby," he said.
He guided us through a sitting area with high ceilings, and into the main living space. We entered a large area where the only light came from the large candle chandelier in the middle of the room. Classical music drifted in the background and only added to the fanciness of the party. The guests, dressed in evening wear, turned and looked at me, who looked like the hooker straight out of Pretty Woman. I grabbed Stacey's hand and squeezed hard.
"I'm dressed like a fucking whore compared to these people," I said, and my mood went from soaring to falling in just a few seconds.
"I didn't know. I'm sorry. And it's not like they know who you are," she whispered in my ear. "First rule of wearing leather: own that shit, girl. Make this room your runway."
"Fuck," I said.
A woman walked around with a tray of champagne, and I grabbed two glasses. Stacey went to take one from my hand, and I downed it, then handed her the empty one. If I were to remain here, completely out of place, then at least I needed to shave the edge off of my mood.
"What size are you wearing?" she asked me.
"Small, my boots are a nine."
Instantly, Stacey grabbed my arm, whispered in Marcus' ear, and he pointed around the corner. She dragged me up the stairs then down a long hallway. I didn't know what the hell was going on. Then she opened a room, and in the corner I could see a large garden tub, a standing shower, and a toilet. When she walked inside, she took off her dress and untied the golden Greek-goddess heels that wrapped up her legs.
"Take it off," she demanded.
I looked at her confused.
"Take off the leather, Rox. I'm trading you."
The look in her eyes said she meant business, and there was no way I would argue with her when she got like this. I unzipped the boots and the leather, and handed them all to her.
"Do you want my strapless bra," I asked.
"Hell, no." The leather looked like it was made for her body, and her body alone. Though I was a little shorter, it looked perfect on her. She flipped her hair over and teased it out a bit, then bent over and zipped the boots up her legs. I slid on the cotton dress, and she handed me the gold bracelets that matched her sandals. That outfit on her looked completely different than it did on me, mostly shorter.
"I don't mind all the attention on me. Actually, I kind of fucking love it. So, go out there and have a good time. Fuck everyone else. Okay, well, don't actually fuck them, but you know what I mean." She winked and then removed the white mask and asked for my leather one.
"Perfect," she said. "Now, let’s go have a good time, shall we?"
We walked down the stairs, and back into the main room where all eyes magnetized to her. She smiled, flipped her hair, and ate up the attention. Within a few minutes, men were surrounding her, and I left her in her element. She waved for me to come back, but I went to grab another glass of champagne from the waitress across the room. After I slid another from the tray, I noticed a familiar black mask standing
in front of me. The bartender. Instead of the blue jeans, he wore a tux and a black tie. Just by his simple gaze, everything in the room seemed amplified: the music, lights, and people quietly chatting. Was I nervous?
He made eye contact with me and, before he took a sip of his champagne, he smiled. I swallowed as he excused himself and walked toward me. I turned my back to focus on Stacey who devoured the attention.
"Hi, pretty lady," he whispered in my ear.
"Hi." Heat rushed to my face as I slightly turned my body.
"I know this is weird, but I was kind of hoping to see you here. Katie, right?"
He had remembered my fake name. How many women had he talked to last night? I tilted my head and looked at him, still wanting to know what was under that mask. So much of his face was hidden.
"You're the bartender. I remember."
He chuckled, then talked so quietly that I had to really pay attention to every word he said. Everyone in the room seemed to be whispering to one another. I supposed it kept all conversations private. "Yeah, just the bartender. Actually. I'm not a real bartender. It was a favor for my brother. And so is being here. This is his house, and he opens it up for private parties like this. I'm kind of staying with him for the weekend, and I owed him for his hospitality. Honestly"—his voice dropped even lower, to a full whisper—"this isn't my thing. Meaningless sex has no appeal for me." He stared at me and sipped his drink.
I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Well, the lifestyle really isn't my thing either. The blond is my best friend, and she dragged me along because I needed to have fun and get laid, apparently."
"The spotlight of the party?" he asked, and we both turned our heads as she laughed and placed her hand on one man's shoulder. She fucking owned that leather.
"Yeah, that would be her," I said and sipped again.
"Honestly, you're the only person in this room that I noticed." He looked back at me, his eyes gleamed.