by Julia Kent
He lifted one brow, looking at me funny. “Jessika, are you alright? Is something wrong? You’re acting odd.”
“No!” I squeaked. “Nothing! I have to use the bathroom. My hairs a mess. I’m sure I look terrible.”
An excuse? Yes. I didn’t know if I looked terrible, nor did I care too much, but I figured if I could use the age old excuse to my advantage, one used by many women before me, then I should pull out all the stops and do it.
“You look fine,” he said. “Nice, actually. Somewhat glowing. Very refreshed, and…”
I nodded, thanked him, and ran to the bathroom. The upstairs one, far away from anywhere Asher would be. He probably looked at me quizzically and laughed to himself, but I scurried up the stairs as quick as I could so I never saw any of that. The image in my head, the thought of it, that was more than enough to make me feel embarrassed all over again.
I didn’t actually need to use the bathroom, not quite, but I freshened up anyways. When I looked in the mirror, I looked fine, mostly. Some quick touch-ups would fix any obvious hair issues, and I wasn’t so vain that I needed to always wear makeup no matter what. I did look somewhat glowing, though. Probably, I assumed, because of the blushing, but Asher didn’t need to know that, nor the reason behind it.
Relax, Jessika, I told myself. Breathing in and out, some makeshift Zen meditation, I released my pent up worries and took in good energy. That was the idea, at least, though who could say if I did it right. Maybe I should look into that? It seemed useful and thinking about it served as a good distraction while I relaxed into normalness.
When I rejoined Asher downstairs, he was talking on his cell phone.
“Alright,” he said. “Yes, of course. No, it won’t be a problem. Why would it? I’m interested to read the reports. I’ll have someone there to take care of things, too. Yes. Yes. Nice talking with you. Have a good day.”
He hung up the phone and put it on the kitchen countertop.
“Is everything alright?” I asked.
“Everything,” he said, “is great. I’ve just learned that my director of public relations is returning to Landseer Tower today with news and a report. I can only hope its good, but I’m sure he has everything under control.”
“He?”
“Solomon,” Asher said. “Solomon Royce. He’s done good work for me, though I don’t understand his methods exactly. Always away doing this or that, sparking interest in company holdings, doing press releases, that kind of thing. I couldn’t manage any of it for the life of me, so I’m glad to have him, but sometimes it’s confusing since I don’t understand most of what his reports are about.”
“Can’t you ask him?” I’d thought of Asher as something of a genius in the business world and finding out that there were things he didn’t understand was somewhat jarring.
“Oh, I do. It doesn’t help. He gives me explanations and books to read and I’ve read them, but the way he puts so much information in reports and discusses everything in such detail, it’s like I need a translator to understand it. I’d love to be more active in public relations, at least behind the scenes, but Solomon has a hold on it so it doesn’t matter too much.”
“Is that a good idea?” I said. “I don’t mean to pry, but…”
He shrugged. “No, I know what you’re getting it. It’s really not a good idea, generally speaking. I should at least have some understanding of that side of my business, but I trust him. I pay him enough, so I shouldn’t have to worry about him leaving the company any time soon, anyways.” The last part was apparently a joke. Asher chuckled.
“Alright,” I said. I wasn’t a businessperson. I wasn’t even involved in any real business, public relations or not, so I doubted I could judge anything Asher did. But, still, it seemed off to me. Odd.
“Speaking of Solomon,” Asher said. “He’s actually returning at a bad time. I always have someone to take care of his needs in his office, but the woman who usually does it is on vacation. I didn’t expect him back so soon. I was wondering if maybe…”
“Are you asking me to do it?”
He smiled, sheepish. Not really an Asher Landseer look. More relaxed and comfortable and endearing. I smiled back, caught off guard.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said. “I’ll pay you, of course. You can come in with me and Jeremy. I’ll find suitable business attire. It shouldn’t be anything difficult. Sit in his office and wait for him, go deliver papers or pick something up. Like a secretary, except not exactly.”
I nodded. “I can do it. I don’t think there will be any problems.”
These were, one might say, famous last words.
“Thanks,” Asher said, sounding genuine. “What do you want for breakfast? I’ll make it. You can sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.”
“The breakfast show?” I asked, tittering. My God, was I some crazed school girl? Giggling in front of a grown man? I lowered my eyes, self-conscious.
He strode towards me and put his hand under my chin. Gentle, yet firm, he lifted my face so that I had to look at him. My eyes moved to the side, denying him, but I could only do it for so long. He met my gaze.
“Yes,” he said, sounding completely serious. “I shall fry the pans and toast the eggs like you’ve never seen before. In your name, Jessika, for the greater good.”
“Stop it!” I said, laughing. I slapped his cheek, playful and light, then turned my eyes down again. “I do like pan fries,” I added.
“You have a beautiful smile,” he said, but that was it. Before I could blush or accept the compliment or say anything at all in return, he squeezed my chin gently between his fingers, let me go, and walked away.
…
We finished breakfast and Jeremy drove us to Landseer Tower. Asher spent most of the ride on his phone, talking, asking about this or that, requesting someone find figures on something and have them brought to him or someone else, or whatever. I sat there quietly, trying to get into the right mood for this kind of thing.
Today, I was a businesswoman. Not exactly, and even if I was one I was quite a bit lower in importance than anyone else. A temporary position, again, except this time I had the full backing of the CEO of the company. For some reason, that made me feel better. In actuality it wasn’t too much different from when I’d gone to clean Asher’s office, but the fact that before was on initiative from the temp agency, and now was because of Asher himself, it just felt different to me.
I folded my hands on my lap, sat perfectly still, and thought about what I would do. Should I call him Solomon, or Mr. Royce? I should ask about that. Maybe Mr. Solomon Royce? Did he want me to get him coffee? Snacks? That seemed kind of lowly, but who knew what his usual assistant did. I needed to run errands, fetch papers, and help him out in whatever way necessary, so I should prepare for the worst. And, really, there were worse things in life than someone telling you to get them coffee. I could handle it.
We arrived, Asher left. He told someone about what I would be doing and they showed me to Solomon’s office. Solomon, they said, was what I should call him. I thanked the woman and smiled and then looked around Solomon’s office to figure out what I could do.
He wasn’t there yet, and would arrive when he arrived. That’s what Asher told me. Solomon did his own thing most of the time, but he was always prompt in doing his job. Just not always in his office, but what did that matter? For someone like him, or Asher, or most of the higher ups in this building, I assumed they could probably do their work wherever they wanted and it wouldn’t make too much of a difference.
Solomon’s office was weird, though. Nothing like Asher’s, first off. Asher’s office had a comfortable feel to it. Maybe a little cluttered, with the reading nook and bookcases and little oddities he had arranged around the room, but it felt cozy and nice. Solomon’s office was mostly utilitarian.
The room had a desk with a large window behind it, shaded. One high-back chair sat behind the desk, with a regular office chair in front of it for visitors. A t
able off to the side with books on it, sorted neatly in stacks. Then a leather couch, a mirror behind that, and a shaded lamp in one corner.
The couch looked nice enough. I sat on it to test it out, and it felt plush. Cold, though, like no one ever sat on it, but then again, no one had sat there in awhile, right? Solomon had gone on a business trip to oversee some things, and his assistant was on vacation, so no one had any reason to use this room for at least the past couple of weeks.
I bounced on the couch, thinking to myself. With time to spare, I crept over to the lamp. Crawling across the couch on all fours, reaching up to switch the lamp on, I didn’t expect what came next.
As soon as my hand grazed the lamp switch, hidden beneath the shade, a man cleared his throat behind me. Startled, I jumped forward and fell across the arm of the couch. My stomach landed on the arm and my feet slipped on the smooth leather, flailing out and leaving me in a mess.
“Excuse me,” the man said. I looked over my shoulder at him. “You aren’t Daphne.”
He was looking at me! Not just looking at me, but something more. I don’t know why, but I felt a cold chill creep through my body as his eyes lingered on me. From my heels to my calves to the skirt of the dress that Asher found for me. Not typical business attire, but it was the best he could find on short notice and he said it would be fine. Who was I to argue with him?
The man followed the curves of my legs up to my ass, raising a brow at the patterned red, beige, and white stripes on my black dress. His eyes went higher, peeking at my back and my solid black suit jacket, then lower, to the side, staring at the curves of my breasts pressed against the arm of the couch. And, finally, to my face, where he leered at me with the most indecent smirk I’d ever seen.
“No,” I said, feeling anxious. Something dropped into the pit of my stomach, a huge lump, and I couldn’t get rid of it. “Asher asked me to help you today. Daphne’s on vacation.”
“Asher?” he asked.
“Sorry. Mr. Landseer. You’re Solomon, right?” As soon as I said it, I doubted the earlier woman’s advice. “I mean, Mr. Royce? Um…”
“Solomon will be fine,” he said.
I gulped. “Yes, sir.”
He flashed me a wicked grin. “Sir is fine, too. What’s your name?”
“Jessika,” I whispered. I felt so uncomfortable, and belatedly realized I was still draped across his office couch like some provocative, decorative blanket. I tried to fix myself, to at least move into a sitting position, but my shoe’s heel was stuck. I pushed my other foot against the couch, trying to free myself, but it didn’t help.
Solomon sauntered over to me and assessed the situation. Without warning, he pried my foot loose and then picked me up as if I were some object to be rearranged. Flipping me over, he dropped me onto the couch. I landed on my back with a thud, head plopping against the couch’s cushioned arm, feet kicking out towards the opposite couch arm.
“There,” he said.
I tried to thank him, or at least I intended on thanking him. I did up until he placed his knee between my legs and lowered himself on top of me. Not entirely, but he had one leg between my thighs and a hand beside my arm, propping him up right above me. He stared at me, lascivious, a smirk on his face.
“Did Asher tell you that you were to do anything I required?” he asked. “Absolutely anything I found necessary?”
I gulped and nodded my head. “Yes, he did, but…”
Solomon’s knee shifted and he pressed it up against me harshly. The top of his thigh smashed against the center of my body, pushing my skirt up and revealing my pantyhose covered thighs. He ground his knee against my crotch and I squirmed hard against him, completely caught off guard.
“Anything,” he said. “And what I need right now is…”
“No,” I whimpered.
“What did you say to me?” he asked. To reinforce the anger in his voice, he grabbed my face with his free hand. His fingers squeezed against my cheek and he forced me to look at him.
“I…” I tried to talk but it was difficult. I was scared and worried and this wasn’t at all like any time with Asher. With Asher I felt—and I don’t know why I felt this—safer. Asher looked angry sometimes, but he wasn’t really angry. He wouldn’t hurt me, and he wouldn’t do anything to make me upset. On the contrary, Solomon looked full of rage.
He pressed his knee against me harder and moved a hand towards my breasts. He squeezed them roughly above my dress and jacket and looked at me with a long, hard glare. When I didn’t say anything(when I couldn’t say anything, I was so scared), he released my cheeks and moved his hand lower. Past my chest, towards my stomach, to the hem of my dress. He grabbed at the skirt and wrenched it up, revealing my pantyhose covered crotch. His fingers looped into the waistband of my pantyhose, by the center of my stomach. Cold, rough fingers, reaching lower. Fingers that were going to touch my slit and…
I was wet. I was wet but I was not intentionally aroused. I did not want Solomon Royce to do anything to me. When Asher had looked at me with passion and anger after I’d destroyed his book, and then picked me up and tossed me onto the alder wood table in his private meeting room, I’d been shocked and somewhat scared, but not like this. I’d… I’d really wanted to know what Asher would do, and when he did it I felt ecstatic. Perhaps I shouldn’t have, and perhaps I should have been more upset, but at the time I wasn’t. And then, later, after getting to know him a little more, I was even less upset. I really liked Asher. I liked him a lot.
I didn’t know Solomon Royce, but I didn’t like him at all. If he felt I was aroused, out of terrified excitement and nothing more, I knew what would happen. If he felt that, realized it, he would take me right then and there. No matter what I said afterwards, whether I said no or not, he would do with me what he wished. He would deny my pleas and say that I wanted this, say that he could feel how aroused I was, my wet, sloppy cunt. I couldn’t say how I knew it, but I was one-hundred percent certain of this fact.
And so, as my only line of defense, I whimpered, “No. Please, no. Stop.”
His fingers had crept beneath my pantyhose and were a mere inch away from my clit. “What did you say?” he asked. “Speak up. I can’t hear you.”
“Stop this,” I said, louder now, but feeling quieter and meeker than before. “I don’t want this. No. I’m not supposed to do this.”
He removed his hand from my crotch and pushed hard against my chest, lifting himself up and off of me. Then, as if he’d done nothing wrong, he stood up and walked away from the couch. Back turned to me, he went to his table with the stacks of books and began browsing through them.
“Jessika,” he said without looking at me, eyes cast downwards at one of the books. He opened it and began reading to himself. “Go to office F-7 and tell Henry I need to meet with him in an hour. Then head to J-4 and pick up the Alfonse memorandum. Once you’ve brought those here, I want you to call Gelton’s and get me a steak and cheese bomb with a large coffee. Two sugars, one cream, plus a side of sour cream for the sub. Make sure the mushrooms, peppers, and onions are completely cooked before returning.”
I stumbled up and rolled off the couch, launching myself to my feet immediately. I fixed my dress and my jacket and ran out of the room as fast as I could. F-7, J-4, steak and cheese, coffee, I repeated in my head. When I left Solomon’s office, I ran somewhere else so I could write everything down without forgetting it.
I didn’t want to go back there. I didn’t want to do anything for him, either. But the alternatives were worse, in my mind. I wanted to tell Asher, to rush to him and inform him of what his trusted director of public relations was really like, but I knew I couldn’t. My problems, while important to me, were something that Asher couldn’t deal with at the moment. He was busy dealing with issues that could potentially cost him millions of dollars. I felt so horrible, so sick, but I didn’t think my issues were anything compared to possible financial ruin.
I needed to tell him sometime, though. Tonig
ht. Later. After this, once I finished acting as Solomon’s temporary assistant and Asher finished doing what he needed to do for the day. Once Jeremy arrived to drive us home…
No, I reminded myself, it wasn’t my home. Asher’s home. For dinner, with his wife. For…
I didn’t fit in here. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to leave right now, to ask the head receptionist to call Jeremy and have him pick me up and bring me back to my quiet apartment where I could curl up on my couch and read a book and forget any of this had ever happened.
I wanted to do that, but was it fair to Asher? I had to tell him about Solomon, except would he believe me? I thought about it, tried to figure it out. My heels thudded against the carpeted hallway and I made my way towards the elevator that would bring me to the sixth floor and Henry at F-7.
…
At the end of the day, I found myself in Solomon Royce’s office, alone. He hadn’t tried anything further after his attempt at forced seduction on his couch, for which I was grateful. Though, to be fair, I hadn’t spent more than a minute in his presence after that, either. Always busy, always moving. I did what he asked and hurried out of his office as fast as I could. Now, though, he’d left, and I was waiting for Asher.
Solomon hadn’t said anything before he left, he just did it. I saw him leaving his office as I was walking down the hallway to get my next task from him. He saw me, gave me a curt nod, then walked away. I had stared after him for awhile, watching him enter the elevator, and when I was certain he’d left I went into his office to wait.
Not on the couch. I didn’t want to go anywhere near his couch. Instead, I waited by his desk. I sat in the office chair facing the window. Not a great view, but the skyline looked nice from here. The setting sun lay somewhere off to the side, but the sky in front of me contained a myriad of oranges and yellows. I stared, thinking, wondering what I should do.
I decided I couldn’t tell Asher about what happened. Maybe it was a fluke? Some office game? Did they hire strippers for newly returned executives sometimes? I doubted it, but perhaps. Probably not. But, either way, if I told Asher, it would cause issues. Asher needed and trusted Solomon to do good work, and from everything I knew the man had performed well over the years. Also, maybe Solomon had an arrangement with his regular assistant, Daphne? Some sexual agreement? How should I know? If he assumed Daphne primed me on that, and told me what to expect, then that was understandable.