Borden (Borden #1)

by R. J. Lewis

  “It’s not denial if it isn’t true. Borden has no strings on me.”

  Too angry to respond, I flipped him off and stormed out of there, seething on my way to the back room, past the girls and the kitchen. Blythe followed after me, not asking what had happened. They probably all heard our conversation. I felt so humiliated, like maybe they believed in his rubbish. I probably looked like a senile-hungry hussy that thieved muffins out of the kitchen.

  “Are you alright, Emma?” Pat asked me from behind the kitchen counter as he began setting up his station. “I could hear yelling coming from the office.”

  I looked at him. “Did you tell the dick that I’ve been ordering you to give me muffins on my break?”

  He shot me a perplexed look. “Hell no, I didn’t.”

  “Well, that’s what he’s saying.” I turned to Blythe. “And apparently I’m trying to pick up the customers, particularly John, whom I’m pretty much sexually harassing.”

  Blythe’s mouth dropped. “What the fuck?”

  “Exactly!”

  They watched me as I gathered my things again, fighting hard to keep intact my pride by not crumbling and crying on the floor about being jobless all over again.

  “What are you doing?” Blythe asked me.

  “I’m fired,” I answered, my voice breaking. “Which is fine, whatever. I’ll get another job.” In a city where jobs are difficult as fuck to find.

  Pat cursed and Blythe gasped. They told me how unfair that was, how little it made sense. I bit my tongue, refusing to let them know it made perfect sense to me. I opened my wallet to pull out my bus money, shaking in my rage. If Denny was a man, he’d have at least acknowledged the truth, that it was all Borden. He’d never have fired me over these things, anyway. He’d have waited until the damn restaurant burned down before thinking of firing someone. We’d all been together for the two years he’d began operating the business, taking our shit every single day.

  Leaving the diner was like doing the walk of shame. Everyone stopped to stare at me, even the first customers that had just come through the door, like they knew already. I kept my eyes drawn to the ground, blinking back the ache behind my eyes.

  Must not cry. Must not cry.

  I stepped out into the cold air and took in a deep breath.

  For the first time in ever, I didn’t know what to do, where to go, how to salvage my life. So much of me was in this place. It had been my safety net. I barely made it by, sure, but it was better than this: completely jobless, completely broke, with no more than fifteen dollars in my wallet – no, no, it was eleven dollars actually.

  “Fuck!” I cussed.

  I was going to have a complete panic attack, and it didn’t help that in this particular moment the skies decided, “hey, time to shit on your parade some more, Emma” and empty its guts out on me. Great, so now I was jobless, sitting on the curb of the road outside of the diner, getting drenched in rain while I fought back the tears brimming behind my eyes.

  Desperation is a very cruel thing, I realized, as I got all philosophical just then. It made you dangerously aware of the precipice you were hanging off of. Dangling over the edge, staring down into a black hole, while everything inside of you was struggling against the inevitable.

  That’s how it felt like for me.

  Nah, to be more specific, I felt exactly like a failure. Here, I was supposed to be a big girl. I left my grandmother’s house, ready to chase a good job, feeling like an independent little thing, strong-willed against the world, like I was going to take it on with a stormy passion that was unrivalled.

  Ha.

  Hahaha.

  Yeah, right.

  People don’t realize that they’re not always the ones holding themselves back from achieving their dreams, it’s everybody else standing in the way.

  I sighed.

  Time to stop whining about my shortfalls. I had to get up, get moving, and find another job. A job that wasn’t under Borden’s command. That would be disastrous, especially with how out of control I felt around him. That man would enjoy chewing me up and spitting me out.

  I’d be a janitor, if I had to. Hell, I’d strip if I could. Anything to get me out of having to crawl back to my grandmother and beg for money. Not that I’d have to beg, mind you, she’d give me the shirt off her back. But that was the problem. I didn’t want her to.

  And Borden knew it too.

  Shaking off my sadness, I gathered my bag and stood up. I dragged my ass to the nearest bus stop and went home. It was as I neared my apartment building that I noticed a man standing out front. My steps slowed when he looked up at me and acknowledged me with a smile. The man was middle-aged, thick and short, and had the bushiest grey-black moustache I’d ever seen.

  When I made eye contact with him, he raised his hand and gestured me over. I froze, part of me cautious, the other part completely aware he was sent by Borden. Swallowing hard, I hesitantly made my way over.

  “What do you want?” I immediately asked.

  Moustache Man smiled, cheerfully. “I’m here to discuss your job role and what Mr Borden expects of you on Wednesday morning.”

  “Wednesday?”

  “Yes, you have the day off tomorrow to get yourself ready. I’m assigned to be your driver, so you no longer have to worry about public transportation. If you let me into your apartment, I can take out the file here in my bag and underline your responsibilities –”

  “He’ll do this again if I find another job, won’t he?” I interrupted, forlornly.

  He paused and then nodded solemnly. “Yes, Emma, he will.”

  “Shit.”

  “I know this seems out of the ordinary for you, and frankly, he’s never done this before, so I’m also at a loss. But it’s a good position with very good pay,” he consoled me. “Mr Borden has been very generous.”

  “Generous? He’s forcing me to work for him.”

  Moustache Man nodded. “Yes, but…at least you’re not on his shit list, Emma, and believe me, that shit list is a dangerous place to be on.” He cringed for a moment before clearing his throat. “Now, how about we go in, or we can walk to a café, anywhere with a bit of privacy so I can be thorough about this.”

  “There’s a diner around the corner,” I replied, warily eyeing the bag he was carrying.

  How thorough did one have to be over a simple bookkeeping position?

  *

  Well, shit.

  Thorough was the understatement of the century. Borden was a fucking Nazi with all his rules. I went through the papers in awe. There were explicit instructions on what I could or couldn’t wear, a list of things I wasn’t allowed to bring into the office, specifically my purse which baffled me.

  “Borden has…a few enemies,” Moustache Man had explained vaguely. “He needs to be careful at all times.”

  “Does he think I’ll smuggle a rocket launcher into my purse or something?” I muttered defensively.

  “Believe it or not, we’ve come across some frankly bizarre situations in the past that make smuggling a rocket launcher into a purse seem genius.”

  Well, okay then.

  “But look, I’ll give him a word about lettings yours in. We haven’t had women in his office before, so perhaps he’ll be more lenient with you.”

  “Right.”

  I signed all the papers I needed to, provided all the vital information, and when it came time to look at my pay, I was in for a surprise.

  “That’s…three times what I make in a week now,” I whispered.

  “Like I said, Mr Borden has been very generous.”

  “For a reason I don’t understand.”

  “Instead of questioning it, how about just embracing it?”

  I frowned. I was the type of person that didn’t settle for anything short of the truth, and just embracing it didn’t work for me.

  “Am I going to see bad things?” I wondered just then. “Is that why I’m being paid so well?”

  “What bad things are
you referring to exactly?”

  I looked at him evenly. “Come on, don’t act like that. You know what I’m talking about. Drugs and death and mutilated body parts.”

  Moustache Man laughed…and laughed. “No,” he managed out. “You will not be seeing drugs and death and mutilated body parts. Mr Borden is very professional.”

  Except when he forcefully hires women.

  When all was said and done, I walked with Moustache Man to his black Mercedes parked out front of my apartment building.

  “Those men keep staring at you,” he quietly told me, eyes on the group out front of the entrance doors.

  “They hang there all the time,” I told him on a shrug. “They’re harmless.”

  “They don’t look harmless, Emma.”

  I glanced at them more carefully, all five of them, smoking their cigarettes while studying us carefully.

  “They probably are more concerned about you,” I told him. “Driving around in a brand new Mercedes around here gets heads turning.”

  Moustache Man frowned, and he looked so different from the friendly man two minutes ago. He was a large man, but not particularly threatening to look at, yet the look he now had on was hair raising.

  “I’ll circle the neighbourhood for a little while,” he said. “Just to be sure they’re not up to no good. I can’t have Mr Borden’s girl harmed on my watch.”

  A strange feeling washed over me. Is that what he thought I was?

  “I’m not Borden’s girl,” I said, seriously. “I wouldn’t be working for him if I had a choice.”

  He just smiled. “Alright then. I hear you. Now I’ll pick you up at seven in the morning. Try not to be late.”

  He opened the car door and was about to climb in when he stopped and turned back to me.

  “Oh, and Emma,” he added, as if remembering, “when you’re around Mr Borden, never call him by his first name. It’s happened a few times around the workplace and…you’ve seen Mr Borden when he’s angry.”

  Oh, I’ve seen him angry alright.

  “Never call him Marcus,” I replied on a nod. “I can do that.”

  He nodded, glanced back at the men, and climbed back into his car. When he drove off, I turned around and made my way inside.

  *

  I spent the following two nights reading over the paperwork in case I missed something – like signing my life away. Along with that, I looked him up again online. It’d become somewhat of an addiction, and I was sure I’d exhausted every website on the internet. Deciding on a different avenue, I simultaneously researched his old flame.

  Kate Davenoth.

  She really was a stunner. All long blonde hair and magnificent green eyes and legs that went on for miles. She had that sweetness about her too, these soft eyes and innocent smile. I spent a while trying to picture a girl like him with a hard man like Borden. How did that even happen? Wasn’t he as intimidating back then as he was now?

  I saw a picture of her father. Articles of him and his hate toward Borden before he quit and moved away from the city.

  “He’s the real murderer of my girl,” he’d said once to a journalist. “If he had never returned, she would never have died.”

  For some reason, that chilled me to the bone more than anything else.

  Do not bring him close, Emma.

  Sixteen

  Emma

  When Wednesday morning arrived, I hurried to get ready. I’d just finished when I heard the expectant knock on my door. It was Moustache Man. I followed him out to the car. We didn’t say anything on the ride to Owls. He took me into the club and dropped me off in front of Borden’s office. I was resigned to the situation, tired after a late night, and uncomfortable in my clothes. I was wearing an incredibly tight pencil skirt, one of a few I owned, with a white silky office shirt I had bought second hand a few years back when I was heavier.

  I didn’t feel right. After wanting a better job for so long, I suddenly wished I was back in my waitress uniform and at the diner with the girls. That was safety, this here was new and different and I didn’t realize until now how unready I was by it.

  One of Borden’s musclemen opened the door and motioned me in.

  I walked into the office and glanced around. It was massive, and it looked incredible, nothing at all like the backroom I’d been in the first time I’d met Borden. Built in bookshelves adorned the walls, and the furnishings were modern and dark. I was about to feel hopeful…until I spotted Borden’s desk and another desk placed right next to his.

  He really meant it in the literal sense when he said I’d be working alongside him. We were going to be side by side.

  Shit.

  I frowned on my way to the desk. Bully Borden wasn’t here yet. I pulled back the office chair to what I knew was going to be my desk (it was clear of everything compared to his) and plopped down in front of my work computer. I stared at the blank screen for minutes on end, waiting for my master to show up and give me my orders.

  Just do this, Emma. Do what he wants, play by his rules and wait for him to get sick of you.

  I wasn’t stupid. He was having fun toying with me. I was sure he was going to try and play with my emotions, continue to threaten my future employment and homelessness, and touch me however he liked to prove his dominance. Is that what this all was? Did he just want to own someone and torment them because it fed some kind of sadistic fetish of his?

  Regardless of why he was doing this, Borden wasn’t looking to physically harm me. I was merely his entertainment, one that had talked back at him numerous times and escaped punishment. Surely he’d bore of me fast if I resisted doing all that.

  So fine, I decided. I would play his game. He wasn’t dangerous to me. Maybe to others. But not me.

  The door opened, and I looked up from the blank screen and watched him come in.

  Stupid bastard.

  Fucking bully.

  Why did this bully have to look so fucking good, too?

  I glared at him, my villain, dressed in a tailored, pinstriped suit, his hair slicked back, even an expensive looking watch on his wrist. Nothing at all like the simpleton from before. He was moving with something in his mouth.

  Was that… was that a lollipop?

  His eyes met mine and the fucker smirked at me. I didn’t react at all to the smugness in his demeanour as he walked around the desk and sat down in the chair next to me. All my senses were on alert, every hair on my body standing. Would he touch me straight away? Or warm me up first?

  I hated how tight my body felt.

  “How are we doing this morning, doll?” he asked pleasantly.

  “Fine,” I simply answered, already getting flustered by his presence.

  “Good. You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you. I fired my bookkeeper last week and we’re a bit behind.”

  I blinked at him. “You… You already had a bookkeeper?”

  He nodded as he turned on his computer. “Indeed. Sheila was fucking brilliant.”

  I blinked at him again and tried to suppress the rage bubbling to the surface. “So you… you didn’t need a bookkeeper?”

  He looked at me briefly. “I just told you I fucking fired her, so of course I needed a bookkeeper.”

  I bit harshly on my tongue and eyed the pen on his desk. Would I be strong enough to stab him in the neck? Would he even die? More likely he’d get pissed at the gaping hole and be very unimpressed with me.

  “Did you fire her because you wanted to hire me?”

  He pulled the lollipop out of his mouth and circled it in his fingers, watching it spin like a top. “That might be the reason, Lynne.”

  I stiffened. The bastard knew my middle name. Relax, Emma, he’s doing this to piss you off.

  He closely eyed my reaction, that same smug smirk curling his lips.

  “I don’t like your top,” he then said, scanning my body up and down. “It looks like a tent on you, and your skirt’s a little small. I thought I made it clear in my paperwork how importa
nt it is that we look presentable here. Time for a shop, yeah?”

  I twitched, blinked, and eyed the pen again.

  “Sure thing,” I said, fighting back the curse words sitting at the back of my throat.

  “Good.”

  I forced a smile before turning to the folders on my desk.

  “Oh, and Lynne,” he then added, a mischievous gleam in his eye as he looked at me, “try not to dribble over me. I think it’s also important you learn to ease your sexual need for me in the office. It’s flattering, but also very unprofessional.”

  My jaw dropped. I could have screamed. My sexual need for him? Oh, I’d show him my sexual need with my heel up his fucking ass.

  “You…you think I’m dribbling over you right now?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Let’s not play the denial card, Lynne. You’re obviously hot and bothered. Maybe you should take care of your needs before arriving to work, just so I don’t have to feel like a piece of meat around you.”

  My face flamed even more, and he watched the colour deepen with another smirk on his face. What a jerk. I hated him. Really, really hated him, and what he did to my senses. My body was a fucking moron because despite how ridiculous he sounded, he was kind of right too.

  Instead of showing how outraged I was, I forced his absurd words from my mind and simply clenched out, “Right. I’ll consider that, Mr Borden.”

  “Good. Now let’s get started.”

  *

  Moustache Man dropped me off at my apartment door. When I walked inside, I threw my purse on the kitchen counter and angrily swiped everything else off of it. Papers, pens and containers crashed to the tile floor.

  I angrily tore my top off, and the buttons flew from the fabric. I tossed it on the ground and tore my skirt off next. Once it was off, I spent five minutes trying to tear it apart. When it wouldn’t budge, I panted from the workout and threw it somewhere too.

  I hated him. I hated. I hated him.

  I wanted to SCREAM!

  Instead of toying with my emotions as I predicted he would do, he simply told me what needed to be done, showed me how to get started, and then left me alone. Completely left me alone to get it done, and whenever he did talk to me, he spoke professionally without a hint of that sensual Borden from before.