Show and Tell

by Jasmine Haynes

  “Why are you being such a bitch?”

  Holding the phone away from her ear, she looked at it. A bitch? First Daddy being angry, now her brother. “Lance, calling me names won’t help. I’m doing this for your own good.” She was sure her mother would have approved her course of action.

  “That is so much bullshit. You’re afraid to get on Dad’s bad side.”

  Again, she stared at the phone as Lance railed on. She could still hear every word. Who was this person? Her brother never talked to her like that. But then Daddy had never spoken in such a tone to her before either.

  She struggled for calm. The rain started in earnest. “Lance, I am not going to talk to Daddy for you. I’m sorry—”

  Then he called her the absolute worst name a man could call a woman. The C word.

  No one had ever called her that name, most especially not her brother. Just when she was about to scream at him, she realized the phone was dead. He’d hung up on her.

  The heavens opened and the rain poured down, beating on the car roofs, streaming off the overhang, and splashing her shoes. Putting out a hand, she caught a piece of the torrent.

  The problem with Lance was that he’d always had everything handed to him on the proverbial silver platter. From the day he was born, his place at Green Industries had been secured. He’d always gotten what he wanted right when he wanted it and never questioned how that came to be.

  “And you can say the same,” she muttered to the rain.

  If you were always given everything, you never learned to take care of yourself. All her life, Trinity had painted herself with a different color brush to please, to get what she needed. For Daddy, she was his perfect little girl. For Lance, she was the adoring little sister. And to Harper, she was the silly little wife (spelled meal ticket).

  She remembered her words to her father this morning. Maybe they’ll make an exception if we ask them nicely. How pathetic that statement was. She didn’t see the transfer so it wasn’t her fault, and if she acted like a sweet little girl, she’d work around the boo-boo.

  Dammit, this was the real world. She’d made a mistake—even if someone had helped her make it—then expected Daddy to fix it. Just as she expected Daddy to fix her divorce.

  Trinity grabbed the lobby door and yanked it open.

  “Wow, it sure started raining out there, didn’t it?” the receptionist said.

  “Yes, Karen, it did. And I don’t think we’ve met yet.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m Trinity Green.”

  Karen, all of nineteen years old, stared at Trinity with big blue eyes in a round pretty face. “Nice to meet you, too.”

  Bounding up the stairs as fast as her spike heels could take her, Trinity headed down her father’s wing of the building.

  “Is he busy?”

  Verna glanced up from her computer screen, black-and-white- speckled reading glasses on her nose. “Not for you, sweetie.”

  Trinity closed the door behind her as her father scooped cigar ashes into his hand and dumped them in his trashcan.

  “I apologize for my mistake. I won’t let it happen again.”

  He sniffed. “I realize you’re new at this, and I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. I can’t expect you to read my mind when a wire needs to go out. I should have—”

  Trinity held up her hand. “I will be more diligent. Mr. Ackerman told me how potentially big this new customer could be for us, and since you handle all the metals stuff, I will always check with you to make sure I’ve accounted for any wires that need to be sent out.”

  “Honey . . .”

  “If you send me an e-mail reminder when you do leave a wire for me, that would also be great.”

  He stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown a forked tongue. “Well, thank you, honey. I appreciate the diligence.”

  “Okay, I have to run, Daddy. I’ve got a ton of things to do before I go home. Love you.”

  Actually, she had a ton of things to do before she called Scott at one minute after five when she was officially off the clock. After all, she was a working girl.

  See, he was a drug. At the end of a bad day, she’d started popping Scott pills.

  THE audit committee took almost the whole day. With the meeting afterwards to update his staff on the audit requirements, Scott didn’t get to MIS until the end of the day.

  He made his way through the maze of cubicles set up in identical style to that in Accounting.

  “Hey, Mark. I’d like a printout of the card key accesses to my department over the last couple of weeks. I want to check the overtime my people have been doing on the weekends.”

  “Sure thing, dude.” Instead of the blond surfer type his language imitated, Mark was midtwenties, dark, Latin, and a bit of a dweeb, his shirtfront pocket-protector central. But he knew his network as well as his own body parts. When you needed something, you didn’t tackle the head of MIS, you went to Mark.

  Punching a few keys, his state-of-the-art laser printer spat out several pages.

  The garage elevators and the outside doors required card key access after hours. The inside doors were kept locked even during the day. If you forgot your card key when going to the restroom, you couldn’t get back in. Which was good for Scott. Since the alarm had been set, the department was empty. The culprit would have keyed in sometime after he did.

  “Here you go.”

  Scott scanned the list Mark handed him. Hmm, maybe his employees were taking way too many bathroom breaks. Flipping to the last page, he backtracked to his own entry on Friday night, indicated by both his employee and badge number. First, his use on the elevator, then again on the Accounting Department entry. Beneath it, a few minutes later, there was another double entry, the parking elevator, then Accounting again. Someone had followed him up from the garage. He held it out to Mark. “Why no employee number with this badge?”

  Mark gave it a quick glance. “Guest badge.”

  “Can you see who used it? I don’t like guests coming in after hours. We’ve got proprietary information.”

  Punching keys, data filled Mark’s screen. “See here?” He pointed, but with the angle of the screen, Scott couldn’t read it. “This says the badge was issued three months ago to Accounting with no off-hours restrictions.” He tipped his head, waiting for Scott’s reaction.

  Three months ago. “The auditors. We always give them full access.” They often came in on weekends or stayed late. It helped keep the term of the audit down, which, when you needed to release profitability numbers, was a must.

  But somebody hadn’t turned in this badge.

  He was back to square one. The auditors turned the badges in to whomever they saw last. It could have been Elton, Grace, or any of the other accountants. Hell, even Ron Rudd had returned two of them directly to Scott.

  “Go ahead and deactivate this one. I issued the new set of card keys at the audit committee meeting.”

  Lesson learned: Keep track of the damn badges. “Print me a list of the guest keys given out this morning. I’ll put Grace in charge of making sure they all get turned in or deactivated.”

  “Sure thing, dude.”

  He smiled in return. “Thanks, dude.”

  Lesson learned, yeah, but the damage was done. Someone at Millennium had used an unassigned badge to gain access and take his photo in a compromising position. His gut rumbled. Whoever followed him into Accounting ten minutes after he entered with Jezebel had done so with nefarious intentions.

  “Despite the deactivation, will you be able to tell if it gets used again?”

  “Sure thing, dude. It’ll get recorded as access denied.”

  He wouldn’t know who, but at least he’d know when, and maybe that would narrow it down.

  Back in his office, his message light was flashing.

  His heart kick-started with the sound of her voice. “Meet me at the movies for a sexy thriller.” Instantly, he went hard. She remembered. Tapping into his brief flight of fancy the other night, she named the o
ld-style theater downtown. One of those massive gilded structures with balcony seating, it had recently been renovated as a landmark. Showing an eclectic mixture of old classics from the 1930s and 1940s all the way up to the 1980s, the movies often played to packed houses.

  He wondered what his Jezebel had planned for him tonight. He couldn’t wait to find out, yet all the while he imagined ways he could get her to come home with him. The tease? If you want more, we’ll have do it in my bed. Maybe cutting her off? If you don’t want it my way, then you don’t get it at all. Damn, that was too harsh, not only for her, but for him.

  Yet however he accomplished it, he wanted to make her so freaking obsessed with him that she’d spend the night, a week, a month, more. He wanted her as obsessed as he was.

  12

  BEFORE leaving work, Trinity ditched her blouse, bra, thong and pantyhose. All she wore was her red power suit and matching stilettos. She’d freshened her makeup and fluffed her hair. Not that she needed to be perfect for Scott, she just wanted the opportunity to get everything all messed up.

  During a slight break in the rain, she dashed to the theater and bought two tickets at the old-fashioned booth. February’s playlist included a film noir festival, tonight’s contribution being Body Heat, a relatively new addition to the genre, made in the early 1980s. She’d never seen it, yet with that title, it couldn’t have been more perfect.

  The outside pavement was speckled green, gold, and black inlay, and movie posters filled glass-fronted cabinets all around the entry. Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Burt Lancaster. She remembered him from that old Kevin Costner movie Field of Dreams. Goodness, they looked so young. And Burt was, well, totally hot.

  Speaking of hot, it started raining again just before Scott arrived, and he shook water droplets off his hair. Oh my God. He was magnificent. Her heart beat faster against her red suit jacket as his eyes roamed her body.

  Handing him the tickets, she took his arm. “When I was younger, I used to punish a man for looking at me that way.”

  He smiled, all devil-may-care white teeth. “And how did you punish them?”

  She laughed. “I spanked them.” She wouldn’t have dreamed of spanking a man. Besides, she adored the way Scott looked at her as if she were a candy he had to unwrap and devour.

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’d prefer spanking you.”

  “You wish. No one spanks me, buster.” She tugged him inside the lobby. She’d never been spanked. The thought of his hand on her bare bottom set butterflies loose in her tummy.

  “We better get in,” she quipped to mask his effect on her, “or we won’t get a seat at all.” Right. There wasn’t another moviegoer in the large, lushly decorated lobby.

  The carpet was swirls of bright, exotic flowers, the walls covered with murals of jungle scenery, and the floor in front of the candy counter the same green, gold, and black speckles as out front. The scent of fresh buttery popcorn perfumed the air, and the teenage countergirl wore a jaunty burgundy jacket with gold buttons and braided trim.

  “Don’t you want some candy, little girl? Or shall I eat you?” His voice low, the joke for her ears only, yet Trinity blushed as he led her to the glass-fronted counter stocked with assorted boxed and bagged candies.

  The pretty brunette took their tickets, ripped them, and returned one half. “If you buy an extra large popcorn and drink, you get free refills all night.”

  Scott squeezed Trinity’s hand. “What would you like, honey?”

  She almost laughed at the endearment. “Malted milk balls.”

  He gave her a look. She leaned in to nip his ear and whispered, “I want to lick the chocolate off your lips and taste the malt ball when I suck your tongue.”

  He laughed, choked, and pushed a bill across the glass. “A box of malted milk balls, please.”

  Doling out his change, the girl slid over the candy. “Thank you, sir.” Her voice was as jaunty as her jacket.

  “Does that lead up to the balcony?” Scott pointed to a curving, carpeted stairway.

  “Yes, and we have new comfy seats, too.”

  The place must have cost a mint to restore. As they mounted the stairs, Trinity could almost imagine movie stars of old decked out in fine evening dress attending a grand premiere.

  With the rainy evening, she would have expected more people, yet few patrons dotted the lower section of the nine-hundred-fifty-seat theater, and the balcony was empty. The movie house was a gorgeous sample from the Hollywood heyday, with faux columns jutting out from the walls painted to look like marble and murals of Greek gods, nymphs, and mythic creatures cavorting about Mount Olympus.

  Scott held her hand as they negotiated the steep balcony steps to the top row, then guided her into the corner seat.

  “I can’t see the screen it’s so far away,” she murmured.

  Tossing his suit jacket next to him, he loosened his tie before taking his seat. “I’ll tell you what happens.” He placed her hand on his cock. He was already hard.

  “Mr. Sinclair, what do you have planned for a dark theater?”

  He shook the box of malted candy. “I think you should suck one of my balls.”

  Her mouth watered, yet she couldn’t help laughing. “You’re a very bad boy.”

  He spilled two pieces of chocolate onto his palm, his eyes sparkling in the house lights. “But you’re a very good girl, and you’ll do exactly what I tell you, won’t you?”

  Her heart skipped, then raced. Just like on the phone when he’d directed her, right down to the moment he allowed her to orgasm. She loved his teasing.

  “Give me one of your balls.” She held out her hand, then popped a chocolate bite in her mouth at the same time he did.

  “You like?”

  “Mmm.” She adored malted milk balls, but she hadn’t had one in years. “They’re very yummy.”

  He leaned in, cupped the back of her head, and tasted her. Everything was chocolate and malt, his tongue, his breath, his lips. Light, flavored kisses she wished could go on forever.

  Then the house lights dimmed, and the curtain rose. “Shh, the movie’s starting.” He felt too good. She wanted too much. For a moment, it was terrifying. Trinity tried to pull away.

  Instead he held her palm fast to his cock, using her touch to massage himself. “Don’t talk, just do whatever I tell you.”

  The game was too good to spoil with silly emotions. “Yes, sir,” she murmured.

  “Shh.”

  She zipped her lips, then shifted to get comfortable as she curled her fingers around him.

  The opening credits rolled. He leaned close, his breath against her hair. “You picked a good one, my dear. This is a very hot movie.”

  “Don’t tell me anything. I want to be surprised.”

  He kissed her openmouthed, hard and fast, to shut her up.

  When the sultry Kathleen Turner dropped her shaved ice down her low-cut blouse, Scott unzipped his pants and wrapped her hand around his cock. She smoothed droplets of pre-come over his crown. Turning to him, she slowly raised her fingers and sucked his taste clean.

  Scott went up in smoke. “You are so damn nasty.”