Serving Mr. Stevens:
An Erotic Romance
By NATHAN STRATTON
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PART ONE: The Contract
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Copyright 2013 Nathan Stratton. All rights reserved.
Reproduction of this work prohibited unless the author grants permission.
Approx. word count: 9,550
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Look for the next installment of Serving Mr. Stevens
in February 2013!
Contact Nathan at [email protected].
Serving Mr. Stevens
Part One: The Contract
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1: Barista
Chapter 2: Ravenous
Chapter 3: The Sixty-Sixth Floor
Chapter 4: The Contract
Chapter 1: Barista
Working in a coffee shop, you tend to see a lot of crazy stuff – especially when your store happens to be located on the ground floor of a sixty-story skyscraper in the heart of New York’s financial district. I’ve been working here a long time now, and until last week, I thought I’d seen it all.
But nothing could have prepared me for Him.
The morning Mr. Stevens entered my life began just like any other. It was a Monday morning, and as usual we were getting crushed. By 7:30 AM, we had a line of impatient, caffeine-starved businessmen stretching out to the door. As anyone who’s worked in retail knows, when things get that crazy, your body goes on auto-pilot. The customers all start to blur together, and your mind begins to wander of its own accord.
And on this morning in particular, I was daydreaming about some trashy X-rated movie I’d been watching the night before. A guilty pleasure, maybe, but these days it was the only action I was getting. I’d just about worn myself out with my new Rabbit vibrator, and I was still feeling the aftereffects of a multi-orgasmic night.
So I didn’t notice him at first, amid the throngs of people. My head was buried over the cash register as he walked up to the counter. I was scribbling on a coffee cup and thinking about the man from the movie last night – how he’d thrown the woman against the wall and had his way with her, rough and dirty, just the way I liked it. My fantasies had been getting kinkier and kinkier over the past few months, and although I hadn’t actually had the chance to act them out with a real man yet, I’d managed to cultivate a very active imagination.
But my daze was broken the instant he spoke.
“Don’t you make eye contact?” he said, in a no-nonsense tone that immediately caught my attention. It was more of a command than a question. Flustered, I jerked my head up from the register.
“I- I’m sorry,” I faltered.
Standing before me was a man who looked like he’d been cut from stone. This may have been my imagination, but I swore he looked like the guy from my movie last night. He was about six feet tall, with dark hair, a thin goatee, and disarmingly bright blue eyes. Though he looked to be maybe thirty-five, he carried himself with the self-assured confidence of a man twenty years older. Even with that dispassionate scowl on his face, he was startlingly handsome.
Under different circumstances, I might even have tried to flirt with him – if I was feeling brave. But it was much too busy for that, and besides, I didn’t have the courage to try and breach his stern exterior. This man was all business; you could tell that just by looking at him. And from the way he was acting, I was clearly wasting his time.
“What can I do for you?” I asked him, trying to regain my composure. I offered him a weak smile.
Apparently it wasn’t good enough. “What can you do for me?” he sneered, eyeing me up and down.
For some reason, I suddenly felt like I was on trial. I nervously pushed a strand of hair out of my face and stood straight up, my shoulders squared. I wasn’t sure how to respond to his question, so I just stayed silent, looking up into that chiseled face and trying hard to maintain eye contact with him. I get nervous around handsome men in general, and his surly demeanor sure wasn’t helping anything – not to mention the fact that I’d just been thinking about rough sex with a man who looked just like him. As I tried to chase that thought from my mind, the moment seemed to draw out interminably. I hoped I wasn’t blushing.
Finally, he broke the stalemate and glanced at my nametag, where I’d written “Candace” in big, looping script. He smirked. All of a sudden, I felt very self-conscious about the way I’d written my name. It was immature, stupid – the way a high-school girl would have written it. How embarrassing, I thought to myself. Here was a man who was obviously used to evaluating the people around him, and nothing about me was giving him any indication that I was worthy of his respect.
But my fears may have been unfounded. He didn’t say anything about my nametag, other than to address me by my name when he spoke again. “Candace, is it?” he said, the steel in his eyes suddenly melting into a warm, friendly smile. “That’s a pretty name. And how are you this morning, Candace?”
It was like the previous moment had never happened. His abrupt change in attitude caught me totally off-guard. “I’m, uh, I’m good,” I said, and then quickly corrected myself when I saw his eyebrows begin to rise. “I mean, um, I’m very well. Thank you.” Though still flustered, I tried to act normal. “And you, sir?”
He smiled again, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Splendid,” he said. “It seems you know your manners, at least.” He placed his hands on the counter and leaned a little towards me, ever-so-slightly entering my personal space. Part of me wanted to step backward, but somehow I felt rooted to the spot. I wasn’t scared of him, not exactly. It was more of a heightened awareness, like all my senses were intensified. It was a total adrenaline rush – and I had to admit, I kind of liked it.
“My name is Thomas,” he said. “Thomas Stevens. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Candace.” As he spoke, I caught a faint whiff of his cologne. It smelled incredible.
“Pleased to meet you,” I managed.
“Tell me, Candace, how long have you worked here?” He asked the question casually and without any hurry, as if we had the whole place to ourselves and all the time in the world. And every time he said my name, a small jolt of electricity sparked through my brain unheeded. It was getting hard to focus on his questions.
“Two years,” I replied.
He nodded thoughtfully, appearing to weigh my answer with great deliberation. “Hmm.” There was something going on behind his eyes, something I couldn’t quite comprehend. Was he sizing me up? Threatening me? Flirting with me? …All of the above?
But just then, my conversation with the handsome stranger was cut short, as the person in line behind him decided to speak up. “Hey, buddy,” he said indignantly. “Why don’t you cut the small talk? There’s a whole line of people waiting for you, you know.”
My stranger paused at the interruption, cocking his head slightly. He didn’t show any hint of agitation, except that all the emotion instantly drained from his face. Again I was reminded of a statue, carved from rock – cold and unyielding. He turned around slowly to address the intruder.
“Excuse me,” he said, in an icy tone. “Is there a problem?”
A flash of recognition crossed the man’s face, and his eyes widened in what looked to me like fear. “Mr. Stevens!” said the man, putting up his hands in deference and laughing nervously. “Sorry about that, sir! I didn’t see that it
was you there. Please, take your time.”
But Mr. Stevens didn’t seem satisfied. “What’s your name?” he asked the man, in the same intimidating tone he’d used with me a moment earlier – except that this time, there was no mistaking the thinly veiled threat underlying his words.
The man fumbled awkwardly. “Ah, um, George Fallon, sir. I’m in the, uh, Foreign Markets division.”
Mr. Stevens glowered. “I know what division you work in, George. As you must know, I’m familiar my organization’s personnel. I just didn’t recognize you at first, because no employee of mine would address someone so rudely.”
With every word Mr. Stevens spoke, George seemed to shrink further into his suit. He looked like he didn’t know whether to burst into tears or run away. “Of course,” he squeaked. “My apologies for the interruption, sir.”
Mr. Stevens remained silent for a long moment, looking at George with that same emotionless, slightly dissatisfied manner he’d shown with me. Finally, just when the tension was getting unbearable, the corner of his mouth perked up in a half-smile.
“Apology accepted,” he said. “Good day to you, George.” And just like that, it was over, as if nothing had happened at all. Turning away from a visibly relieved George, Mr. Stevens stepped up to the counter again, a cheerful smile on his face.
“Sorry about that,” he said to me. “Now, where was I? …Ah, yes, I remember. Candace, dear, what is your job title?”
I really didn’t know where this was going, but I decided it was best to just answer his questions. “They call me a barista, but I’m really just a cashier.”
He clucked his tongue, raising his eyebrows in disapproval. “Now, now, Candace, you mustn’t sell yourself short,” he said, staring straight into my eyes. “You’re a confident, capable, and I dare say, a beautiful young woman.” I blushed. “You must always take pride in your work, Candace. Pride above all. Remember that.”
I nodded hesitantly. What is he talking about?, I wondered.
He looked at me for a moment, as if an idea had just occurred to him. “Candace, I’d like for you to give me a call this afternoon, perhaps while you’re on your break. I have a… proposition for you, one I suspect you’ll find to be quite interesting.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. “Well, um, thank you,” I said finally. “That would be nice.” I smiled at him, out of confusion more than anything else. He smiled back warmly, looking into my eyes. I went into a daze for a second, my mind full of questions, but I forced myself to come back to reality. “Would you, ah, like something to drink?” I asked.
He laughed as if I’d made the funniest joke in the world. I giggled along with him nervously. “No, no,” he said, with great amusement. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Candace, but thank you. I’ll be going now. And please, do give me a call.”
Without another word, he reached into his breast pocket and handed me a business card, then walked briskly away from the counter and out the door. My mind was still going a million miles a minute. I glanced down at the business card. HENRICKSON & STEVENS LLC, it said, in ornate gold-embossed capital letters. And below the company’s logo, in a plain, no-nonsense script that contrasted sharply with the text above it, was the name of the man who would change my life forever:
“Thomas Stevens, President.”
Chapter 2: Ravenous
As Mr. Stevens walked out of the coffee shop, my mind was left reeling. I was feeling so many different emotions at once: confusion, excitement, some fear. And underneath it all, I could feel the relentless warmth of desire swirling around my body. What a rush, I thought to myself. I needed a moment to catch my breath.
But before I even had a chance, the next customer – George – was up at the counter, talking impatiently. I missed the first part of his sentence, lost in my thoughts.
“…so you’d better be careful,” he finished.
I shook my head, coming to my senses. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
He looked at me and sighed, with a mix of annoyance and pity. “I said that you don’t know who you’re dealing with, so you’d better be careful. Now, will you please take my order?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “Come again? Why should I be careful of Mr. Stevens? And who is he, exactly?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve been working here this long and you don’t know what building this is,” said George. “Thomas Stevens? Hello? As in, the Stevens Building, where you happen to be standing right this moment?”
A bell went off in my head; I knew the name had sounded familiar. Thomas Stevens was one of the richest men in Manhattan, an investment banking titan and one of the most feared names on Wall Street. Even as a lowly coffee-shop cashier – I mean, barista, I thought with a grin – I at least knew that much.
“But what would a man like Thomas Stevens want with me?” I asked.
George scoffed. “How should I know? I don’t ask those kinds of questions. He probably needs a new secretary or something.” He leaned in closer to the counter, and dropped his voice a few decibels. “Listen,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t even be saying this, but if you want my advice, you’ll be extremely careful about getting involved with Mr. Stevens. He’s an extraordinary businessman, but he’s got a bit of a… reputation.”
My eyes narrowed. “What kind of reputation?”
George hesitated. “Well… you know how it is in business. You don’t get to the top without stepping on a few people along the way. Thomas Stevens is ruthless – the definition of cold-hearted. And his temper is the stuff of legend. I’ve heard he can get a little… violent.” He paused a moment, looking stricken. “You know what, I’ve already said too much. Can you please just pour me my coffee now?”
I looked at him skeptically. George seemed like kind of a creep, and I didn’t really know how much to trust him. Mr. Stevens had been intimidating, sure, but how bad could he really be? “I’ll take my chances,” I said to George. “But thanks. Here’s your coffee.”
George grabbed the cup and shuffled away from the counter. “Do whatever you want,” he said as he walked away briskly. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The whole rest of the morning, all I could think about was my conversation with Mr. Stevens. I replayed it over and over in my head, trying to figure out just what his motives were. But it was fruitless. The man was as inscrutable as could be – not to mention sexy.
“Now, there’s a man worth fantasizing about,” I said to myself. Again I found myself daydreaming about the dirty movie I’d watched last night, except that now, Mr. Stevens and I were playing the role of the main characters. I could just imagine those strong arms of his, shoving me up against a wall, holding me powerless to resist, then tearing my clothes off and having his way with me. I was getting turned on just thinking about it, which of course made the hours crawl by even more slowly.
At 12:15, I finally got my break. Fifteen minutes, all to myself – it wasn’t much time, but it would have to do. I dashed into the break room, grabbed my phone, and went straight back to a deserted corner where I could have some privacy. Lunch would have to wait for later; I was too antsy to eat much, anyway. As I looked down at the number on the business card, I was overcome with trepidation. I entered in the numbers, but I just couldn’t work up the courage to hit Dial. I knew that if I wanted answers, I’d have to call him – but that was easier said than done. Try as I might, I just couldn’t bring myself to go through with it.
And that’s exactly how I spent the rest of my precious break time: holding my phone in my hand, agonizing over whether to call, almost getting the nerve to go through with it but then chickening out at the last second. I really did feel like a high-schooler. When the fifteen minutes was up, I meekly put my phone away and went back to work.
All afternoon, I tortured myself with self-recriminating admonitions. This is why you never get the guy, Candace, my inner voice nagged me. You’ll never get what you want if you don’t have the courage t
o go for it. The afternoon went by in a blur, and I was so preoccupied I barely noticed. By the time my shift ended at 4PM, I was exhausted. This Mr. Stevens stuff was making me crazy, and all I wanted to do was go home and curl up with a good book. I’d decided to put off calling him until tomorrow, when I’d had a chance to think about it a little bit more.
I went to the back room and grabbed my street clothes out of my locker – a dingy, old black top and faded jeans. I hurriedly changed, spraying myself with a bit of perfume to try and get rid of that coffee-shop odor. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.
But when I caught a glance of myself in the locker room mirror, I stopped in my tracks. “Oh, Candace, look at you,” I muttered to myself. Staring back at me in the mirror was a woman with messed-up hair, pockmarked skin, too-fat thighs and rounded shoulders. If you saw me on the street, you’d never guess I was only twenty-eight.
Serving Mr. Stevens, Part One: The Contract -- An Erotic Romance (Part 1 of 5) Page 1