Becoming His Mistress

by Murphy, A. E.

  His smile and his laugh.

  I hope it’s not weird.

  I mean… okay, yeah, it’s weird. I don’t like that he was in my space last night. It’s made me feel weird. Has it made him feel weird?

  I count my steps to take my mind off it. I’m obsessing.

  “Mr. Conti,” I say his full name, a statement to him and myself that I don’t suddenly think we’re friends.

  He looks up from his desk as I approach and then place his coffee and bagel on the table.

  “Eight AM sharp, as always,” he states, checking his watch. “Not a second before or after.” He’s exaggerating about that last part… mostly. “Thank you, Rose.”

  I give him a salute because that’s not weird and then turn and head to my desk which is just on the other side of his office door.

  “Rose,” he calls, and I stop to look at him with a slight smile.

  “Yes, Mr. Conti?”

  “Thank you for hosting us last night at such short notice.”

  I open and then close my mouth and also hold my breath. Don’t speak. Don’t speak. Don’t—— “It wasn’t short notice. It was no notice.”

  “Is that so?” he replies, his eyes alight with humor. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “You didn’t. It was——” I point my thumb at the door much like he did before he left last night. “I’m just going to do my job now.”

  “Right.” His smile is stretching. The kind of smile one smiles when they see a puppy take an adorable tumble. “As you were then.”

  I finally make it to my desk and wipe my clammy hands on my oversized pants. I heard Mr. Conti’s closest friend and business partner tell him that I wear the most hideous pant suits and that they should be burned.

  I accidentally entered the system and deleted his calendar inputs for the week that day. It was a small and funny justice.

  My pant suits should not be burned. They’re tasteful, they cover up everything, they’re tasteful, they cover up everything, they’re… no. I need to stop repeating.

  I pick up my stress ball and squeeze it eighteen times because six add six add six. It helps. Now I feel a bit better.

  The day drags but I get my jobs done, for the most part. The rest I can take home.

  When five PM rolls around I pack up the things I need and place them neatly into my laptop bag.

  I press the button on my desk that calls through to Mr. Conti.

  “Do you need anything else before I leave?”

  “Yes, actually, clear your weekend because we’re going to Vegas.”

  I release the button and head into his office, knocking lightly on the door before entering.

  “Problem?” he asks, knowing I won’t start speaking until he gives me permission. Only on the job though. Not out of office hours. I’m not meek and feeble. I’m just… quirky and soft spoken.

  “I have plans Saturday,” I say, imploringly. “And Laurie doesn’t take well to broken plans. She’s like major schedule crazy. She already called me twice this morning to make sure I’m going.”

  He bites his lip and taps the edge of the desk with his fingers. I wait for him to respond.

  He finally asks, “What is it you’re doing?”

  “Just going out for drinks.”

  “Well… I need your brain more than you need just a few drinks. I’ve got to make two presentations on Saturday in my father’s place for some massive investments that we sorely need. He’s fallen ill.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I grumble because it is sad that he’s sick but also because I know I’m about to let my friend down. “I guess I can speak to her. Or try to.”

  He stares at me for the longest moment. “It’s your birthday night out, isn’t it?”

  I nod. “It’s been planned for a while now.”

  “And we all know how you are about breaking plans.”

  I nod again, smiling now. “Laurie is ten times worse.”

  He steeples his fingers under his nose, something he does when he’s thinking. Then he declares, “Bring her. She can go sightseeing in the city while we work and then you can both go for drinks after you’re done. I’ll even book the flights for later on Sunday so you can both spend some time together.”

  I can’t deny that this idea doesn’t excite me. “On the company?”

  “On the company.”

  “Like… everything on the company?”

  He raises a brow. “Flights, meals, drinks. Any gambling comes out of your own dime. Got it?”

  “Wow… okay. I mean, seeing as somebody else is paying,” I jest but I’m also being serious. “That’s super cool, Mr. C. Thanks.” I want to dance now but I’m not going to. “What time are we leaving and when?”

  “Friday, I’ll send a car. Be ready by four.”

  “Got it,” I squeak and skip out of the room with my phone to my ear. “LAURIE! Guess what we’re doing this weekend.”

  Chapter Four

  He notices me.

  The week dragged so hard, but I worked my ass off to clear our schedules for the weekend so that we only had this presentation to think about. Mr. Conti wasn’t happy when I added an extra hour to each of his workdays, but I told him in a polite way, to suck it up.

  I don’t want to work all weekend. I want to spend it focusing on my favorite girl.

  My favorite girl who is pressing the button for the air-conditioning above her head over and over again. Her mouth moving as she counts.

  I leave her to it; she’s not bothering anybody as it doesn’t make a clicking noise. Mr. Conti does give her an odd look though. He’s sitting opposite us both in this empty private jet. I imagine he’ll move soon. He doesn’t appreciate visible distractions.

  “He is so hot,” Laurie whispers in my ear for the fiftieth time.

  “Ewww, please stop,” I respond on a breath while pushing my glasses up my nose. “He’s married and he’s old.”

  “He’s not even at silver fox status yet, he’s so not old,” she hisses back, eyeing my boss one more time. I pinch her thigh until she yelps. “I mean… not entirely. He has what, maybe fifteen grays?”

  He has a few grays at his temples but not loads. I have the urge to count them now. So does Laurie.

  When he feels us both staring at him he slowly looks up from his newspaper and glances nervously between us. “What?”

  “Just counting your grays,” Laurie admits because she’s got absolutely no filter. She slaps a hand over her mouth.

  I gape at her. “She’s got Tourette’s,” I explain rapidly. “She didn’t mean that. We weren’t counting your grays.”

  “We were,” Laurie blurts, unable to stop herself. “Seventeen grays.”

  “Do your exercises,” I hiss as she physically holds her lips together with her fingertips.

  Mr. C sighs and looks at his paper. “This is going to be a long weekend.”

  “POKE YOUR WEEKEND IN YOUR EYE.” Laurie tips a couple of pills into her mouth and swallows them with a large gulp of soda water. “I’m so sorry, guys. I’m nervous. Can I have the games page from that?”

  Mr. C hands her the entire newspaper and she snatches it with gratitude. I hand her a pen and watch her start on the crossword puzzle.

  That leaves Mr. C and me to just sit and look around awkwardly.

  “So,” I say, clearing my throat and the silence. “Are you prepared for tomorrow?”

  “I am. Are you?”

  I tap my temple. “Got all of it in here.”

  He nods and we lapse into an awkward silence.

  Well, that is until Laurie yanks on her own fiery red braid, looks at her hand and snaps, “Stop it. Stupid limb.”

  I pat her wrist and smile at Mr. C. “This weekend isn’t going to be long enough.”

  * * *

  We touch down just over an hour later, grab our bags and make the long journey to the hotel. The casino hotel.

  As expected, Laurie and I have our own room and Mr. C has a room along th
e hall across the way. It’s such a nice place. The walls are clean, and it smells clean. The room looks clean, but I strip the bedding and put my own bedding on it anyway, getting tangled in the corner when it pings back over my face.

  I don’t tell people about this little quirk of mine because they’d definitely think me weird.

  I just love the smell of my own bed when I sleep. It’s not even about the germs… okay, so it kind of is about the germs and dead skin cells and hidden sperm stains. But whatever.

  I don’t mind it and neither should anyone else.

  “And you wonder why you’re single…” Laurie asks with her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth.

  There are two doubles in this room and windows overlooking the strip, plus a fancy bathroom that I’m going to utilize soon.

  “I don’t wonder why I’m single, you wonder why I’m single.”

  “You’re a fine piece of female-candy,” she says and smacks my ass as I crawl backwards off my bed.

  “Ouch,” I hiss rubbing the sore spot. “I’m not any kind of candy. I don’t want to be with anybody.”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “You’ve got to let somebody into that scheduled little heart of yours.”

  “You’re in it. You’re enough, thanks.”

  Laughing, she goes back into the bathroom and I hear her rinse and spit. “Yes, but I don’t give you orgasms.”

  I do not want to think of orgasms right now.

  “I’m hungry,” I comment, completely ignoring her. It’s not like she can talk, she’s single too after all and life isn’t all about shacking up with somebody. Can’t I be married to my work?

  “Me too. Room service?”

  “I should ask Mr. Conti if he wants to join us.”

  “Mrs. Cuntyflaps!” she screeches, and I give her a stern look. “Sorry…”

  “What did I say?”

  “It’s not like I can help it,” she replies, laughing at my obvious annoyance. If she says that in front of Mr. C, I could lose my job. “Cunty up your bedroom and the windows…” Her hand reaches up and she yanks on her braid again.

  “Are you okay? Should we do your steps?”

  “Yeah, probably.” She glares at her hand. “Fucking hate this thing sometimes.”

  “It obviously hates you too.”

  We laugh together but my laughter dies when I kneel on the floor by my suitcase and see something poking out from under the bed. There’s a quarter-inch gap between the wooden floor and the bed base. I touch the lip of it, it’s see-through and squishy.

  What is that?

  Using the tip of my manicured nail I drag it out.

  “Ew… ew, ew, ew, ew.” I stand up, hopping from foot to foot. “GET RID OF IT!”

  “What?” Laurie asks, peeks around me, and then starts to make vomiting noises.

  “I can’t, I can’t… I touched it…” I shake my hand as Laurie uses something plastic to pick up the used condom. “I touched it. I touched it. I touched it.”

  “Wash your hands,” she instructs softly.

  My eyes are hazing over. I’m having a panic attack. Can’t breathe.

  “Wash your damn hands!”

  I somehow get to the sink and turn on the hot tap, covering my hands with soap and then I start to scrub. Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub, rinse. Five and one make six.

  Repeat six more times.

  My hands are starting to hurt, but I only have three more times to go and then I’ll be good.

  Laurie drags me away from the sink and puts a stress ball into my hands. I squeeze it six times and calm my breathing. “You good?”

  I nod. “I’m good.”

  “Good. Let’s go to dinner.”

  “Where is it?”

  “I flushed it.”

  “Why’d you flush it?” I panic. “Now I’m not going to be able to sit on the toilet.”

  “It’s not a big deal, everybody sits on the toilet,” she answers. “You know this. You can handle it just fine.”

  “You’re right…” I answer feeling like an idiot. “I’m sorry. I’m being stupid.”

  “No, you’re not, I get it, you know I do. I’m just surprised to see you so jittery like you are. You haven’t been this crazy in a long time.”

  She’s the only person that gets to call me crazy.

  “You need a break from work.”

  “Maybe,” I reply, looking at my wristwatch. “I’m going to see if Mr. C wants to join us for dinner.”

  “You do that, I’m going to hang up my dress for tomorrow.”

  I pull open the door with my red hand and head down the hall to his room. Knocking on the door, I tighten my dark ponytail and put on a smile so he doesn’t know I just had a near incontrollable meltdown just forty seconds ago.

  The door swings open. He’s holding his phone to his chest and looking at me expectantly.

  “Do you want to join us for dinner?” I ask.

  He looks down the hall, likely for Laurie and responds rudely, “Definitely not.” Then closes the door in my face. Perhaps he’s more like his wife than I thought.

  Wow.

  “What an ass,” I whisper, offended on my friend’s behalf. I’m not going to tell her because she’ll probably start calling him, Mr. Cuntyflaps too.

  Chapter Five

  His dark moods.

  “I BELIEVE I CAN FLY!” Laurie sings at the top of her lungs and falls into a plant pot by the elevator.

  I grab her arm, giggling hysterically as I try to pull her out.

  “I BELIEVE I CAN TOUCH THE SKY!”

  “That’s not singing, honey, that’s shrieking.”

  “Fuck you up your bum,” Laurie grumbles, still smiling. “I’m not drunk yet. Let’s go buy more drinks.”

  “No more drinks,” I say, pulling her so hard she lands on me and we both fall to the floor. We are less than ten meters away from my door and she’s crushing me into the dirty carpet and snoring. “Are you kidding me?” I shove her and try to wriggle my body under hers. “Laurie… wake up.”

  She mumbles something unintelligible and hiccups in my ear.

  Oh bum cakes, as Laurie would say.

  “Umm… help?” I squeak, using my chicken arms to try and roll her over but she’s a massive dead weight.

  With grunting and exertion on my part, I wriggle myself free and click my back when I stand. I let her have way too many cocktails. Or maybe I just didn’t have enough. But I’m exhausted after the presentations today.

  Mr. C almost fucked up in the middle and forgot his lines and I had to step in to help him remember, but then people started directing their questions to me. I saved his ass, but he was really annoyed with me for taking over.

  He told me to stay in my lane and concentrate on my own job. Then he stormed away from me when we got back to the hotel and slammed his room door behind him.

  Petulant idiot.

  I grab Laurie’s wrist and pull; she moves an inch. I pull again and she moves another inch. Then I drop her wrist and collapse onto the floor on my butt.

  “This is too much. You’re too heavy,” I whine, wiping my brow on my arm. “You absolute heavy lightweight.”

  “What exactly are you doing?” Mr. C’s voice comes from somewhere behind me.

  “I killed her and I’m getting rid of the body.” I stand, grab and pull again. “What does it look like I’m doing?” I’ve never taken such a tone with him but I’m still a bit sore about his treatment of me earlier.

  He approaches and looks down at the snoring girl.

  “How much did she drink?”

  “The entire bar,” I respond, laughing when she giggles in her sleep. “Can you… maybe… help me?”

  “I suppose I don’t have a choice,” he replies, his lips twitching.

  He crouches beside the snoring female and hooks her arm around his neck. Then he stands with her, not as easy as it looks, and moves towards my room, grunting at how deadweight she is. I quickly open the door and hold it as he sque
ezes past. He’s wearing that citrussy aftershave again. So nice.

  “Thank you,” I mutter and Laurie groans in his arms.

  She wakes up and nuzzles his neck.

  “Ugh… yes! Best night ever,” Laurie announces, her words slurring. I throw one of her shoes out of the way, so he doesn’t trip, almost stumbling on the other one myself as I go. “You’re so handsome, Mr. C!”

  “Thank you,” he replies, thankfully sounding amused.

  “Rose thinks you’re old and boring, but I think you’re sooooo hot.”

  Oh God. She just had to.

  I press the heels of my palms to my eyes and turn around to compose myself. My cheeks are on fire.

  Laughing, he deposits her on her bed, and before I can even count to six, she’s snoring again.

  Now I don’t know what to say or do.

  “Goodnight, Rose,” he tells my back and I hear him move to the door. Just as he pulls it open, I call his name. Unable to stop myself.

  He halts and asks, his tone amused, “Yes, Rose?”

  “I didn’t call you boring,” I insist, looking at him now with wide eyes. I twist my hands in front of me. “I never once said that.” Then, when he just continues to stare at me, I add with a cringe, “I did say you were old though… but not like you look old because you don’t but just because she’s got a bit of a…” I’m rambling. I inhale and get to the point. “You’re not boring, and you don’t look old.”

  Now I exhale. I think that went well.

  I count, tapping my foot on the floor six times and then six again.

  He stares at me forever. His eyes trailing over my face, making me feel self-conscious and on the spot. “Why six?”

  “Sorry?”

  “You usually always count in sixes when you do your… thing.”

  Oh God. He noticed. Of course, he did.

  He walks to my minibar and opens it, peering inside for a moment, bending over to fully see the contents. Glass clinks as he moves things around and then stands with two cans of ready mixed whiskey and lemonade.

  “Why six?” he asks again, sitting on one of the two comfy armchairs by the big windows overlooking the strip. He passes me a drink and I accept it while claiming the armchair across from his. There’s approximately a meter of distance between the front left leg of his chair and the front right leg of mine.