by J. A. Huss
I almost giggle to myself as I add his photos and send Heath a text.
Ellie: Having a meeting without you. Bet you wish you were here. :) Send.
I’m just about to add captions to all the pictures when someone’s phone vibrates.
Oh, hell. I look over at Sowards, who is about to fume about not turning off a phone, when we both realize McAllister is the guilty party.
Sowards simmers down and I go back to my tablet so I can continue my delusional life as Heath’s girlfriend and report on what’s happening.
Ellie: Why didn’t you tell me your brother was so hot? Send.
I snicker at that, glance up at the boring corporate video, then go back to my Pinterest board. I need some hot gifs to add. I do a search for hot, sexy kissing and have to fan myself.
I add about a dozen of them with captions like, Fancy Jet Mac can kiss me like this any time he wants. And, I like the choke move on this one. Take notes, Heath.
A laugh actually escapes my lips and Sowards gives me a kick under the table just as McAllister’s phone vibrates again.
I look up and catch him smiling at something. Well, isn’t that special. I’m glad he is allowed to get funny texts during this very important executive meeting while the rest of us are expected to act like we give a crap.
I text Heath again.
Ellie: Is your brother available? I might need to replace you as my boyfriend since you haven’t answered my texts in months. Send.
McAllister’s phone vibrates again, and now everyone is starting to notice he’s not even trying to pay attention to the movie. Figures.
Ellie: Your brother is setting a very bad example in today’s executive meeting. Maybe someone should tell him to turn his phone off and pay attention to this stupid movie like the rest of us. Send.
I go back to my Pinterest board and add a few more pics of him. One as he smiles down at the phone and then another as he gets a vibrating reply and looks right at me.
Jesus. I hope he doesn’t know what I’m doing. I pretend to watch the movie for a few seconds until McAllister turns his attention back to his phone. It vibrates again.
Ellie: His phone would give me an orgasm if I slid it between my legs, that’s how much it’s vibrating right now. Send.
Fancy Jet’s phone vibrates one more time, just as an incoming message appears on my phone.
Heath: I can make arrangements for the hot brother to get you off with his vibrating phone if you want.
I stare at it. Wait, what just happened? My heart starts to race. He didn’t just text me back. Tell me he did not just text me back.
Ellie: Heath? Are you getting my messages? Send.
And that’s when I notice… the little notification that usually says undelivered says delivered.
Ellie: Oh, my God, Heath. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you were getting my messages.
I scroll up and the panic starts to set in. They all say delivered. All of them.
McAllister’s phone vibrates again and I look straight at him this time.
No.
No. No. No. This is not possible.
Heath: He isn’t. I am.
McAllister looks straight at me and he winks. “Message received, Ellie.”
Chapter Four - Ellie
I slap my hands down on the table and stand up so fast, my luxurious leather office chair goes sliding backwards until it crashes into the wall.
“Miss Hatcher!” my boss yells as he stands up.
I look around at my peers and every bit of my body goes hot as all nine faces stare back at me.
“Are you OK, Miss Hatcher?” McAllister asks from the other end of the table. He’s got a smug look on his face.
I don’t know what just happened, but I need to get out of here. I take a deep breath and smile. “I just remembered. I have…” I have what? Shit. My heart starts racing and I swallow hard. “I have…”
“You have something to tell us, Ellie?” Jennifer Sluts-around asks. And the funny thing is, I think she’s trying to be helpful. “Reorganization, maybe?” Jennifer throws me one of those quirky sideways smiles girlfriends do when things are going terribly awry.
“Um, yeah, I mean…” I stammer.
“Miss Hatcher,” Mr. Sowards says. “Whatever you have to say can wait. Sit down. Now!”
I look around, silently pleading for help, but when my eyes land on McAllister Stonewall, he says, “Yes, Ellie, tell us what’s got you all hot and bothered.”
I shake my head. Nope. Nope. Not gonna do this. I’m quitting today and I’m not going out as the girl who was sexting the boss during a meeting.
“I… I quit.”
Everyone gasps.
“You do not quit, Miss Hatcher,” McAllister says. “You’ve been working here for seven years. You just got a promotion and a new office. So no, you’re not quitting. Sit down and we can discuss this issue later.”
“What?” Where the hell does he get off? And I’m not discussing shit with him later. “No, I have to go. I’m sorry. I forgot to turn off my oven at home. I was baking cookies this morning…” Baking cookies? Jesus, Ellie, step it the fuck up. Do not let him chase you out of here and make these past seven years a joke. “I mean, not the oven, I have a… a dental appointment. My tooth,” I say, tapping on my front tooth. “Needs a root canal. And my cholesterol is high, so I need pre-treatment. And… and then I have to… I have…”
“Ellie,” McAllister says in a stern voice. “Sit down. We’ll discuss it all later. None of that is true and you know it.”
I move away from the table very slowly. Like McAllister is a lion and he might pounce and eat me up at any moment. I use the back of my boss’ chair to steady myself as I inch towards the conference room doors.
McAllister stands too, and he’s coming at me quick. I panic and make a break for it. I reach for the handle on the doors that will swing them wide open just as McAllister Stonewall grips my arm and thwarts my escape.
“Tampon!” I scream as loud as I can.
McAllister lets go, his handsome, perfectly-groomed face filled with confusion. “What?”
“Tampon!” I yell again. “I need a tampon, OK? I didn’t want to have to say it out loud, but you forced me, Stonewall. So I will see you people… whenever. Get out of my way because I quit and I need a tampon!”
The magic word. It does the trick. Everyone in the room except McAllister erupts in laughter. But whatever, I’m outta there. I dash across the top floor heading towards the elevator.
“Ellie Hatcher!” McAllister Stonewall yells. “Stop right where you are!”
Oh, my God. The whole fucking place is looking at me. There are at least fifty creatives working on this floor alone. And when I look down at the people on the sixth floor below, there are dozens of faces looking up too. People start whispering loudly as I try not to fall apart.
“Ellie!” Stonewall says again. “Wait!”
I look at the elevator, then the stairs. But the only way out of here without a confrontation in front of a hundred people is… the slide.
I break for it, almost twisting an ankle as I run. Stonewall’s feet thunder on the marble tiled floors behind me and I know he’s close. He’s going to catch me and there is no way in hell I’m talking to that man ever again. I get to the slide just as his fingertips brush against the fluttery silk of my blouse sleeve. But I grab the handle as I swing my feet and legs in, and then I whoosh myself into the seven-story slide.
I scream, then laugh in triumph as I make my escape. It’s fast and exhilarating. Thrilling even. Why have I never done this before? The first twist comes up, and I slow slightly. “Whooo!” I yell in the slide. “Hahahahaha!”
When I come out of the second twist, it’s a steep drop and I pick up speed.
That’s when my skirt starts to ride up my thighs. My legs are all sweaty from the embarrassment and confrontation.
No. No, no, no. You cannot get stuck in this—
But I slow down as the frict
ion between my skin and the slide starts to hinder my escape. The incline isn’t as steep now either. So there’s no chance of building momentum. I must be near the ground floor.
A few seconds later I come out of another turn and I’m slowing down so fast, I have to start scooting forward.
Shit. Why me? Why couldn’t this happen on Pencil Skirt Monday? A pencil skirt would not ride up.
Pretty soon there it’s obvious that there is no hope of sliding down the rest of the way, so I take off my shoes and throw them down the slide ahead of me, then contort my body and wiggle around until I’m face first on my hands and knees.
And I crawl.
I crawl forward, fling my shoes, then crawl some more. I calculate how long I’ve been in the slide and come up with no more than a minute. I’m gonna make it. I crawl faster, throwing my shoes through the last turn. They go tumbling out of sight as I pick up my pace. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Literally. I am seconds away from freedom when a pair of legs come into view.
No. Please.
I stop crawling so fast and make my way towards the end of the slide where the top cuts away and yes.
There he is. Waiting for me. My Jimmy Choos directly in front of him. My pretty pink clutch, tablet, and phone in one hand as he extends the other out towards me.
“Are you quite finished now, Miss Hatcher?” he says, a scowl on his face.
I take a deep, deep breath as I finish my crawl and accept his hand to help me out, because my other choice will probably land me on my face, ass in the air. And my skirt is still very much bunched up near my hips.
His hand grips mine, sending a shock of fear through my body, and steadies me as I get to my feet. He waits in silence as I adjust my skirt and slip my shoes on my feet so he’s not towering over me. Not as much anyway.
“Thank you, Mr. Stonewall,” I say, grabbing my clutch and devices from his hand. “Thank you,” I repeat, because I have no other words. “Now goodbye.”
“No,” he says, both of his arms corralling my upper body to prevent my second attempt at escaping. “This is completely ridiculous behavior, Miss Hatcher. My office now.”
It’s not a question, it’s a command. And that just pisses me off. “What part of I quit don’t you understand? I’m not going to your office, I’m going home. Now get your hands off me and get out of my way.”
I shove him aside, take a deep breath, not looking at any of the hundreds of employees who have now gathered to watch what’s happening, and walk off towards the escalator that leads down to the train station.
I look down as I approach the escalator, hoping against hope that it will be empty, but there’s at least a dozen people looking up at me.
Shit.
I veer off towards the stairs that will take me down to the transport garage. I will just hijack a golf cart and drive myself back to the hangar. I have full access to the keys thanks to Brutus.
I grab the handle, swing the door open, and leave that bastard of a boss behind.
Chapter Five - Mac
I stand there dumbfounded as Ellie Hatcher walks off and disappears through the door that leads down to the garage.
Everyone is looking at me and even though it should be impossible for an office building that hosts more than seven hundred employees to be silent, it feels very, very silent. “Get back to work,” I say loudly. Everyone turns away and pretends to be busy.
I stride towards the door, swing it open, and follow Ellie Hatcher into the dim stairwell.
“Oh, shit,” she says down below. “Go away!”
She’s crying. I can tell from the hitch in her voice. “Miss Hatcher,” I say as I step down and she comes into view. Her face and eyes are red and she has the biggest frown on her face. Humiliated. She looks humiliated.
Well, that inner voice of mine says. She asked for it.
She did. This is not my fault. How is this my fault? I’m not the one who’s been texting dirty offers of sex and sending weird Pinterest boards filled with the delusional life she most certainly does not have with Heath. She admitted in that exchange upstairs that she figured Heath wasn’t getting her texts. And he wasn’t. He’s in China where the company phones do not work. I turned the phone off just before Senior sent him off and landed me here, running the whole company.
“Miss Hatcher,” I repeat. “Will you please calm down. I’m not the enemy and this is not my fault. No one asked you to quit. And no one cares that you made a fool of yourself—”
“Fuck you!” she yells. “Just fuck you! You were reading my private messages to your brother, Mr. Stonewall.”
I am taken aback at her outburst. Pissed off about it, actually. “Don’t talk to me that way,” I growl.
“Or what?” she challenges. “You’re gonna fire me? Too late. I already told you, I’m out. And don’t think you’re the reason, either, Mr. Fancy Jet. You’re not. I was planning on quitting before you ever showed up today.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” I say.
“Why?” she asks. “No one here respects me. And I’m not sure what that whole promotion thing is about, but it’s about five years too late.”
“That’s not why.” It comes out unexpectedly. It’s not why, but normally I don’t just blurt out the truth to women.
“Then why?” she demands. She wipes the wetness from under her eyes as she tries to regain her composure.
“God,” I say, looking her up and down. Her white ruffly blouse is all askew. I can see her lacy pink bra. She notices where my eyes have landed and looks down.
“Oh, dammit, can this day possibly get any worse?” She undoes the silky tie that is supposed to keep her shirt together and tries to straighten up her wardrobe malfunction. I can’t stop watching her tie the swath of lace acting as a belt into a bow, so when she lifts her gaze up from her task she catches me. “Seen enough? Pervert,” she mutters under her breath.
“I’m not sure that garment is work-appropriate. If one’s clothing can’t withstand a trip down the slide without coming off, perhaps one should consider a more conservative approach to fashion?”
I’m pretty proud of my professionalism. Also that I kept a straight face.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about me, Mr. Fancy Jet. I’m already part of your past.”
Goddammit. I take a deep breath. “Look, Miss Hatcher, I’m sorry you had a few embarrassing moments up there—”
“A few—” Her mouth hangs open incredulously. “For your information, Mr. Stonewall” —she sneers my name—“I was not embarrassed. I was humiliated. There’s a big difference. And you are the person who humiliated me.”
“You were texting me during an executive meeting.” Where the hell does she get off blaming her behavior on me? “And while we’re assigning blame, you were using your phone for completely inappropriate sexual encounters.”
“Sexual—” I seem to be able to render her speechless pretty easily. “That was not—”
“Really?” I interrupt. “Really?” I laugh the word this time. “I’m pretty sure anyone I ask would say those gifs you send of men pawing women—choking them as they kissed—cross the professional line.”
It was pretty hot though. I’d like to press my palm against her throat and kiss the hell out of her myself. Slide my hand up her thigh and slip my fingertips under those pink lacy underwear I got a good look at back in the lobby.
Ellie Hatcher is suddenly silent. She chews on a manicured pink fingernail as she thinks this over, and must decide I’m right, because she purses her plump lips and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Her designer shoe begins to tap on the concrete floor. “Did you read everything?” She doesn’t look at me, just stares down at her feet.
“Everything.”
“Oh, God. Since when?” Miss Hatcher looks up at me, her eyes wide. “I mean, I know all the messages said undelivered. So how the hell did they suddenly become delivered?”
“Heath had to mail me the phone back from China. He
forgot to leave it and we needed his contacts. So it was powered down for a few weeks, but as soon as I powered it back up, all your messages came through.”
“Holy shit,” she whispers, pinching the bridge of her nose like she’s getting a migraine.
“You said some very interesting things, Miss Hatcher.”
“Don’t,” she starts. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I stare down her shirt. I know it’s a dick move since she’s not even paying attention, but that pink bra is driving me crazy. She fixed the shirt, but it’s falling back open again. Is it my fault she’s flashing me some lace? Should I not look?
What kind of dumbass wouldn’t look at a girl like this? And shit, those texts. Jesus. I really didn’t picture her looking so… so… fucking sweet. Some of the texts she was sending Heath would make Christian Grey blush. This woman with the pink panties, conservative skirt, and almost no makeup to speak of might have the dirtiest mind I’ve ever come across. The things she said to Heath.
I want to kiss your cock with my pretty lips, then swallow you whole as you spill your come down my throat.
Who says that?
And then, the really confusing thing was, she’d send Heath pictures of a house for sale over in the ’burbs on the other side of the airport and talk about getting a puppy. An Old English Sheepdog, to be exact.
It’s almost like she’s got a split personality. Or she’s one of those closet kinks. Hell, I wonder if Heath used to take her to sex clubs or something?
“Are we done talking?” she says. “I need to meet Andrew Manco out on the tarmac in ten minutes.”
I stare at Ellie’s mouth as she talks, imagining my cock slipping past her lips. How wet her tongue would be as it slid up and down my shaft. I can almost feel the relief as I come the way she asked.