by Jamie Knight
The actual signing, and the rest of the day that comes after it, is a blur. The Sanchezes sign off on the sale papers, I send a copy to the new owners and their agent for review, and then, with no idea what to do with myself until I get a response, I spend the afternoon furiously tidying my tiny office. Boxes move from one corner to another, files get reorganized, and I even hang a few pieces of stock art that I find gathering dust in a corner.
Then comes the chime from my laptop: New Mail. A quick click, and…
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I’m practically shrieking, but I don’t care. The sale is locked in and finalized. I made my first sale!
“I did it!” I’m bouncing with excitement, and I shimmy like a dancer, celebrating, spinning around -
“Oh! Mr. Jacobs, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
And he is there, staring at me with something approaching disgust on his face. “The last time I checked, we don’t pay Junior Agents for their dancing abilities.”
“I’m sorry.” I have to bite back my anger and embarrassment. “I was just excited.”
“Excited about what, exactly?” He’s in my office now, arms folded, still unimpressed.
“Ah… the Sanchez account.” I extend the file towards him. “I closed the deal a few hours ago, and the sale is set to go through.”
This, at least, gets me a surprised look. “You closed the Sanchez account?”
“I did.”
“The one I handed you yesterday? That account has been in flux for months now, and you’re telling me you closed it in less than forty-eight hours?”
“Yes. I had them in for a meeting this morning, and we were able to sort out the last few issues getting in the way of closing the sale. Maybe it just needed a fresh set of eyes after all this time.”
“Maybe it did.” Jacobs takes the file from me, and only then does a thin smile cross his face. “This’ll be a great win for me. Thanks.”
“Wait a second. Win for you? The sale was mine - ” The euphoria is draining out of me at his words. He’s going to take this and pass it off as his own. Motherfucker.
I know I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s how things work. Shit flows downhill, and praise and accomplishments flow uphill. But, still. It’s quite a blow.
“-And you work for me. Did no one bother to tell you? That means anything good you do belongs to me, and any fuckups land right back on your desk, Junior Agent.”
By now I’m smoldering – the nerve of him to actually spell out to me what I already know, as if he’s gloating about it – and it takes most of my energy to keep myself from screaming in this asshole’s face. But I hold it together, keeping my voice low.
“The sale is mine. I deserve the credit for it.”
“Then you should’ve taken it in the first place, sweetheart.” Jacobs brandishes the file. “Because now I’ve got it, and your time’s up. Go back to work.”
I’m trying to decide if I should do exactly that, or just punch Jacobs in the throat, when we both hear another voice. “Sounds like something exciting is going on over here!”
It’s Mr. Drive, dressed in a sharp suit, with an inquisitive look on his face. Shit. My chance to really earn some cred, and now it’s well and truly blown. I can’t say a word in front of him without seeming like a juvenile tattletale begging for attention.
“Care to share with the rest of the class?” Mr. Drive’s handsome eyes sparkle, and even as angry as I am, I still have to fight to keep from getting distracted by them.
“Sure, boss.” Jacob’s tone is cool and collected, completely vacant of the dark and threatening threads that he’d just directed at me. “It’s just that the Sanchez papers came through. The sale is final.”
“The Sanchez account? Really? You’ve been trying to close that account for months now. I was surprised to see them in the building earlier today, let alone to hear that progress has been made. Well done.”
“Thank you, sir. They were wonderful clients to work with. And Mariah was sure a big help organizing their files for me.”
“I’m sure. Now, Jacobs, if you don’t mind, I actually need a word with Mariah here.”
I can tell Jacobs doesn’t want to, but he nods and gracefully exits.
“May I come in, Mariah?” Mr. Drive waits patiently in my doorway.
“Of course, Mr. Drive,” I hear myself saying, “What can I do for you?”
He steps in, a smile warming his face. “Just checking to see how you’re settling in here at the company. I know it’s only been a few days, but I hope they’ve been good ones.”
“Of course.” I return his smile.
Now’s your chance. Spill. Tell him that Jacobs snaked that sale credit right out from under you.
I really do want to…but the feeling that it’d just be a fruitless exercise in tattling doesn’t go away. Something in my gut tells me, take the hit. Lose the battle, win the war later. These are all my dad’s words, seeping into my brain.
“And Jacobs is treating you well?” Mr. Drive asks.
“Well enough.” I can’t keep eye contact with Mr. Drive when I give voice to that particular lie. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Good. As he should be. Did you have a chance to interface with the Sanchezes before their sale closed?”
Here, at least, I can tell the truth, or part of it. “I did! They were really wonderful. Kind and easy to work with.”
“Good to hear.” He moves as if to leave, then pauses. “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“A client is only as good as their agent, Mariah. You should be proud.”
Wait, does he…? He knows! How does he know?!
As it turns out, that doesn’t matter, because the next thing out of his mouth is, “In fact, we should celebrate. Let’s have drinks tonight after we’re done for the day. What do you say?”
Now that, I wasn’t expecting. Making a sale is one thing, but being invited out for drinks one-on-one with the head of the company on the same day? It feels almost too good to be true. And when something seems too good to be true - it only makes sense to take advantage of it, just in case it’s real.
Chapter 21
Mariah
“Drinks sound great, Mr. Drive. I’d be glad to join you - but on one condition.”
“A condition, hmm? On my invitation to you? Seems a little odd.”
I almost choke right there, but I can’t let myself. You’ve gone this far, take the leap! Now!
“Yes, please. I want the chance to do an open house on a project of my own. Not one that was left over or handed down because someone else didn’t feel like doing it or couldn’t close the deal… I want a chance to prove myself completely from beginning to end. To prove this wasn’t a fluke.”
“You’re bold, Mariah. That’s a good skill to have in this business. Tell you what. I’ll consider your condition… over drinks with you. What do you say?”
His eyes sparkle again, and this time I give in. I think about sitting across from those sparkling eyes, that finely-pressed suit…
Without being able to stop myself, I lapse into a fantasy.
It’s the same restaurant where my father tried to marry me off to Charles… but now, Wesley and I are the only ones in it. Our meal is over, and he’s holding my hand in both of his, caressing it gently.
“Ask me what I want,” he says, even though he must know that I already know the answer. That’s half the fun.
I don’t bother asking him. Instead, I kiss him over the table, nibbling just a bit on his lower lip. “Take me home,” I whisper.
We leave the restaurant, and his limo is outside waiting for us. He helps me into the back, then follows and sits beside me. As we pull away from the curb, his hand is on my thigh, and he squeezes. He slides his fingers up my leg to my hip, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh between my thigh and my pussy… a pussy that’s already wet with anticipation.
“Show me what you want,” he whispers, brushing my ear with
his lips.
I don’t need any more instruction than that.
I push myself forward off the seat, kneeling on the soft carpeted floor of the limousine. A few adjustments, and I’m between his knees, one hand on his leg and the other resting just below his belt buckle. I can feel his excitement through the fabric, throbbing as it grows larger and larger.
“May I have you, sir?” I ask. The words sound strange coming from my lips, so high pitched, nearly begging. “Please, may I?”
Wesley nods, and I unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants, and grasp him in my hand… or as much of him as I can. He’s big. The way I like it.
“Thank you, sir.” I press my lips to the head of his cock, letting my saliva dribble out and down his shaft.
He rests a hand on the back of my head as I begin to suck in earnest, guiding me up and down, taking more and more of him in each time. I work my hand in concert with my lips, and soft moans of appreciation come from above. My knees press even deeper into the carpet as I gag just a bit, tears starting in my eyes.
“Good girl. Just like that.” The pressure of his hand on my neck increases, pushing me further down and him further into my throat. I nearly gag again, but the instinct passes and he slides smoothly all the way deep into my throat. That’s when I look up at him, his cock balls-deep in me, eyes glistening with tears, and see what I want… Wesley smiling down at me.
“I’m choosing to take your silence as enthusiasm, Mariah.” With that, my fantasy breaks, and I’m back in the office, facing Wesley, who’s now leaning in the doorway with a bemused expression.
“Sorry, sir. Yes. I’d love to have a drink with you.” God, am I glad you can’t read my mind and find out what else I wanted to have with you. Mostly glad, anyway. “Just please, promise to think about what I asked?”
“Of course, Mariah. I just have a few things to finish up. Shall we meet in the lobby in half an hour or so?”
“Perfect,” I say, my head still ringing with all the possibilities… and my pussy still throbbing with its own unfulfilled desires and anticipation. “I’ll see you then.”
With that, he’s gone. I sit at my desk and try to focus, but all I can think about, or feel, is the throbbing between my legs. It doesn’t subside, and finally, I give up.
“Shit.” I leave my office and head down the hall to the women’s restroom. “This day is just full of firsts.”
Thankfully, the bathroom is empty. I lock myself in the last stall, pull down my panties, sit on the toilet seat lid, and touch myself.
I’m already slick with excitement, and it doesn’t take long for me to start aggressively working a few fingers around my clit.
I haven’t done this since sophomore year of college… I think. That was all Nick Skold’s fault though. We hooked up a few times, but him being Catholic, we never went all the way - so I was reduced to finishing myself off in the dorm showers.
In fact, I’ve never actually had sex. After Nick, there haven’t really been any men I had wanted to have it with. Whenever I feel the urge, I ask myself it’s worth it to lose my virginity after all this time, when I have a perfectly good vibrator at home. But I’ve never felt anything like I feel for my new boss.
As I close in on orgasm, I start to moan. I don’t mean for them to be loud, but one comes along that’s loud enough to echo off the walls and make me pause to be sure no one else has heard it. I take my panties off and ball them up, putting them inside my purse. Then I keep playing with myself, putting my free hand over my mouth so no one can hear me moan.
When I cum, it’s fast, it’s hard - and it’s more intense than I’ve experienced in months. “Holy shit,” I breathe. “Guess I needed that.”
In the back of my head, I hear Wesley Drive’s voice, “You’re welcome.”
Goddammit, I really am crushing on my boss. This is the last thing I need right now… but wow, did that feel good.
I leave without putting my panties back on. “Eh, they’re an old pair anyway,” I tell myself. “And, they’re soaked.”
With that, I toss them in the trash, crumple up a few paper towels to cover them from prying eyes, and leave the restroom feeling energized and a bit bold. Getting drinks with your boss is nerve-wracking… getting drinks with your boss while going commando because you just masturbated in the company restroom while thinking of him? That’s way more fun.
Chapter 22
Wesley
The bar I take Mariah to is a favorite of mine, the Seafarer. Fortunately or not, I’ve forgotten that I’m not the only one from the office who likes it here. When she and I arrive after the short walk from the office, one of the tables is already full of our fellow realtors.
“Hey, look who came out for a change!” Gage, one of the longest-tenured agents at the company (and a friend of mine), calls out. “Pull up a chair, boss!”
Mariah looks at me to make the decision, and for just a second after I say, “Sure!” I see a flash of…disappointment in her face.
Disappointment? That can’t be right. Why would she be sad about getting to spend time with some of the top realtors in the company? The simple answer is, she wouldn’t – she has already expressed how much she wants to network and rise up in the company ranks - so I shrug it off mentally and grab a couple nearby chairs.
The bartender brings over my usual (a rum and coke - incredibly imaginative, I know), then leans over to Mariah.
“How about you, new face? What’s your pleasure?”
Mariah smiles, and I notice for the first time that when she does, dimples rise on her cheeks. It’s cute.
“Um, I’ll take a Bahama Mama, please,” she says.
“Coming right up.”
One of the guys, Trevor, snickers just loud enough at her drink choice for Mariah to hear. She glances at him and his beer bottle, then says, “Oh, sorry, are we only allowed to order cheap beers with less alcohol content than my pinkie finger?”
The whole table is silent for a second, then everyone starts laughing.
“The new girl’s got you there, man,” Gage says between chuckles.
Even Trevor smiles ruefully as he sips from his beer. It’s pretty clear, though, that Mariah’s getting off scot free at least in part because this gives him an excuse to stare at her.
“Heard you closed the Sanchez account today,” Ron, another longtime agent, says to Mariah. “Nice work.”
She blushes. “Thank you.”
It impresses me that she’s so humble about the whole thing. That account had been a veritable thorn in our side for months now, and she figured out a way to resolve the whole thing in less than forty-eight hours on the job. Not to mention, if I hadn’t happened to come by her office and eavesdrop, Jacobs would’ve taken all the credit for the sale with no one the wiser.
Even when I’d given her more than one chance in our conversation to spill the truth, she’d kept it to herself and she’d been professional every step of the way. It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone as smart and clearly dedicated as she is.
“Why don’t you tell us how you managed it?” I hear myself saying before I can think of a reason to stop. “What was the magic pill you got the Sanchezes to swallow so quickly?”
It only takes a second – and a glance at her reddening cheeks - to see that I’ve put her on the spot, but I don’t feel bad. I think she can handle herself. I hope.
“Well.” She pauses to take a deep draw from her drink, which she snagged from the bartender before he even has a chance to set it on the table in front of her. She’s clearly nervous, and it’s cute. “I looked over the files and meeting records, trying to get familiar with the case… and I just noticed that the house had been in the family for a very long time. It wasn’t that the family didn’t want to sell… it was that saying goodbye was hard. I think they just needed someone to acknowledge that, so that they’d feel comfortable letting go?”
This is a surprise, even to me. I’d heard the names and glanced at the file, of course, but
it was Jacobs’ case, and each time we talked about it, he attributed the delay to the family being unhappy with the size of the offers being made. It hadn’t even occurred to me (or him, obviously), that the problem might be sentimental.
And yet. Mariah had figured it out almost immediately. She’d connected with the family, our clients, on a deeper level, and in the end, that’s what it had been all about. The instinct on its own is impressive, and that instinct paired with action? It means she has the makings of a truly great businesswoman.
Around me, the whole table is laughing and chatting, including Mariah. She’s really connecting with everyone on the team, and that’s another check in the win column for her as far as I’m concerned.
But even in the face of all this, the thought still niggles at the back of my brain… am I thinking this way about her because of her skills, or because of what I imagined doing with her while sitting behind my desk right after I met her? And, to be honest, quite a bit after that?
Ridiculous, I tell myself. I may be, as my Aunt Shelly would say, “a bit of a horndog, even after you’ve long grown out of your teenage years,” but I’ve never let that affect my business decisions before, and there’s no way I’m slipping so much that it’s starting to do so now. Right?
That’s when it hits me: there’s one surefire way to find out if I’m overestimating Mariah or being biased in some way. And the best part is, she’s handed the solution right to me, so I know I’m not getting twisted around: An open house.
She wants one of her own, like she said, to prove herself, to be sure this last sale wasn’t a fluke. Unusual? Sure. Unprecedented? Definitely not. So that’s it then. She’ll get her open house, she’ll succeed or fail on her own merits, and I’ll manage and oversee the whole situation guilt-free.
“Boss, you haven’t even touched your drink! Come on, the workday is over.” Gage nudges me, and I realize I’ve been sitting there, tuned out into my own little world, for so long that most of the table is well on its way to a second round while my drink is getting watered down all to hell as the ice melts in it.