Wicked Sins

by Rumer Raines

  “Do you have your lunch order?” I ask, turning away from him to roll my eyes.

  “Actually, I am going with you today. I thought we could talk,” he announces.

  My breathing accelerates at the thought. I would rather be his delivery girl than spend the hour with him. What could we possibly have to talk about?

  Ted pulls out my chair, giving me no choice but to stand unless I want to cause a scene. I grab my purse as we walk down the aisle with all eyes following us. They are all probably wondering why the hell Ted and I are leaving together. I avoid all eye contact with them as we leave the building. He directs me to his Chevy pickup and opens the door. I start to feel like this is one of those don’t-get-in-the-car-with-the-weirdo situations that my mother warned me about. I take a deep breath as I climb in.

  Neither of us speaks on the way to the restaurant. I can feel Ted’s eyes on the side of my face, but I don’t look at him. I focus on the road as my nails pinch into my own skin. I feel sick and dirty being in this truck with him. I can’t hide the hate and disgust I feel for this man.

  Ted pulls into the parking lot, and l accidentally meet his eyes when I look in his direction. He smiles, and I turn away to open the door. He runs to catch up to me as I head inside, yanking open the door to the small Italian restaurant. Once inside, he asks the hostess to sit us someplace private. I nearly choke as I try to swallow my own saliva. Why the hell do we need to be someplace private?

  Ted places his hand on my lower back as we follow the hostess. I walk faster so his hand falls off. I slide into the booth and Ted slides in across from me. When I pick up the menu, my breath hitches as I glance at the prices. I have never been to this restaurant before, even though I have always wanted to. Of course, I always wanted to come with family, or at least a friend, not this little bastard. I wonder if I am paying for this meal or if we are going Dutch?

  “Order anything on the menu, Steph. It’s my treat,” I start to panic. Why is he treating? What is in it for him?

  “What do you want, Ted?” I ask placing the menu back on the table and staring into his cold eyes.

  “Nothing that I am not owed, Steph,” he answers.

  The waitress comes to take our order, and I no longer have an appetite. Ted orders pasta and steak with two beers. I order a salad and decide I’ll drink the water. My eyes meet his, and I question if he should be having beer during our lunch hour, but Ted reminds me that he is the boss.

  This man breaks any rule he wants because he is above following them. He is management, and there are no rules for management.

  His eyes never leave me as I try to look anywhere but at him. My skin crawls, and I want to go back to the office. I can’t believe I want to go back to work, but I do. I just need to be away from him and this sick feeling I have in the pit of my stomach.

  When our food finally arrives, I pick at my salad and try to focus on anything but the man sitting across from me. Ted cuts his steak and looks between his plate and me. His cold eyes look into mine his gaze wanders down to my chest then heads back up to my eyes.

  “I think we should work on our relationship, Steph.”

  I nearly choke on the small piece of lettuce as I quickly grab my water. “What do you mean, work on our relationship?” I ask.

  Ted leans over the table and grabs one of my hands. “Our personal relationship,” he whispers.

  I snatch my hand away. “We don’t have a personal relationship.”

  Ted pushes away his plate, and I can see the anger on his face and in his squinted eyes. He takes a deep breath and grabs my hand, squeezing it. “We didn’t have a personal relationship, until now. You owe me, Steph, and I think the least you can do is give this a chance. You do need your job, correct? I think you help your parents out a lot, which you won’t be able to do if you’re unemployed. Not to mention, it would be tough to get a new job without references, which you wouldn’t have because of the limp dick comment.”

  I have never been punched in the stomach, but I think this is how it must feel. I can’t breathe. I can feel the first tear fall down my face. I’m angry, scared, and sick at the same time. My mind starts racing, and I start to think of all the possible solutions to this situation. I can go to human resources, but I would be fired because of the limp dick comment. I could talk to my coworkers, but they wouldn’t believe me anyway. What can I do other than what he wants me to do?

  “What exactly do you want, Ted?” I wipe away tears as he tilts his head.

  Seeing that he has me, that I’m cowering to his demands, he states clearly, “I want you to see for yourself that my dick is not limp.” He smiles and inclines his head as I stop breathing.

  4

  I FELT numb as we walked back inside the office. Once Ted dropped his bomb, the waitress delivered the check and we immediately left. I listened to my coworkers make idle talk of the weather and unicorns while I silently thought about his ultimatum. Ted walked past my desk several times, and I could feel his eyes on me with each step.

  At the end of the day, I left without a word to anyone. Instead of going home, I stopped to see my parents. My mother and I are so close, she feels like a sister. I can talk to her about anything, and this is one of those times I need to talk.

  “How was work?” she asks, and I start to cry.

  She hugs me. I fall into the nearest chair as she sits next to me, wiping away my tears.

  “I hate him. I hate that place. I don’t think I can go back.”

  “Is that boss of yours still giving you a hard time? Why don’t you just go to HR?”

  “I can’t go to HR, Mom. They will blame me for everything. Managers get away with murder at that company,” I whine.

  “Well, you either have to go to HR or you have to toughen up, Stephanie. You can’t quit your job.”

  My parents are both hard-working people. They retired from good jobs and never even called in sick. My mother doesn’t understand the hate your job and quit philosophy. She believes you go to work and do your job and then leave at the end of the day.

  I am from a different generation. I want to go to work and be happy. I want to be respected. I want a career to be proud of and not just be the worker bee that no one appreciates, just putting in time. You put in time at a prison, not at a forty-hour a week job. I want more, and I deserve more.

  “Is your boss racist?”

  I stiffen and haughtily toss my head. This is the only thing that would get a rise out of my mother. She is a beautiful woman with cocoa skin, who met my father when times weren’t kind to biracial couples. They fought discrimination with every turn when they dated and later got married. She has always taught me that people will only see color when they look at my caramel colored skin with kinky, curly hair.

  It’s sad that some people will ask what my race is before they even ask my name. I have gotten used to it. I love myself and my ethnicity. I have the best of both worlds from my parents, and I will never hide it from anyone.

  “I don’t think so, Mom.”

  She sighs as she starts to play with my curly hair. I turn toward her, giving her a smile, realizing that despite being able to confide anything to her, I am hiding the limp dick comment that put me in this mess. I don’t want to let her down, and this will surely disappoint her.

  “I am going to start looking for another job,” I whisper.

  “Steph, you have been with that company for over ten years! You can’t give up your vacation time and pay. You have built up too much to lose it by starting over.” She leans back and closes her eyes.

  “I need to be happy more than I need that job.” I walk away with stiff dignity.

  I consider every other company in town that I could apply to. I have friends that could get me in, but I’m hesitant to ask them. Is my mother, right? Should I just grin and bear it? Or am I right, and I deserve to be happy? People work at jobs they hate all the time, so why is it I have a problem with it?

  After spending most of the night staring a
t the ceiling, I decide to go for it. I am going to look for a different job. I will look inside the company, and if that doesn’t work out, I’ll look outside. The next morning, I apply for several positions, but none of them excite me. I quickly realize that I am not applying for jobs that interest me; I am looking for jobs to get away from Ted. Is it a smart idea to jump out of one bad situation into a worse one?

  “I ordered our lunch, Steph. When you pick it up, I need you to stop by the drugstore,” Ted tells me.

  I move back from my desk, my jaw tightening. “Why do I need to stop by the drugstore?”

  “I would like you to pick up condoms. We have a date tonight.” He stretches his long legs casually before him.

  I freeze, mind and body numb. “I am busy tonight, Ted.” Somehow, I manage to face him

  “Busy doing what?”

  The phone rings, and I turn away from him to answer. He touches his forehead slightly in a mock salute before walking away.

  Ted left his notepad on my desk, and I notice he ordered from the Italian restaurant on the other side of town again. I grab my purse and don’t make eye contact with anyone as I walk out of the building. He has me at my breaking point, and I don’t know how much longer I will last.

  As I drive to the restaurant, I realize that no matter what choice I make I am literally screwed. I have lost control of my life. I have a job that I hate, I work with people that have no loyalty to me, and I hate my boss who is intent on making my life hell. I’ve spent most of my working adulthood with these people who make me miserable. As much as I love my parents, they don’t understand my need for more. I feel defeated and need a way out. I have this emptiness in me that I don’t know how to fill.

  As I drive over the Michigan River, there is a small part of me that considers jumping in. What is the point of continuing this pointless, unhappy life? Why continue to get up each morning and put up with this shit?

  5

  I HAVE PICKED up Ted’s lunch so many times, I know to head straight for the bar. The same beautiful girl with dark hair walks over to me with a smile.

  “Picking up an order for Ted?”

  I nod and slide the cash over to her. She tilts her head, and I think I see concern in her eyes, but I must be wrong. People that know me don’t show concern, so why would a stranger?

  “Having a bad day?” she questions.

  “I am having a bad life.”

  She tilts her head in thought for a moment before asking, “Do you have any plans after work?”

  Why is she asking me about my plans? What does she want? “Nothing I care to do,” I admit.

  “How about a Pleasure Party?”

  I bite my lip to stifle a grin.

  “I am having a girl’s night at the bar. I would love for you to join us,” she replies. I glance around making sure no one overheard.

  I have heard about these pleasure parties, but I have never been to one before. I don’t know if I want to shop for sex toys with a bunch of strangers.

  “Sure.”

  I have nothing better to do. Maybe this is my way of getting out of spending time with Ted?

  Another girl brings out my order, and the dark-haired girl takes a card from her back pocket.

  “My name is Monique. I look forward to seeing you tonight.” She smiles and walks away.

  I glance at the card, and it says Monique Manso, Pleasure Party Consultant. The back of the card indicates the party is at the bar at 10 p.m.

  As I drive back to work, my mind starts to race. Am I really going to a Pleasure Party tonight? Why did Monique think I would be interested?

  I have to admit, it has been a while since I got laid. I know it’s not that kind of party, but I think toys would be beneficial. It can get the job done, and I won’t have to deal with man drama.

  When Ted comes over to pick up his lunch, I lift my chin, meeting his icy glaze straight on. To my surprise, he shows no reaction. He never mentions his plans for me after work, and I don’t either.

  AFTER WORK, I go home to shower and prepare myself for the Pleasure Party. I put on a pair of tight jeans, a black t-shirt, and my favorite kimono. I brush my curly hair and run my fingers through it, hoping it falls just right. I don’t wear much makeup, but I put on my favorite nude lip gloss. I give myself one last look before heading to the party.

  I arrive a little early and can park close to the door. Looking around the parking lot, I hope I’m not the only person to show up. I pull the door and the bar looks different. Monique obviously knows how to decorate because it looks like Pleasure Party heaven. There must be hundreds of pink balloons. There is a pink tablecloth draped across the bar, and she has pink desserts on each of the tables. There is also a punch bowl filled with a pink drink.

  The door slams as I walk in and Monique turns to look at me. She gives me a big smile as she walks toward me, followed by two attractive men. She notices that I am looking past her and turns, shaking her head.

  “Don’t worry about them. They are leaving.” Her voice is hoarse with frustration.

  “Are you going to introduce us, Monique?” His tongue is heavy with sarcasm.

  “No. I told you that no men are allowed. You need to get the hell out, Anthony.” Her lips thin with irritation.

  He looks me over and nods. “Come on, Nico, let’s go before she gets ugly.”

  Nico gives me a wink before walking past me, and I hear the door slam shut.

  “Sorry about that. Brothers are the worst species a girl can deal with,” Monique says on a sigh.

  “Is it just the three of you?” I ask.

  “Unfortunately, I have my own three stooges, and there is one more of them.”

  I am the first person to arrive, so I help Monique finish setting up. I blush as I grab the gold colored dildo and she tells me where to set it on the table. As I grab it by the base, I hear a chuckle behind me.

  I drop the dildo and turn to see the most attractive man I have ever seen, which I suppose isn’t hard considering where I spend my days. He is at least six-feet-one, with dark hair and manful, gritty stubble. He has a concrete jaw and defined cheekbones. If he isn’t a male model, he should be.

  “You dropped your dick.” My legs feel weak and my heart races at the powerful tenor of his voice.

  “Dominic!” Monique yells.

  His eyes never leave mine as she walks over and grabs him by the arm, turning him to face her. “We agreed that no men would be here tonight! You need to catch up with Larry and Moe and leave!” Monique squeals and he turns back to look at me.

  I can feel the sweat dripping down my back as he watches me. He is handsome with dark eyes and a secret expression.

  “I know, Monique. I am leaving,” he replies.

  As he walks past me, he gently brushes against my arm, and an earthy scent swirl around him. His boldly handsome face smiles warmly down at me.

  Taking a deep, unsteady breath, I step back. I have no idea why this man has this kind of effect on me. When the door slams shut behind him, I stare longingly at the ornate wooden slab hiding my view, hoping he will come back but he doesn’t.

  “Sorry,” Monique whispers.

  I’m too concerned with my response to offer a reply.

  “Brothers,” Monique groans as I try to stop myself from trembling.

  I don’t know if I will ever see him again, but if I have my way, I will.

  The party turns out to be a huge success. Twelve girls come, and I can see Monique’s excitement as she sells tons of products. I wait patiently while she takes their orders and money. I am the last girl at the party after everyone else has left.

  “What did you think, Stephanie?”

  “It was fun. How long have you been doing this?” I ask.

  “I have been a consultant for five years. I love it, and the money is good.” She smirks as she glances at my small order.

  “Can I ask how much you made tonight?”

  Monique smiles and nods. “It was a small crowd, so th
e sales weren’t as great as they normally are, but I made twenty-four hundred bucks.”

  I gasp thinking about how many months I work for that kind of money. Monique made it in one night. “Are you kidding me?” I choke out.

  “No. You make money by being in business for yourself, Stephanie. You never get ahead working for someone else.” Her mouth curves into a smile.

  As much as it hurts to hear, she is right. I live paycheck to paycheck and don’t think I’ll ever get ahead. Not to mention, I help my parents who are getting older and don’t have the best health insurance.

  “Do you think you would like to do something like this?” She grins.

  I roll my eyes, realizing that I could never be a salesperson. “I don’t think I could do something like this.”

  Her whole face lights up. “You can do anything you set your mind to do. I can help you. We would work as a team. Or would you prefer to build your career in corporate America while picking up Ted’s lunch three times a week?” Her forehead furrows.

  My mouth falls open as Monique delivers the low blow using Ted as the reason to build my own business. The worst part is it’s working. I hate Ted more than I have hated anything… ever. I need to get out of the corporate America wheel and build a financial future for myself and my parents.

  I look heavenward as I climb back into my car holding my new consultant agreement.

  6

  TEAM MEETING @ 8 pm Wednesday. Can you make it? I stare at Monique’s text for five minutes before replying. I started my own sex toy business two weeks ago, and I have regretted the decision since signing the agreement. Why did I think I could do this?

  I bite the skin off my lip as I stare at Monique’s address that she just sent.

  “Hey.” Monica’s eyes meet mine as I push my phone off to the side.

  “Hi,” I reply.

  “How about dinner?” she asks.

  My brows draw together as I stare at her, wondering if I can afford to go out again this week.

  “I don’t know, Monica. We went out twice already this week and we are scheduled to do that damn team lunch on Friday,” I say with a sneer.