after the fact,” he said. “Katy, my front desk receptionist, already called Arthur yesterday and apologized for being rude to you when you first walked in. I gather she was very contrite.”
It took me a moment to realize what he was referring to. “Oh. Well,” I said awkwardly, “I wasn't really dressed for visiting.” The only place my work clothes were fit for visiting was a street corner, and even then I'd need a nice cardboard sign to complete the ensemble. Will make poor life decisions for food.
Nervously I fidgeted with the towel I had wrapped around my head. Hearing his voice, even this pale imitation over my cell phone speakers, was bringing back memories of yesterday, when he cornered me in his office and pressed me against the wall.
My cheeks heated. Don't think about that! I commanded myself.
“Have you given any further thought to my offer?” he asked, which made it hard not to think about. Almost absently the hand toying with the towel on my head drifted down to the hot space between my thighs and began toying with that instead.
No matter how I sliced it, that couldn't be a good sign. I didn't take my hand away, however. The richness of his voice had made me wet and slick.
“I went to see a lawyer today,” I told him.
The other end of the line was quiet for a fraction of a second longer than I expected. “Good,” he said. “I'm glad. You should have legal counsel when signing legal documents.”
Yeah. And she told me to marry you if the sex was good. My middle finger circled my clit as though pondering just how much it could get away with while I talked on the phone. “Uh-huh. Anyway, I have a few changes to make.”
This time the silence on the other end was definitely longer than I expected. A few other fingers joined the first. At last there was a rustling sound, and I heard him sigh. “We should meet.”
I hadn't expected that, although I probably should have. “Okay. At your office?”
“No,” he said. “It's almost lunch time. We should meet for lunch.”
My roving hand stilled and my nerves shot through the roof. “Uh. Okay. Where?”
This time when he spoke, I could hear the smile in his voice, and that made me even more nervous. “I'll send a car to pick you up.”
“How should I dress—” I started to say, but he hung up on me.
I stared at the phone in my hand. Quickly, I redialed his number, but it went immediately to voice mail.
My eyes flew to the contract where it sat on my coffee table. All that shit about being submissive... that's what he was doing, wasn't it? He was trying to show me just how much power he held.
“Ass!” I said out loud, though I would have been hard pressed to tell anyone listening if I were calling Waters an ass, or merely commenting on the general situation. Maybe both.
I jumped up from my seat, shedding my towel and bathrobe.
Two could play this game.
*
Anton Waters knew where I lived.
I mean, of course he did, it was right there on his stupid contract, but the fact that a fancy-ass car—black, naturally—pulled up to my shitty apartment in my little low rent neighborhood reminded me that he knew where I lived. Suddenly my tiny shoebox didn't seem so safe and snug. For reasons I couldn't define, the idea that he could probably find me whenever he chose gave me the shivers.
I took a drag of my cigarette and lifted my chin.
To his credit, the driver Waters had sent only did a double-take when he saw me, and it was only a small one, at that. But it was enough. I knew I had done a good job.
I'm not in the habit of dressing up, and I have to make my clothes last when I get them, so luckily I still had some truly awful clothes left over from college. The tiny red skirt I wore contrasted horribly with the orange blouse, worn because it revealed a truly indecent amount of cleavage. Knee-high leather boots and some torn fishnets leftover from that Halloween where I dressed up like Sally Bowles completed the outfit, and
It took me a moment to realize what he was referring to. “Oh. Well,” I said awkwardly, “I wasn't really dressed for visiting.” The only place my work clothes were fit for visiting was a street corner, and even then I'd need a nice cardboard sign to complete the ensemble. Will make poor life decisions for food.
Nervously I fidgeted with the towel I had wrapped around my head. Hearing his voice, even this pale imitation over my cell phone speakers, was bringing back memories of yesterday, when he cornered me in his office and pressed me against the wall.
My cheeks heated. Don't think about that! I commanded myself.
“Have you given any further thought to my offer?” he asked, which made it hard not to think about. Almost absently the hand toying with the towel on my head drifted down to the hot space between my thighs and began toying with that instead.
No matter how I sliced it, that couldn't be a good sign. I didn't take my hand away, however. The richness of his voice had made me wet and slick.
“I went to see a lawyer today,” I told him.
The other end of the line was quiet for a fraction of a second longer than I expected. “Good,” he said. “I'm glad. You should have legal counsel when signing legal documents.”
Yeah. And she told me to marry you if the sex was good. My middle finger circled my clit as though pondering just how much it could get away with while I talked on the phone. “Uh-huh. Anyway, I have a few changes to make.”
This time the silence on the other end was definitely longer than I expected. A few other fingers joined the first. At last there was a rustling sound, and I heard him sigh. “We should meet.”
I hadn't expected that, although I probably should have. “Okay. At your office?”
“No,” he said. “It's almost lunch time. We should meet for lunch.”
My roving hand stilled and my nerves shot through the roof. “Uh. Okay. Where?”
This time when he spoke, I could hear the smile in his voice, and that made me even more nervous. “I'll send a car to pick you up.”
“How should I dress—” I started to say, but he hung up on me.
I stared at the phone in my hand. Quickly, I redialed his number, but it went immediately to voice mail.
My eyes flew to the contract where it sat on my coffee table. All that shit about being submissive... that's what he was doing, wasn't it? He was trying to show me just how much power he held.
“Ass!” I said out loud, though I would have been hard pressed to tell anyone listening if I were calling Waters an ass, or merely commenting on the general situation. Maybe both.
I jumped up from my seat, shedding my towel and bathrobe.
Two could play this game.
*
Anton Waters knew where I lived.
I mean, of course he did, it was right there on his stupid contract, but the fact that a fancy-ass car—black, naturally—pulled up to my shitty apartment in my little low rent neighborhood reminded me that he knew where I lived. Suddenly my tiny shoebox didn't seem so safe and snug. For reasons I couldn't define, the idea that he could probably find me whenever he chose gave me the shivers.
I took a drag of my cigarette and lifted my chin.
To his credit, the driver Waters had sent only did a double-take when he saw me, and it was only a small one, at that. But it was enough. I knew I had done a good job.
I'm not in the habit of dressing up, and I have to make my clothes last when I get them, so luckily I still had some truly awful clothes left over from college. The tiny red skirt I wore contrasted horribly with the orange blouse, worn because it revealed a truly indecent amount of cleavage. Knee-high leather boots and some torn fishnets leftover from that Halloween where I dressed up like Sally Bowles completed the outfit, and