slows to its regular pace; the condom is balled into a tissue yanked from the box on his desk. He drops it into a nearby trashcan then tucks himself back into his smart clothing.
Jackson stands again to help me from the floor. Gentlemen are all around in this kingdom.
Stolen moments in his bathroom let me brush my teeth, reapply makeup, fix my hair. My lips are a little puffier than what I walked in with. It can’t be helped.
Back on stage, I find Jackson in his leather chair, rocking back indolently, the black handset of the desk phone at his ear. My eyes are drawn to the curled tether he winds compulsively around his finger while he and his Darla discuss plans to have the in-laws come visit.
“The kids will love having their grandpar—The zoo? Perfect .”
He’s looking at me and talking to her. I can feel his hot gaze caress my skin while I busy myself with collecting the messed pages of my folder, a thick manila envelope slipped surreptitiously into a pocket.
The price of admission.
Another purposeful bend props my ass in the air while I return the first file to its place in the storage bin, the strangled breathing of my costar evident between the snippets of idle chatter.
“Chicken Florentine, was it?”—a shuddering exhale—“Uh huh…”
From the other side of the desk I face him again, reach for his folder, dipping lower than necessary and revealing the swell of my cleavage through the deep plunge of the blouse. I mash my chest to the surface, and at his inhale I pause, look up at him from beneath my lashes; let my tongue do a measured pass of my upper lip. His eyes darken as they follow the motion, stopping on the sight of the wet cavern of my mouth open in invitation for another filling.
The grimace on his face is that of a man struggling with temptation; very close to exchanging his not being able to get through the day for another visit to paradise. His cheeks flush, nostrils flare, breathing thickens.
Come on, Jackson. Ad lib, I implore, and for a moment it looks as if he just might.
But the incessant babble in his ear solves the dilemma.
He sighs. “Yes, Darla, I’m listening,”—a glance at my breasts—“no, sweetheart, you’re not interrupting anything.”
A clear pad covers his desk blotter, each day crammed full wit h the black-inked dialogue scripting Jackson’s life. I lean back a bit to scan the page, locate today’s date, and then press my lips to the square. A happy reminder atop the heap.
Jackson grins, his voice brightening a bit when he responds to yet another of his wife’s comments.
Attention on my task, I take up his prop and stow it in the bin. My bag goes over my shoulder, my jacket is draped over my arm, and my cup of coffee from Paul is still warm enough to enjoy. Handle of the cart in hand, I head for the door.
EXIT STAGE LEFT
“Roz,” Jackson calls in a low voice. I turn to see his hand covers the mouthpiece. “Monday?”
With the in-laws in town, he’ll probably need it. I kiss at him in affirmation and leave him to his Darla.
SCENE 3
THE TOWER
42 ND FLOOR
10:26am
Minutes later I’m back in the elevator, climbing higher in the Tower. The doors open on the 42 nd floor, home to both Ergo, an ergonomic furniture design company, and Green, a rooftop garden landscaping outfit. Life is a little more relaxed here, not the same flurry as on the 36 th . No polished information desk, no patiently waiting appointments, just a sign indicating Green is to the right and Ergo to the left.
I bank left, the click of my heels dampened by recycled, eco-friendly corkboard floors. Mostly natural light floods the area as I make my way back to the offices of Lizbet Stanton.
All hail the Queen!
And that she is; a woman of fair skin and modest carriage. Raven-dark hair and bright blue eyes conceal an intense personality, in spite of her casual appearance. Today she wears unfashionably ripped blue jeans and a
Jackson stands again to help me from the floor. Gentlemen are all around in this kingdom.
Stolen moments in his bathroom let me brush my teeth, reapply makeup, fix my hair. My lips are a little puffier than what I walked in with. It can’t be helped.
Back on stage, I find Jackson in his leather chair, rocking back indolently, the black handset of the desk phone at his ear. My eyes are drawn to the curled tether he winds compulsively around his finger while he and his Darla discuss plans to have the in-laws come visit.
“The kids will love having their grandpar—The zoo? Perfect .”
He’s looking at me and talking to her. I can feel his hot gaze caress my skin while I busy myself with collecting the messed pages of my folder, a thick manila envelope slipped surreptitiously into a pocket.
The price of admission.
Another purposeful bend props my ass in the air while I return the first file to its place in the storage bin, the strangled breathing of my costar evident between the snippets of idle chatter.
“Chicken Florentine, was it?”—a shuddering exhale—“Uh huh…”
From the other side of the desk I face him again, reach for his folder, dipping lower than necessary and revealing the swell of my cleavage through the deep plunge of the blouse. I mash my chest to the surface, and at his inhale I pause, look up at him from beneath my lashes; let my tongue do a measured pass of my upper lip. His eyes darken as they follow the motion, stopping on the sight of the wet cavern of my mouth open in invitation for another filling.
The grimace on his face is that of a man struggling with temptation; very close to exchanging his not being able to get through the day for another visit to paradise. His cheeks flush, nostrils flare, breathing thickens.
Come on, Jackson. Ad lib, I implore, and for a moment it looks as if he just might.
But the incessant babble in his ear solves the dilemma.
He sighs. “Yes, Darla, I’m listening,”—a glance at my breasts—“no, sweetheart, you’re not interrupting anything.”
A clear pad covers his desk blotter, each day crammed full wit h the black-inked dialogue scripting Jackson’s life. I lean back a bit to scan the page, locate today’s date, and then press my lips to the square. A happy reminder atop the heap.
Jackson grins, his voice brightening a bit when he responds to yet another of his wife’s comments.
Attention on my task, I take up his prop and stow it in the bin. My bag goes over my shoulder, my jacket is draped over my arm, and my cup of coffee from Paul is still warm enough to enjoy. Handle of the cart in hand, I head for the door.
EXIT STAGE LEFT
“Roz,” Jackson calls in a low voice. I turn to see his hand covers the mouthpiece. “Monday?”
With the in-laws in town, he’ll probably need it. I kiss at him in affirmation and leave him to his Darla.
SCENE 3
THE TOWER
42 ND FLOOR
10:26am
Minutes later I’m back in the elevator, climbing higher in the Tower. The doors open on the 42 nd floor, home to both Ergo, an ergonomic furniture design company, and Green, a rooftop garden landscaping outfit. Life is a little more relaxed here, not the same flurry as on the 36 th . No polished information desk, no patiently waiting appointments, just a sign indicating Green is to the right and Ergo to the left.
I bank left, the click of my heels dampened by recycled, eco-friendly corkboard floors. Mostly natural light floods the area as I make my way back to the offices of Lizbet Stanton.
All hail the Queen!
And that she is; a woman of fair skin and modest carriage. Raven-dark hair and bright blue eyes conceal an intense personality, in spite of her casual appearance. Today she wears unfashionably ripped blue jeans and a
Similar Books
Run
Eve Vaughn
Wedding Matilda (Redcakes Book 6)
Heather Hiestand
The Cellar
Richard Laymon
Picture Perfect
Steve Elliott
The Change Up
Elley Arden
Signs of Struggle
John Carenen
The Banished of Muirwood
Jeff Wheeler
Facelift
Leanna Ellis
Kinetics: In Search of Willow
Arbor Winter Barrow