Julia Thompson is breathtaking, and I can’t keep my eyes off of her. I know I need to be more discreet. Staring at her as she sits there nervously on the sofa in the private suite I maintain right off of the main ballroom in my apartment complex, I want to forget that I have a few hundred guests just on the other side of the soundproof door, including her husband. I want to tell Cindy not to bother with the steak, that I’ll give Julia everything that she needs.
I can’t do that, though. Not yet anyway. It would be immoral of me to put moves on this married woman--unless, of course, her husband approves it—and so does she. I have been thinking of what I can do to get Jeff Thompson to realize he is not worthy of his wife, but he is such an arrogant asshole, I think he’s somehow gotten the impression he is too good for her. He is about to be reminded that he is nothing, that he is an insignificant peon and that his entire career exists only because I have not lowered my thumb and squashed him like the bug he is.
Julia sees me staring at her. She lowers her eyes, and I do, too. Her husband has accused her of showing too much cleavage. From my vantage point, she is hardly showing any at all, certainly not too much; probably not enough. And I am really looking.
But when she sees that I am doing just that, I look away, trying to maintain my status as a gentleman--for now.
I get her a drink. Our fingers brush. I feel electricity pulsing throughout my body. I want this woman. I want her now.
I can’t have her though--not yet.
“Cindy should be back soon,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Okay. Thank you.” She is nervous. She licks her bottom lip, and I wish that I could lean over and do the same. Instead, I linger by the door. “You don’t have to stay here with me,” she says, making it sound as if she is insignificant. I am not her husband. I do not find her to be less than worthy of my time.
“I don’t mind,” I say to her, finally sitting down on the edge of the couch. I am keeping my space from her not because I find her repulsive. On the contrary, I am drawn to her like a magnet. “What is it that you do, Mrs. Thompson?”
“Julia, please,” she says quickly. “I am… a homemaker.” She makes a nervous giggling sound in the back of her throat, as if I will also think that her being a homemaker is funny, or again, insignificant.
“Do you like being a homemaker?” I ask her.
Her eyes dart back and forth, side to side, quickly, as she searches for the right response. There is no right response with me--only the truth. She doesn’t know that. She thinks she’s supposed to be or say or do something different than whatever it is natural for her to be because she’s been told she is wrong so many times. “I like… art,” she finally says with a smile.
I smile back at her. I want her to know that I love that she likes art. “Are you an artist then?” I ask her with an encouraging tone.
She shrugs. “I would like to be, I guess. But… I don’t have time for that.”
I can tell by the way she makes that last remark that it isn’t true. She has plenty of time, probably too much time. She has more time than she knows what to do with and would like to use it on her art, but she can’t. Because she’s not allowed to.
Jeff Thompson is a horrible prick, and I want to break him in half.
Before I have a chance to let her know how angry I am at her douche of a husband, Cindy is back with her meal, and I am inclined to let her eat alone. I stand as Cindy lifts the cloche. “I’ll be back,” I assure her, not putting any time restraints on my return because I know that I will be caught up in conversations with people I do not wish to speak with.
“Thank you, Mr. Merriweather,” Julia says before she even cuts into her steak.
I am near the door now, but I stop and turn to look at her. I smile. I can’t help it. She’s so goddamn beautiful. “It’s Braxton,” I tell her. Julia’s smile widens, and the apples of her cheeks turn pinker. I know she will not call me that, not yet, but I hope that, before too much longer, she’ll be screaming my name in the throes of passion.
I turn and head out the door before I completely lose my head, my feet carrying me through the crowd, searching for one man, and one man alone: Jeff Thompson.
Jeff Thompson is standing with a group of low-level workers from his department, laughing, their drinks nearly empty and not for the first time from what I can tell. They are certainly inebriated. I stand back and study them for a while, planning how to say what I need to say to Thompson without losing my cool. Standing this far away from him, looking at him with my expensive liquor in his hand, wearing off-brand shoes and a suit that he’s worn nearly every day since he started working for me, just changing out the shirt under the jacket, I can’t help but wonder what he does with all of the money I pay him. He certainly doesn’t spend it on his wife. But then, I’m pretty sure I already know. It is my understanding that he has a pretty serious addiction to pornography. That can get costly, once a person is entangled. I can’t help but wonder if perhaps he is also paying for sex.Why he would do that when his wife is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, I can’t say, but he has
I am not very hungry, even though the steak and potatoes Cindy has kindly brought to me taste wonderful. I make myself take a few bites as she sits on the sofa near me, making casual conversation. She has asked me about when I met Jeff and where we moved here from, and I have answered her between bites. Now, after four or five pieces of steak, I am nearing my limit. I’m nervous, and it’s difficult to eat something so heavy on a jittery stomach.“Mr. Merriweather was very kind to provide dinner for me,” I say, thinking it might be time to set my fork aside. I look her in the eyes to see if she understands what I am getting at.“He is very thoughtful,” she agrees. “Don’t feel obligated to eat all of it, though. If you’re finished, I’ll have it taken away.”“Do you mind?” It seems so strange to me to have someone waiting on me. I’m not used to it at all. I can’t remember the last time anyone did anything for me.“Not at all,” she says with a smile. Cindy stands and goes to the door she’d
“Just get in the car, and don’t say a word,” Jeff tells me as we exit Merriweather Towers. He has me by the arm, and even though he’s not quite squeezing tightly enough to hurt me, it isn’t comfortable either.I’m not exactly sure why he’s mad at me, though I can think of several reasons. I didn’t stay outside as he had ordered me to. I had interacted with Cindy and her friends as she’d taken me around the party. Though I had tried to keep to myself and be as quiet as possible, I had been forced to greet people, to shake their hands and be polite. I know Jeff doesn’t like it when I touch men, even to shake their hands, but I couldn’t be rude and ignore an outstretched hand, could I? Jeff doesn’t like it when I am rude either.In the taxi, he tells the driver our address and mumbles under his breath about how this will cost a fortune. I feel bad. I know Merriweather doesn’t pay as much as a person would think, which I’ve always thought was odd considering the lavish parties Mr. Merriwe
I hear Jeff’s alarm go off, but it only partially wakes me up. I’m so tired from being out late last night. And from the argument. When we got home, Jeff was so drunk…. He screamed at me for a long time, leaving me in tears. He passed out, and I cried myself to sleep. Despite his anger at me the night before, and the fact that he is clearly hung over, he curses at his phone, turns off the alarm, and promptly pulls his dick out of his briefs.I know the routine. It is the same every morning. I push the blankets off and pull my panties off as he clumsily climbs on top of me. He pushes my nightgown up to my collar bone and sucks hard on my left nipple until it hurts as he presses inside of me. I find a spot on the ceiling to stare at and move my hips a little because he wants me to. I put my hands on his back. He’ll be done soon enough.It takes a little longer this time than normal because Jeff still has alcohol in his system. His dick is small anyway, but when he is drunk or hungover,
Springer followed Jeff and Julia Thompson home last night to report on how he was treating his wife. I had him hang around outside of their apartment. He could hear Jeff screaming at her for quite some time in his drunken slur, and he thought he heard him strike her as well. When I sent him back this morning to collect Jeff, it was mostly because I wanted to see if there was evidence of that strike. In the car on the way to work, Springer calls me and tells me he has seen a red mark across Julia’s cheek.I am furious.Waiting in my office, I tell Cindy not to let anyone in to see me. I wanted to speak to Thompson first thing in the morning, but even though I have sent a car to bring him to work so that he doesn’t have to fool with public transportation, he is running behind.Pacing back and forth in front of my desk, I try to get a hold of myself. I have practiced what I intend to say to him several times, but I am still worried about how it may come out. Thompson is an asshole, and t
Jeff Thompson rushes into my office like a child hurrying in to see the principal before he gets in bigger trouble for acting out in class. It’s too late for Thompson to change his behavior now to avoid punishment, but then, what I have in mind gets him off of the hook for all of his mistakes anyway, assuming he goes along with it, assuming his wife does not decline. If that’s the case, he’s in bigger trouble than he knows.“Mr. Merriweather, sir,” he says, offering me his hand. “I’m so sorry I’m running behind. The company car you sent was caught in traffic.”I arch an eyebrow at him. Does he really think I’m not aware that the reason he is late is because he didn’t even get into the car until a few minutes before he was meant to be here? I will not have that discussion with him, though. “Have a seat, Thompson,” I tell him, declining to shake his hand as I can’t force myself to do so at the moment.He drops his hand, drags it along his suit pants like there’s something wrong with it,
Today has been a different day than most. Almost every day of my life is exactly the same as the last day, so it is odd that I have broken from that norm. I ate my husband’s breakfast. I took a shower and fixed my hair, even putting on a little makeup. I put on a nice outfit, as if I had someplace to go. I didn’t. But for some reason, I felt a little more valuable than I had in a while, and I guess Braxton Merriweather had something to do with that, even if he doesn’t know it.Even though I look nicer than normal and had eaten better than on an average day, I still have chores to do. I am washing the dishes when my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, but I decide to answer anyway, something unusual for me. I think I may as well keep up this unusual day with an unusual telephone conversation.I had no idea at the time just how right I would be.“Hello?” I say as I drop my sponge into the sink and dry my hands, nestling the phone between my neck and my shoulder.“Hello. Is this M
I stare at the document on the coffee table in front of the couch in my office. Jeff Thompson’s signature is on the document, as is my own, but there is one name missing. I have no idea whether or not Julia will sign it. If she doesn’t, Jeff Thompson will be looking for a new job soon. If she does, that still doesn’t guarantee I will finally get what I want. Which is her. She’s all I’ve wanted for months, and I am so close now to finally having her in my arms. But there is still a good chance she will turn me down, so as I wait for Springer to return with her to the office, I try to think about something else, anything else. It is difficult. I have presented thousands of contracts over the years, but this agreement is the only one that has ever had me feeling the way that I do now.A buzz alerts me to the fact that Cindy has news for me. “Yes?” I call to her.“Mr. Springer has arrived and is on his way to your office,” she says over the speaker on my desk.“Thank you,” I say, and she