Taking Her Boss (3 page)

I left him there, a puddle of sated man, and slipped into the bathroom, packed all of my toys in my overnight kit and slipped back into my jeans and T-shirt. When I came out of the bathroom, he was sitting on the bed, still pantless, his cock docile and quiet between a set of well-toned thighs. I picked up my purse from the dresser and headed to the door.

“Clean up this mess before you leave,” I decreed as I stood near the door. He nodded without looking at me. I stepped out into the night. There were still a couple of kids and their parents around the pool. I could hear the splash as someone jumped in, the lull of conversation, a woman’s laugh and the clink of glasses. I pulled the door closed and made my way back to my car.

Work was hazy with cubist edges and a fluorescent glare; I wandered around on autopilot. I was no Bruce Davies; I couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t something really strange going on between me and my boss. I couldn’t look at him without remembering the size and length of him, the hardness of his thighs and the firmness of backside. I would sit across from him as he sat behind his desk scanning a storyboard while I took notes, and the muscles of my sex would clinch. A dampness would creep between my legs and I’d think of little scenarios that we could act out right there on his desk with my legs wrapped around his head. I was afraid that he could sense my arousal, smell me as I sat across from him. But he was as stoic as ever. Well, not really stoic, his spirits were good, and he was quite personable to everyone he encountered. But he seemed unfazed by our episodes and impervious to my discomfort. Okay then, it was me. I had to learn to cope or to desist. I chose the latter. Oh, it had been fun, the intrigue, the fulfillment of fantasies, but I wasn’t cut out for the aftermath, the lingering arousal, and yes, the guilt.

A series of cold showers and a call from Alex a week later helped me to stick to my guns. We had dinner and an evening of normal but very hot sex in his hotel room followed by a stiff morning ride before he had the town car drop me home to get dressed for work. Alex, unlike Bruce, was not one to ignore a night of hot sex.

Claire informed me that Bruce had been looking for me so I headed into his office as soon as I dropped my purse and briefcase on my desk. Alex was sitting at the circular table near the rear of Bruce’s office. Bruce stood over a bottle of Dom Pérignon in a bucket of ice. He was twisting the corkscrew into the bottle as I walked in.

“We’re celebrating,” Bruce said to me. “Alex wanted to wait for you.”

“You’re pleased with the campaign?” I asked Alex.

He actually stood up, took my hand and drew me to the table to stand between the two of them.

“He’s so pleased that he’s giving us a crack at the shoes and clothing lines.” Bruce popped the cork and poured the wine into the waiting glasses.

“It means I’ll have to visit more often,” he said, and leaned in to plant a kiss that ended up getting lost somewhere in my hair because I tried to dodge it under the guise of reaching for the champagne glass that Bruce held out to me.

Alex laughed, “We have nothing to hide from Bruce. He’s seen us at our most vulnerable.”

Bruce sipped from his glass, but said nothing.

There was logic to that, but Alex was not aware of all that had transpired between me and Bruce since that night in my office. But Bruce remained silent. Maybe it didn’t matter to him. Maybe he expected a woman who orchestrated clandestine perversions to have multiple lovers. Maybe he was fine with it as long as he got his share.

“To a long and fruitful alliance.” Bruce held his glass out to ours. The glasses clinked. I drained mine and held it out for a refill. Maybe he thought this was normal for me. I drained the second glass.

“I’d better get back to work,” I said, putting my glass down on the table.

“I thought we’d have breakfast,” Alex said, capturing my hand again.

“I’ve got to see legal about the contracts,” I adlibbed.

“Bruce won’t mind if you come away with me for a few hours,” Alex coaxed. He directed his words at Bruce, but continued to look at me.

“There are a few things pending that require Glory’s touch.” Bruce’s words were a balm. “Maybe she could issue you a rain check.”

“Tonight,” Alex said, using my captured hand to draw me to him.

“I’ll call you when I’m done,” I said as I slipped my hand out of his, offered him a placating smile and headed back to my office. Enough already. Alex stayed another week to oversee the opening of a new store, an uptown boutique that featured his company’s high-end line. It kept him busy and he didn’t seem to even notice that I had been dodging him. When I showed up to represent the agency at the store’s inauguration, he was affable and warm. I rewarded his nonchalance by fucking him senseless in the back of the limousine as we took a long ride along the riverfront and through the park. He was so attentive that I was sorry I had put him off all week. But I wasn’t too sad when I rode with him to the airport to see him off. He held me in his arms and nuzzled my neck as the chauffeur pulled his luggage from the trunk. It felt good to bask in the shelter of his body, the heat of his chest pressed against my cheek. He is an affectionate man, a good man, and I felt sated, normal. I could go back to my life, the way it was before Mr. Davies became Bruce, before that night.

“Glory!” I could hear him through the door. I pretended not to, but his bellow was followed by the long shadow of his frame as it filled the doorway. “Why haven’t you followed up on this?” He waved a folder. “You said you wanted more responsibility. I give it to you, and this is what happens.” He slid the folder onto my desk and stormed back to his. I was hoping that he would slam the door behind him, but he left it open suggesting that he wasn’t quite finished with his rant. I waited, expecting a follow-up, but he’d shifted his ire to Claire. I could hear him demanding that she stay after to finish the correspondence she’d failed to complete. “I wanted to sign them before I leave,” he fumed. Claire apologized, explaining that he’d only given them to her an hour ago. “Be that as it may,” he said, ignoring her reasoning, “I want them on my desk first thing in the morning so they can go out with the morning mail.” I looked at the folder he’d given me. Just as I suspected, it was awaiting an adjusted budget. Accounting had promised to email it to me within the week. I sent Somers, the department manager, a reminder, turned off my computer, grabbed my sweater and headed out the door.

I mouthed goodbye to Claire, and she tilted her head in Davies’s direction and mouthed, “What’s his problem?” I shrugged and double-timed it to the elevator. I didn’t want to have to ride down with him, but I wasn’t fast enough. I was standing there pushing the button for the third time when he came up behind me.

“Long day,” he said.

“Yeah,” I agreed, and pushed the button again.

“A drink?” he asked.

“I’m tired,” I offered, still with my back to him.

“Just one,” he said, and then added, “I want to talk.”

“Where?”

“Dottie’s.”

“Okay.”

He followed me in silence onto the elevator. Neither of us said a word as we left the building side by side and walked the two blocks down the street to the seedy little bar that still boasted the tall oak booths that must have been Dottie’s grandfather’s pride and joy when it had opened in the 1940s. The bar, which according to Dottie had been named for her grandmother, was known for its burgers, and did a brisk lunch business with the office workers in the area. At night, the crowd was a bit more colorful, more Dickies and less Brooks Brothers. When we got there, the place was almost empty. A couple of guys nursed drinks at the bar, and there was one guy eating a burger with his beer in one of the front booths. We took the booth all the way in the back. Bruce ordered burgers for both of us, beer for him, and vodka and cranberry juice for me. It was what we always had at Dottie’s. “Do you want fries?” he asked. I shook my head no. The waiter disappeared with our order.

Bruce loosened his tie. “It’s been over a month, Glory,” he said as though we had been in the midst of a conversation.

The waiter brought our drinks. He placed the cocktail napkins in front of us then sat the drinks on them. I thanked him and he was gone. I removed the tiny straw and sipped my drink.

“Is it Alex?” he asked.

“No,” I said, and took another sip.

“I don’t like it,” he said as though I hadn’t spoken, “but I can live with it. I just don’t like being shut out.”

“It’s not Alex. It just makes me uncomfortable.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. He drank from his glass, and finally asked, “What makes you uncomfortable?”

“It’s just not me.” I looked at him, into his eyes so he could see how I felt.

“But you’re so good at it.” I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to cover up his apprehension or whether he was trying to blow it off.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He stroked his glass as he watched me. After a moment of silence, he reached over and touched the back of my hand. I let him. “We don’t have to play the games all the time,” he offered.

I must have looked as if I was considering it because he added, “We could take turns. You could tell me what you need.”

The waiter came with our food. We sat back and let him slide our plates onto the table. The young man asked the cursory, “Do you need anything else,” but scurried away when Bruce shook his head and turned his attention back to me.

I doctored my burger, mustard, ketchup, relish, and passed the condiments to Bruce who began the process. It was good. I chewed and smiled at Bruce. He bit his and smiled back. We ate in silence, using our napkins liberally and sipping our drinks between bites. When we finished, Bruce handed the waiter our empty plates and ordered more drinks. I sat back feeling comfortably full and relaxed.

“Come home with me tonight,” Bruce suggested.

I sat up. “I don’t think so,” I said, and more firmly added, “Not tonight.”

“Why? It isn’t as though there is someone at home waiting for you?”

“I’m just not ready.”

“Okay,” he said as the waiter placed our drinks in front of us.

“Okay,” I said.

His head jerked up.

“No. I mean I’m glad you’re okay with it.”

He leaned forward. “I
can
be the aggressor. Do you want me to be the aggressor?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I thought you said okay.”

“It’s just that I know that sometimes women like…” He stopped as though he was afraid to finish.

“To be attacked?” I laughed outright.

“To be seduced,” he corrected.

“Women are the only ones that suffer this affliction?”

“You have the advantage here because I am terribly attracted to you, and I haven’t been with anyone since we were together. It’s difficult—” he laughed and shook his head “—to think, with you sitting there.”

“I’d better go,” I said as I gathered my things. “It’s getting late.”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Stay. Finish your drink.” I held my clutch in my hand. Resting both clutch and hand on the table, I began scooting out of the booth. He reached over, pulled the little purse out of my hand, and placed it on the seat next to him.
No he didn’t.
The move completely deflated me. I sat back.

“Stay. Just for a while,” he said again, his voice soft, placating. “Finish your drink.”

“All you had to do was ask.”

“Really.” His smile was wry, as if he didn’t believe me. I knew what he was thinking.
If that were true, you would have come home with me.
But, he didn’t ask again.

“Okay,” he said, and stood up, still holding my bag. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

I stood up. After pulling some bills from his pocket and tossing them onto the table, he took my sweater and draped it over my shoulders before handing me my purse.

We tried to make small talk about the office and new accounts, but by the time we reached the parking structure we had both sank into our own thoughts. His hand rested low on my back as we entered the structure. It would have been a chivalrous thing to do, but it felt as though he was doing it more for himself than for me, as if he was giving in to his need to touch me. His hand was large and hot and burned through the cotton of my dress. I sped up a little to relieve some of the tension, but he kept pace with me and for a minute, it was as though we were both hurrying to get somewhere.

It was late. The garage, lit intermittently with fluorescent lights, was dim. It was always darkest near my car, which was parked in a corner near the elevator. I was glad Bruce was here. He stood over me. His body a half-circle fortress around mine as we waited. We took the elevator up to the floor reserved for Davies and Birch. A concrete wall separated my car from the glass enclosure that housed the elevator, a gray slab that blocked out light and created a blind spot that hid my parking space from the protective eyes of the security camera. Bruce’s and Birch’s cars were parked to the right, behind the other concrete wall in the spaces reserved for the executives. Because we worked for Bruce, Claire and I were given optimum spaces next to the elevator. Birch’s assistants were in the same bank, next to me and Claire. It had been a not so secret bone of contention to some of the higher earning account execs and department managers, but Bruce had dismissed their bickering and innuendoes. When one of the newer execs complained that he’d never worked for a company that gave secretaries better parking spots than the high rollers, Bruce had simply said, “They’re not secretaries. They keep me functioning at
my best. I need them near and on time.” Since then, the guys have kept their comments to themselves.

He took my hand as we left the enclosure, and led the way to my car. “I could come home with you,” he said as he pressed me back against the car door and his mouth against mine. It was good. He tasted wet like beer and hot burger and man. He leaned in and my hip nudged the door handle. I kissed him back. He groaned and pressed his luck allowing a hand to stray behind my back and down to cup my bottom. The hard notch of him pushed into my waist and belly. I shoved at him. His hand was under the skirt of my dress. I shoved him again, but not with much force. His hand moved to the elastic waist of my panties and stopped. His mouth still claimed mine, his tongue a comfortable weight hovering at the entrance and teasing the inside of my lips.