The boss is completely oblivious to everyone and everything. It’s a good thing I’m on the case otherwise he’d probably drive into a tree or stroll across a freeway; I mean, the guy just isn’t there. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s floating on a sea of happiness with this dumb-ass grin plastered across his GQ face. Fucking nauseating.
Yeah, yeah, I know: we’ve all been there. Too fucked up by a woman to think straight but I never thought I’d see Grey going all gooey-eyed. What is it about this Steele kid? She’s beautiful and all, any fool can see that, but the boss has had a lot of beautiful women throw themselves at him. Frankly, the boss has had a lot of beautiful women, period. So what’s special about this one? Maybe because she doesn’t throw herself at him and she doesn’t say ‘how high’ when he yells ‘jump’. Whatever.
At any rate, he’s too wound up to work, so I pull on my sweats and we head off around the nearest park and put in the miles. And let’s face it, being stuck in Portland, he’s not the only one who’s feeling sexually frustrated.
By the time we get back the red Audi A3 that I ordered has arrived. He looks at it briefly and nods. Yeah, a brand new, 40,000 bucks worth of car, and it barely rates a second look.
All I want to do is have a beer and a burger; no more fancy hotel food. Fuck, I miss Gail’s cooking. She knows how to please a man: in so many ways.
I have to take a rain-check on the beer because I’m officially still on duty and at this moment in time the boss’s plans are changing from moment to moment. I doubt Miss Steele is aware of it, but she’s seriously fucking up my social life.
Sure enough, just after 7.30pm, the boss phones to say I’m wanted; he’s going over to her apartment. And he’s carrying a bottle of chilled champagne that he’s ordered from the hotel.
When we get in the little, red coupé I can see the valet smiling to himself. Fuck! Does this look like a date? I have to admit that it probably does. Hell, you’d think I’d be used to this by now.
We drive the six miles in silence. The boss is no Chatty Cathy, thank fuck.
When we get to Miss Steele’s apartment I hand him the car key and then phone for a cab. I have to go back and pick up the SUV; so it doesn’t look like he’s planning on staying the night.
I watch from across the road as she opens the door for him; her shy smile would melt the hardest heart – the boss doesn’t stand a chance. Yep, they look like a couple of kids on date-night, if kids could afford top dollar champagne and a spanking new Audi A3. Did I say ‘spanking’? Just a slip of the tongue, so to speak.
The cab arrives and I pick up the SUV from the Heathman. I treat myself to that burger I’ve been craving for – eating it outside the car, of course. I wonder idly when was the last time the boss ate a good ole American greasy, salty burger. Not since I’ve known him, that’s for sure.
Half an hour later, I’m back outside Miss Steele’s.
Aw hell; I could be sitting outside for hours. I hope he’s in the mood for a quick screw, but the champagne would suggest otherwise. Do you know how fucking uncomfortable it is trying to sleep upright in a car? Even the SUV? Yeah, cue the violins.
To pass the time, I call Gail.
And just the way she says my name…
“What are you doing, baby?”
“Not much. Just reading a book. You?”
“I’m sitting outside a certain Miss Steele’s apartment waiting for the boss to… well, just waiting for the boss.”
There’s a brief pause. “I see.”
“You know, Gail, I’d say he’s got it bad. You should have seen him today at her graduation ceremony: he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. And every time another man went near her, I thought I was going to end up breaking up a fight. He’s really into her, that’s for sure. I’ve never seen him like this.”
“Do you think… do you think this girl will be… different?” Gail uses the words tentatively, searchingly.
“Maybe. I mean, he’s at her apartment now… oh, wait a minute, they’re coming out… he’s showing her the Audi. Wow, she looks really pissed!”
“Actually she looks really fucking angry.”
“Oh, Jason! You know what this means, don’t you?!” Gail splutters.
“She doesn’t like Audis?”
“No, silly! She doesn’t like expensive gifts; she doesn’t want him for his money! Oh, this is wonderful!”
I’m not so sure. “Don’t you like expensive gifts?” I’m thinking of the Victoria’s Secret underwear I bought her that I really haven’t had as much fun from as I hope to.
“Jason – I love having gifts from you; you also know I don’t like you wasting your money on me… you’re going all moody on me, I can tell! Just stop it!”
“I like buying you presents, Gail. What’s wrong with that? It’s my money to waste… although I don’t see it as wasting it…”
She sighs. “What are they doing now?”
“Talking. Well, she’s talking; he’s looking kinda whipped… er, I mean… She still looks mad. Oh, hold on, she’s kissing him on the cheek.”
“Oh!” Gail sighs. “That’s so sweet! Oh, I like this girl, Jason. She’s different. What are they doing now?”
“Er… you really want a description? He looks like he’s forgotten they’re outside. Good thing there are no fucking reporters about. No, wait, it’s ok; he’s dragging her back into the apartment. I think I could be here a while.”
“I’m sorry you have to wait outside. Have you had something to eat?”
“Yeah, I grabbed a burger.”
“That’s not very healthy!”
I roll my eyes. “Tasted good.”
“Hmm! Are you trying to make me mad?”
“Is it working?”
“How mad are you, baby?”
“I’ll show you when you get back.”
“Any idea when that will be?” she continues.
“Tomorrow, sometime. Will you show me how mad you are then?”
She laughs. “Goodnight, Jason!”
I lean back in the seat, a smile on my face.
A couple of hours I’m sleeping with my eyes open when I see the boss leaving the apartment. He leans down to kiss the girl and when he turns to face me he looks so fucking happy. Her expression is harder to read; she looks… well, I’m no expert, but I’d say she looks like she’s going to cry. Oh fuck. What’s he done to her? And for a moment I feel angry but I know it’s none of my business. I’m paid for it to be none of my business.
He asks me to put on some music so we ride back to the Heathman listening to Satie’s Gymnopédie. I didn’t know jack-shit about classical music until I started working for Grey, but some of it’s really good. I wouldn’t admit that to my old platoon buddies, but I’ve got a bit of a thing for Puccini. Which reminds me, I have to pick up the tickets for me and Gail to go see Madame Butterfly. It’s on at the Seattle Opera House – the boss has let us use his private box. The bastard can be generous. It wasn’t like I even asked him; he came into my office one day and saw me looking at the program; next thing I know the fucking manager is phoning me up to ask which night is convenient for me and for Mrs Taylor. I really liked the sound of that! I guess it’s the boss’s little joke.
He just does stuff like that – never says a word. I know he’s filthy rich, so it’s not the money, it’s the fact that he notices. Part of me wonders if it’s not just to keep me sweet because he doesn’t want to have to go look for another sucker to live in his weird twilight world. But the side of me that’s being trained by Gail thinks it because he’s good. That’s the word she uses about him: good.
I’m feeling considerably less charitable when my fucking Blackberry is buzzing in my ear shortly after midnight waking me from a really good dream about Gail and a warehouse full of Victoria’s Secret lingerie.
“I’m going out, Taylor. I’ll take the R8 and I’ll be gone all night. Just letting you know.”
What the fuck?
“Yes, sir. You’ve scheduled a breakfast meeting in the conference suite at 8am.”
“Yes, thank you, Taylor,” he says irritably.
Just doing my job, boss.
The call ends and I can guess where he’s going: back to Miss Steele’s. Jeez! I wish one of them would make up their minds what’s going on, because it’s playing havoc with my sleep patterns let alone love life.
I throw the Blackberry on top of a heap of clothes on the floor and pass out again.
* * * *
At 7am there’s still no sign of the boss. I’ve been ready, showered and shaved 45 minutes ago but he’s a no-show. I check the GPS on my Blackberry; the R8 is still outside Miss Steele’s. I think about calling him but figure I’d like to keep my job a bit longer. At 7.45am the suits start to arrive for the meeting. I show them into the conference room and make sure they’ve got coffee and Danish to keep them happy.
I check the GPS; he’s on the move. At last! Cutting it fine, Mr Grey.
He strolls in five minutes late, still wearing his jeans and shirt from last night and is unshaved… with a huge fucking smile on his face.
Miss Steele certainly seems to be having a beneficial effect on him.
The suits aren’t entirely sure what to make of this. They do the smart thing and ignore it.
I’ve brought his laptop to the conference suite knowing that he’ll need it. Then I position myself behind him so I have a clear view of the door and prepare to be bored half to death. I also happen to have a clear view of his laptop and I can tell you – he’s not as entirely engrossed in NASDAQ as it appears. In fact, if I didn’t know better, which I don’t, I’d say he spends the entire meeting sending emails to little Miss Steele. Mind on the job, boss! For fucks sake, at this rate he’ll end up selling Grey Enterprises to Azerbaijan by accident.
By 9am he’s bored again and winds up the meeting. Waving away the minions, he breezes off to have a shower, but not before informing me that my job description now includes selling Miss Steele’s ancient Beetle. Oh, come on!
So at 5.45pm I knock on Miss Steele’s door to collect her keys for the old metal monster.
“Miss Steele, I’ve come for your car.”
She looks surprised and embarrassed.
“Oh, yes, of course. Come in, I’ll grab the keys.”
The apartment is small and bare, with packing boxes everywhere. She’s moving? I guess that makes sense, now that she’s graduated and all. I have a sudden epiphany: anyone want to bet me that she’s not moving to Seattle? Yeah, right.
She hands me the keys and we walk to her car. I wonder what sort of shit she keeps in her glove box. I know what Gail keeps in hers: sunglasses, spare lipstick, hairbrush and roadmap. But all Miss Steele takes out is a flashlight. I find that oddly touching and I wonder if her stepfather gave it to her. He seems like the kind of guy who’d make sure she’d have a flashlight.
She strokes the car and looks at it sadly. Yeah, I felt like that about my first car, too. Gail was right; this kid really doesn’t care about Grey’s money. She prefers her Beetle to the shiny red Audi. Crazy as it might sound, given all the boss’s weird shit, she sees through that and likes him for himself. Maybe there is hope for them.
Jeez! I’ll be singing about fucking rainbows in a minute! Get a grip; you were a Marine!
“How long have you worked for Mr Grey?” she says softly.
“Four years, Miss Steele.”
I can tell her that much.
She gets that look, as if she wants to ask me his life story. I have to cut her off, but I can tell her the truth, too; or one version of the truth.
“He’s a good man, Miss Steele.”
I climb in the Beetle, wrestle the heavy steering and drive away.
The boss has told me to take the car to the nearest scrap dealer but this car is a classic. I know a guy who knows a guy and he’s offered me $5,000 cash. It’s a good price.
Twenty minutes later with the bills stuffed in my wallet, I’m back at the Heathman. Room service have checked us out so all I have to do is watch as the valet loads the luggage into the SUV. The boss has gone ahead in the R8.
It’s nearly eleven by the time I get back to Escala. I’m hungry and tired and eager to see my girl. But first I put the five grand in an envelope and hand it to the boss.
I can see him sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, the laptop open in front of him. He’s wearing his tux: oh right, another fundraiser.
“What?” he snarls when I knock on his study door.
His Miss Steele-high hasn’t lasted: situation normal, it seems.
“The money for Miss Steele’s vee-dub. The Beetle, sir. Five thousand.”
He looks surprised.
“It was worth that much as scrap?”
“Not quite, sir. It’s a classic. I sold it on to a collector.”
“Someone paid money for that heap of shit?”
I stare back, expressionless. It’s a look every recruit learns in their first week, but with Grey I can look him in the eye.
“Ok, Taylor. I won’t need you again tonight.”
Leaving his study, I hear his cell ring.
“Hi,” he says softly.
I’m guessing by the dopey tone of his voice it’s Miss Steele on the phone; she’s doing a good job of taming the savage beast, by the sound of it, so I head to the staff quarters.
Gail is asleep on the couch; I guess she got tired waiting for me. God, she looks so beautiful, so peaceful. And that’s what she makes me feel: peaceful deep inside. And also fucking horny.
I lean down and stroke her cheek. “Hey, baby.”
Her eyes flutter open. “Oh, Jason! You’re back! Are you hungry? I’ve got some…”
But I don’t let her finish. My mouth is on hers, learning the shape of her lips again, remembering; breathing her breath. She sighs deeply and the sound cascades through me, heating every cell of my body.
I scoop her up into my arms and she laughs.
“Jason! Can we have a conversation first?!”
I don’t think so: I plan doing all my talking with my body.
Kicking the bedroom door open, I throw her onto the bed. She’s breathless, smiling up at me. “Talking later then?”
I throw my jacket on the floor, kick off my shoes and sink down next to her. She leans up on one elbow and pushes on my chest so I’m lying flat on the bed. Then she hitches up her skirt and throws one leg across so she’s sitting on me.
“I think that tie should come off!”
With aching slowness she undoes my tie and unwinds it gently from my collar. Then she unbuttons my shirt and pulls it open. It feels so fucking good to have her hands on me; I’ve missed her touch.
She slides her hands across my chest, running her fingers through the hair and pulling, hard. Then she leans forward so her breasts are pushed against me and she skims her teeth up my neck. I run my hands around her waist and cup her delicious ass, pushing the skirt further up until it’s bunched around her hips.
“You’re wearing stockings.”
“A welcome home present,” she breathes into my neck.
“Can I unwrap it now?”
“Well, I’m not waiting until Christmas,” she laughs gently.
She kneels up so I can pull her panties down. I grip her thighs and run my fingers up the inside of her legs, enjoying the sensation of flesh under silk. Then I roll suddenly and push her back against the quilt.
I pull her panties all the way down and toss them away. Somehow they catch on the door handle and hang there like the flag of a defeated army.
She grabs hold of my wrist and undoes first one cuff, then the other and pushes the shirt off my shoulders, running her nails down my back and all the way up again.
“Aaagh!” Fuck! That feels good!
She rubs her hands against my erection hard, making me gasp. “Fuck, Gail!”
She smiles but doesn’t speak and now I want her very badly. I pull off my socks, because let’s face it, what kind of low-life fucks with his socks on, and then she helps me drag off my trousers and boxers.
She pulls me towards her and runs her finger over my tip, swirling it round, pushing me down towards her.
I’m inside her with one swift, fierce movement and she cries out, her back arching off the bed. Oh hell! I wanted to do this slowly but now I can’t help myself. I’m pounding into her and her hips rise to meet me, her nails clawing at my back, her mouth open, her eyes closed. I can feel the silk stockings as she locks her legs around my waist, grasping me tightly. I try to hold back to make it last longer but she’s too soft, too sweet, too fucking wet, and I come quickly, my muscles rigid.
I collapse on top of her, my weight supported on my forearms and she pulls me tightly to her so I can feel the buttons of her shirt pushing into my bare chest.
I pull out of her gently and lie next to her.
“Can I take my skirt off now?” she says with a smile.
It’s still bunched around her waist, her beautiful legs clad in silk. Hell, she’s so fucking sexy!
“Keep it on,” I mutter as I lean over to kiss her, my erection lengthening again, pushing against her hip.
“Already?” she says with a soft laugh.
“I’ve been away all week, Mrs Jones; that’s a lot of lost time to make up for. I believe you owe me at least six more fucks.”
“Are we keeping score, Mr Taylor?”
“Just keeping the staff happy, Mrs Jones.”
She hits me playfully. “Well, you haven’t done a bad job so far, Mr Taylor, but I’ll give you your appraisal later.”
“I’ll take whatever you’ve got, baby. And we’ve got all night.”
Then my mouth closes on hers and she bites my lip – hard.
* * * *
I really did want to talk to Jason but we seem to have got sidetracked. That happens a lot and right now he’s a man on a mission. Seeing the hot desire in his eyes just turns me on in ways I can’t explain. And boy, did I mention stamina? If Jason has been away for 24 hours or more I can expect a session that is Pilates, Yoga, Zumba and good old fashioned aerobics all rolled into one.
Last weekend Allison asked me at the dinner table how I’ve managed to keep my figure and what I do to work out. I nearly choked on my mashed potatoes! The answer isn’t one I felt I could share.
I wish she liked Jason but after four years I don’t think that’s going to change. She says he’s dangerous: that because of his job he’s addicted to danger. I really hope that’s not true but sometimes, just sometimes I think she might be right.
But at this moment in time, I push away all thoughts and concentrate on my man. Ok, one more thought, I’m going to have to send this skirt for dry cleaning – again!
His mouth closes on mine and I tug his lower lip with my teeth and bite down, hard. He groans and runs his hands up my legs, over my skirt and up to my shirt. He kneels up and opens the first two buttons and runs his tongue between my cleavage, nuzzling me, and I can feel the bristles on my skin. I’m going to be red from stubble rash after all this; one more reason for my uniform of shirt and skirt!
He undoes the rest of the buttons and pulls the shirt out of my waistband. Then he tugs me into a sitting position and slides it off, the material pooling on the floor with the rest of our clothes. He sits behind me and leans against the headboard, pulling me between his legs, then he starts to give me the most delicious massage, deep into my shoulder and neck muscles. His strong, supple fingers ease away all the remaining tension of the last week, then he runs his tongue up the back of my neck and his fingers reach round and find their way into the cups of my bra. He massages my breasts and I lean back against him and rest my head on his neck.
He unhooks my bra and slips it off.
“I’m really going to have to take this skirt off, Jason; it’s getting in the way.”
“Ok,” he agrees reluctantly, “but leave the stockings on.”
What is it with men and stockings? I smile to myself, but I don’t mind. I stand up and drop the very wrinkled skirt to the floor. Then I look down at my man.
His skin is a light, golden brown that I know quickly darkens in the sun. He’s beautifully toned with long, runners legs, muscled stomach and chest and strong arms that even Allison can’t deny are really just fabulous.
His hair, as always shaved into a buzz-cut, is a pelt, a warm fur that I love to stroke and run my fingers through. His eyes are dark, often unreadable, but now warm and filled with humor and desire.
Yes, we can do the talking tomorrow, or next week or next year…