I hoped a fleet of lawyers wouldn't cover his nice ass. "Mom, I'll be just fine. Besides, it's only for a week, remember? Then everything will go back to the way it was." Including me having to worry about college books and rent payment.
"We can only hope for as much." Mom sighed, and I could just imagine her rubbing the bridge of her nose. "But now that I know you're all right, I'm going to go lie down. Talk to you later, sweety."
"Bye, Mom." I was relieved when the call ended.
I tossed the phone into my dingy chair and collapsed on the dingy couch. The ugly, water-stained ceiling greeted me, but I couldn't make pictures out of it today. The only image in my mind was of those bright blue eyes staring at me intensely. I reached up and lightly touched my lips; I could still feel the heat of his mouth against mine. Just thinking about that passionate kiss made me hot and needy. I could just imagine all those solid muscles on his chest pushing against me as he pinned me to his bed. Our grunts and groans would fill the air, and our hands would be all over each other, touching and caressing in our most sensitive spots. He'd take me and pound his thick, stiff manhood into me. I'd feel that stirring inside me; that moment of fulfillment when my whole body shook with the rapture only he could give me.
I groaned and rolled onto my side; I had to stop thinking about that stuff. He was my boss, I was the hired help, and even that was only going to last a week; correction, six days. Day one was already over, and I'd learned that his family and old acquaintances were a few coins short of a full piggy bank, and that he was very much attracted to me.
"Come on, Trix, you know this isn't going to work," I muttered to myself. "He's a rich man and you're not any of those, so stop thinking about him."
My mind betrayed me by conjuring up images of him completely naked. My face flushed, and I grabbed a nearby pillow and stuffed it over my head. Damn my mind to hell in a hand basket. I had to get over this infatuation by tomorrow or things were going to be worse for me.
The next day I still wasn't quite over my I-love-my-boss mindset, and went to his house with dread mixed with schoolgirl glee. I knocked and he answered with a smile on his face. I nearly melted on the spot, but kept myself together by imagining my putty self in my strong mold of self-confidence and abstinence. "You don't have to knock. You work here now," he pointed out to me.
I shrugged. "It's still your house," I countered.
"Yes, I suppose so," he agreed. He stepped aside and I stepped inside.
"So what's on the agenda today?" I asked him.
He pulled out the little black book, and I looked over the details. There were more phone calls, and they were written in red ink. "This looks serious," I told him.
Benson sighed and gave a nod. "It is, but I hope to be laughing at myself tomorrow for worrying so much about it today."
I handed back the book. "So what do I need to do in these phone calls? Take your side of the conversation and make up my own story for the other line?" I teased him.
He smirked, and shook his head. "No, but that would be tempting to see what you would come up with."
"Ah, you say that now, but you've never seen my creative stories," I countered.
"Blood-chilling gore?" he guessed.
"Something far worse."
"Suspenseful murders?"
"Even more deadly."
He laughed. "I give up, what are your creative stories about?"
I leaned in toward him with my face a mask of fear and horror. "Sparkling unicorns."
Benson blinked in bewilderment. "You're joking."
I grinned. "If I was joking I would have made a somebody-walks-into-a-bar joke."
"Then you're right, that would be terrifying and I don't think I would want to read it."
I sighed and shrugged. "Nobody knows the sufferings of a starving artist."
He looked over my solid frame with no sign of this starvation I spoke of. "You're right, a lot of people wouldn't know it from looking at you."
"Hardy-har-har," I quipped. "But you still haven't answered my question."
"What was the question?"
"What am I supposed to do while you have all these phone conversations?"
He grinned; it was an evil, you'll-regret-asking-that kind of grin. He gestured with his finger to follow him, and I obeyed him with all the humor of a funeral march. He led me down the hall to the study and over to the desk, where sat a pile of paperwork in folders. "This is what you need to do."
I nervously glanced over the papers. "They need burning?"
Benson looked alarmed until he realized I was joking, which was only partly true. "Each of these folders have different assignments. Some you have to call and set up phone appointments between the person and myself, others are to arrange for purchases and sales of stock."
Now I was really nervous. "And your secretary is the one who's supposed to be doing this?"
"Yes."
"And if I make a mistake, will that cause the complete collapse of civilization as we know it?"
"No, and you won't lose my fortune, either," he comforted me. "I don't take big risks on the market, and if I did I would handle the transaction myself."
I relaxed enough to breathe, but not enough to keep wishing I was far away; like in Hawaii. Benson noticed my nervous demeanor and put his hand on the small of my back. I stiffened, and chuckled. "I'm sure you'll do just fine, but how about we go for a walk first?"
I gladly tossed down the papers in my hand. "Sure. I need the fresh air before I dig into this pile of chores."
We went upstairs to the bathroom for the usual lathering, but things were different than yesterday. I rubbed his back and drooled over his body, and my own responded with a deliciously annoying heat. His tall, muscled back tempted me with tantalizing images of us together, embraced and sliding against one another atop the sheets of his bed. I was glad to be seated behind him when my face took on a redder hue.
"You're taking a long time," he murmured. His sultry voice didn't help me, but my inner self squealed.
"I-I just want to be thorough, that's all," I replied. It wasn't a lie, just not the complete truth. The full truth was I wanted to rip off my shirt and bra, and rub myself against his slick back. Before I could stop myself I'd let out a groan. We both stiffened, and the bathroom air turned a notch toward tense. I patted his back and stood. "All done!" I yelled louder than I meant to.
"Not quite," he argued. He turned around and held the bottle out to me. "The front still needs some work."
I gulped so deep my tonsil bounced off my feet. "I-I'm sure you're better at this than I am. You know, practice makes perfect and stuff, so I'll just go get your-"
"After that thorough job on my back I think you're ready for the front," he interrupted me.
I looked down at his smooth, glistening chest. My eyes wandered down farther than I meant and brushed over a certain bulge in his pants. He was affected as badly as me, and my rubbing him anymore wasn't going to help either of us. "N-no, really, I'll just-"
I turned to get at the door, but he grabbed me by the wrist and gently pulled me into his lap. My legs straddled his for the best position, and that plopped my heated spot right on top of his hard manhood. I put my hands on his firm chest and my face lit up like a ten-thousand watt Christmas bulb. "I-I don't think this is a good idea," I stuttered out.
His bright eyes caught my own, and when I shifted he shuddered. No matter how I moved I rubbed up against him, so I stiffened. "I-it's all right," he protested. "I won't do anything you won't like."
That was the problem; I liked everything he did to me. His hands slid up my shirt and massaged my back while he leaned in and pressed soft, heated kisses along my neck. I leaned my head back to allow him a better angle, and bit my lip to repress a moan. "N-not good," I whispered.
"You like it," he softly teased me. Damn it, he was right. I was changing into a pile of malleable flesh, with him as the sculptor.
One of his hands undid the strap of my bra, and slid aroun
d to the front. He brushed away the loose bra and cupped my breast in his hand. His warm, gentle fingers squeezed and massaged my plump flesh, and I encouraged him by leaning into his touch. His caresses were like soft wisps of cool air on a warm summer day. They relaxed and invigorated me, and I found my hands wrapping themselves around the back of his neck and pulling him closer.
His hot lips left a blazing trail of heat up my neck until he captured my mouth in his breath-taking kisses. I ached all over for his touches and ground my hips into him. He grunted and broke off the kiss. His smoldering eyes looked into mine with a need that left me aching for more. "You're making this very hard for me, Angel," he teased.
I was about to make it a little harder. "And that's why we need to stop," I gasped.
His face fell faster than all my previous metaphors combined. "What? Why?"
"We can't do this," I told him.
He wasn't angry, but he was frustrated. "Why not?" he hoarsely whispered.
"Because we're in a bathroom," I reminded him.
"We could-"
I pressed a finger to his lips and shook my head. "You could change the location and we'd still be boss and worker."
He clasped my hand in his, and his eyes had a playful glint in them. "I could fire you right now and solve that problem."
I had to admit that was really tempting, but that wouldn't have solved my money problem. "I'd rather you didn't. It would feel like we're cheating."
Benson sighed and his hard manhood deflated. "All right," he agreed. He reluctantly let me go and I just as reluctantly slid off his lap.
I felt a wet, oily substance on my hands, and glanced down to see my arms up to my bare elbows were covered in sunscreen. "Oh damn."
My comment startled him. "What? What's wrong?"
I held up my glistening hands. "Mind if I use your bath for a few minutes?"
He raised a lecherous eyebrow and smirked. "Sure, but the price is we take one at the same time." I opened my mouth to scold him, but he held up his hand and nodded. "I know, I know. I'll behave and meet you downstairs with your work."
"What about the walk?" I asked him.
He stiffly rose up; his hard-on wasn't quite a soft-on yet. "Perhaps later after I've recovered from your bewitching spell."
CHAPTER 8
I won't bore us both to tears, me literally when I remember those first trying hours, about my on-the-job training. Benson was nice enough to guide me through the first few calls and tell me how to introduce myself as his new secretary, and then I was abandoned to the wolves of Wall Street while he made his own calls. I'll just say that things could have gone horribly worse, and sometimes I thought they had before I managed to stutter out what I wanted and for whom.
After three hours of work I stumbled out of the living room where Benson had put me so our conversations didn't drown out one another. I suspected he didn't want to see me break down at each call. His sharp ears caught my shuffling feet in the hall, and he found me in the kitchen drowning out my stress with a nice, tall glass of water. I caught him leaning against the doorway with his arms folded across his chest and a big grin on his face. "Tough time?" I nodded; my mouth was full of water. "What do they teach kids in college these days?"
I gave myself a big gulp of water before I replied. "How to drink and fall asleep in uncomfortable classroom chairs," I quipped.
"Anything I need to know about?"
"Yeah, one of the ladies said Mr. Somebody couldn't work with any of the times you gave me, so you needed to call him back at some number." He looked alarmed at my lack of specific information, so I waved my hand toward the living room. "I wrote it down."
"In your shorthand?" he teased.
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, but I translated it into English after I was done talking with his secretary," I assured him.
"And did you get through the pile or still need to earn the large salary I'm paying you?" he asked me.
"Got through, and I'll have to add on a stress tax," I replied.
He raised an eyebrow. "Stress tax? Sounds serious."
"And seriously expensive," I added. "It brings my daily fee up to, oh, about a million dollars."
Benson smirked. "Is that all?" He took out his wallet and thumbed through the bills. "Did you want to be paid daily or at the end of the week?"
I drooled at the sight of all those one hundred dollar bills flashing by beneath his thumb. "Whenever's good for you," I whispered.
He stopped his torturing of me, snapped shut the wallet and destroyed my dreams by stuffing the container back into his pocket. "Then I'll wait until the end of the week. That will ensure you stay here that long."
I glared at him. "That's a dirty trick."
He shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. "All's fair in love and wallet."
I faked outrage and insult. "Fine then, be that way. Is there anything else you might want, your Royal Highness?" The moment I saw the lecherous look cross his face I knew I'd made a terrible mistake. "Not that," I scolded him.
Benson sighed. "Then I having nothing more for you to do today, Angel."
I clapped my hands together. "That works great for me because I need to go to the library for some research."
"College students still go to the library?" he wondered.
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, we're not all Neanderthals," I countered. He gave me a disbelieving look, and I hung my head. "All right, the professor is making us because he wants citations from real books and not Wikipedia."
"The class must have been devastated to learn the news," he mused with an evil smile.
"You're telling me. I expected some of them to burst out crying because they had to leave their dorms to do it," I quipped. I glanced at my watch; almost four. "But anyway, I'll leave you to your exciting job on the phone and go to my exciting homework in the library."
I whipped past him, but not fast enough to escape his hand that shot out. I turned and found him with a worried expression on his face. "Joking aside, if you want the money now I can pay you."
I smiled and patted his hand before I removed it. "I'm sure I can survive for five more days," I assured him. "And I'll be back tomorrow, so don't worry about that."
He grinned and nodded. Then I was free to go to my gas-guzzler of a car and drive back to campus. The college was a decent-sized place of a couple city blocks, and that wasn't including the dorms. Somebody had actually planned out this place and set the library in the middle of the campus to give easy access to all the degree workers. The library had three floors that were open to the public, and the fourth was closed off except with special permission. That floor held the dustiest and moldiest of the books, and thus they were the most expensive.
Thankfully I didn't have any research that needed dusty books, and I wandered my way to the geology section on the second level. The floors of each level were slick linoleum except for the sitting areas with the tables. Those had carpets so the students couldn't slide the chairs around the tables in races. Now they took the trays from the food places and pulled those along the grassy areas like sleds.
The floors were open in the center so being on the top floor you could look down over the railings to the other ones below it. The geology section ran along the balcony of the second floor, and like a studious student I went straight to it, but not without finding trouble on the way. The trouble was some rough-housing assholes whose brains were mush from all the alcohol. They decided the library with its maxes of bookshelves was the best place for a game of tag. I climbed the winding stairs that went straight up to all the levels, and collided with one of the players being chased by the tagger.
They zoomed past, but I lost not only my patience but my balance. My hands flailed for the stairs railing and missed, and I felt myself fall backward into the abyss of a fall with a broken neck at the finish line. I had an angel on my side in the form of a tall, husky figure who caught me on the fall back and saved me from a long drop with a quick stop. I glanced up at my savior, a handso
me young man of twenty-two with short blond hair and a smile that dazzled me. "Easy there," he teased me as he righted me onto the second floor. "It's a hard floor at the bottom."
I shakily smiled and looked myself over for any bumps from the collision; everything was where it should have been. "I didn't really plan for a one-way trip down," I replied.
"It looks like it. You'd better sit down." He led me over to the tables and I collapsed in one of the hard chairs. He sat down opposite me. "You need me to get you anything?"
"No, but you can tell me your name so I know who to thank," I answered.
"It's Will Tanner. Now are you going to tell me who I just saved?"
I held out my hand. "I'm Trixie Calhoun." He gave my hand a good shake, though not any harder than I was still shaking from the near-death experience. "So what are you in for?" He stared at me blankly. "What are you majoring in?" I rephrased.
"Oh, the social sciences. You know, psychology and sociology," he told me. I would run into a handsome guy who probably wanted to study me rather than date me. "And what's yours?"
"Rocks, and I was going to be doing some boring research with them before that hit-and-run," I replied.
He flashed that smile again. It was mesmerizing, like a certain pair of blue eyes. His physique was powerful, with strong, tanned muscles and tight-fitting clothing that showed off all his curves. His golden hair was even lighter from a lot of sun exposure, and he had an easy, friendly manner to him. I physically jolted myself from my thoughts; without realizing it, I had compared Will with Benson. Will was the complete opposite of Benson in his dashing, tanned body and outward demeanor, and he still had brains enough to be going to college.
"You're looking me over like I'm your next meal," he teased me.
I sheepishly grinned. "Sorry about that, just thinking about-well, about other stuff."
He leaned across the table and dropped his voice. "I hope it's some good other stuff."
I blushed; this guy was really forward, but that wasn't something I hated too much so long as he didn't grab my ass like some of the customers at the diner. "Maybe it was, and maybe it wasn't."
He glanced at his watch and frowned. "I guess maybe we can find out later. I have to go to a study meeting with a friend." He pulled out a folded slip of paper and handed it to me. "When you can pull yourself from your rock books, give me a call." He left, and I opened the paper; it was his phone number and address. He lived off campus on a well-known party street, but then most of the streets were party streets if college students lived there.