Rub Me The Right Way (Erotic Short Story Book 1) by Xavier Neal Page A
Authors: Xavier Neal
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the appointments not to interfere with anything on the schedule. Lunch breaks and at what should be the end of the work day.”
I move my way around her towards the bookshelves, which are across from my desk by the door, trying to avoid eye contact. “You know the work day never ends.”
“You should work on that too,” Hope firmly says to me.
“There's always a crisis.”
“And most of them can wait.” She follows me over, the sound of her heels making me tense further. Yup. She adds to the stress. Like right now. “It's not up for debate. Your appointment is in an hour. I'll drive you to it, so you can finish your conference call scheduled with Thompson Millard. Afterward, I'll pick you up and you can take the call with Dani Green on our way to drinks with the Millhouse twins.”
“Fine,” I grumble rearranging items on the shelves.
“I’m taking these back down to marketing. I'll tell Kim to start making contacts.”
Turning my body, I fold my arms across my chest. “I want better. I expect better.”
“Yes ma'am.”
I point to the coffee colored leather couch that's against the wall, which is where one of my favorite business jackets is draped. “And take that to the dry cleaners.”
“Yes, boss.”
Hope grabs the jacket and leaves my over-sized office, quietly shutting the door. Now feeling the new stress of having to have some random stranger rub their hands on me gripping my nerves harshly, I make my way back to my long, large mahogany desk where I know if I try hard enough, I can push the annoyance of my assistant trying to take care of me out of my head. I don't need her to take care of me. I don't need anyone to.
***
Le Mur, an exclusive spa, doesn't look like anything special from the outside. In fact, it doesn't even look like somewhere I should be. It has a subtle prison vibe to it with the no windows other than the glass front door. Is my assistant trying to tell me I belong behind bars? I know I'm not always the easiest to get along with, but damn.
At the check-in desk, I continue working on my phone even though I just promised Hope I would put it down for the duration of the session. Which I will. When it actually starts. This shit is like a warm up. The weird indie flute music proves this. No one would find that crap centering.
“Welcome to Le Mur,” the woman who looks like Snow White in khakis greets me warmly. “We hope you are prepared to have an experience like no other...”
Doing my best to hide my discomfort at the seductive way she said her sales pitch, I lift my eyebrows. “Okay...Appointment for Astin–”
“Anderson. I know. We have your picture here in the system.”
Creepy. So creepy. “Okay...what do you need from me then?”
“Nothing.” She smiles brightly. “Your assistant helped us get everything in the system from add-ons to billing preferences. You're good to go. Just go through the doors to your left. There will be someone waiting to take you to your room.”
“Perfect.” I look down at the email I was picking apart for grammatical errors. It looks bad when you run a company that publishes for a living and you make typos because your fingers hit the wrong keys in the car.
As my fingers help scroll the reply, Snow White, whose name tag I can't see speaks up, “Just one more thing, Ms. Anderson.”
My fingers find an error. “Hm?”
“You have to leave all belongings up front.”
Unsure I heard her correctly, I lower my phone. “I'm sorry, what?”
“Policy states, all purses, phones, and other personal items are to be locked in our designated cabinets.” She motions her hand the direction of a door with a guard waiting on the outside. “It is secure. It is protected by our security at all times both physically and digitally. There's also a designated password you create at registration that you can use to collect your items in
I move my way around her towards the bookshelves, which are across from my desk by the door, trying to avoid eye contact. “You know the work day never ends.”
“You should work on that too,” Hope firmly says to me.
“There's always a crisis.”
“And most of them can wait.” She follows me over, the sound of her heels making me tense further. Yup. She adds to the stress. Like right now. “It's not up for debate. Your appointment is in an hour. I'll drive you to it, so you can finish your conference call scheduled with Thompson Millard. Afterward, I'll pick you up and you can take the call with Dani Green on our way to drinks with the Millhouse twins.”
“Fine,” I grumble rearranging items on the shelves.
“I’m taking these back down to marketing. I'll tell Kim to start making contacts.”
Turning my body, I fold my arms across my chest. “I want better. I expect better.”
“Yes ma'am.”
I point to the coffee colored leather couch that's against the wall, which is where one of my favorite business jackets is draped. “And take that to the dry cleaners.”
“Yes, boss.”
Hope grabs the jacket and leaves my over-sized office, quietly shutting the door. Now feeling the new stress of having to have some random stranger rub their hands on me gripping my nerves harshly, I make my way back to my long, large mahogany desk where I know if I try hard enough, I can push the annoyance of my assistant trying to take care of me out of my head. I don't need her to take care of me. I don't need anyone to.
***
Le Mur, an exclusive spa, doesn't look like anything special from the outside. In fact, it doesn't even look like somewhere I should be. It has a subtle prison vibe to it with the no windows other than the glass front door. Is my assistant trying to tell me I belong behind bars? I know I'm not always the easiest to get along with, but damn.
At the check-in desk, I continue working on my phone even though I just promised Hope I would put it down for the duration of the session. Which I will. When it actually starts. This shit is like a warm up. The weird indie flute music proves this. No one would find that crap centering.
“Welcome to Le Mur,” the woman who looks like Snow White in khakis greets me warmly. “We hope you are prepared to have an experience like no other...”
Doing my best to hide my discomfort at the seductive way she said her sales pitch, I lift my eyebrows. “Okay...Appointment for Astin–”
“Anderson. I know. We have your picture here in the system.”
Creepy. So creepy. “Okay...what do you need from me then?”
“Nothing.” She smiles brightly. “Your assistant helped us get everything in the system from add-ons to billing preferences. You're good to go. Just go through the doors to your left. There will be someone waiting to take you to your room.”
“Perfect.” I look down at the email I was picking apart for grammatical errors. It looks bad when you run a company that publishes for a living and you make typos because your fingers hit the wrong keys in the car.
As my fingers help scroll the reply, Snow White, whose name tag I can't see speaks up, “Just one more thing, Ms. Anderson.”
My fingers find an error. “Hm?”
“You have to leave all belongings up front.”
Unsure I heard her correctly, I lower my phone. “I'm sorry, what?”
“Policy states, all purses, phones, and other personal items are to be locked in our designated cabinets.” She motions her hand the direction of a door with a guard waiting on the outside. “It is secure. It is protected by our security at all times both physically and digitally. There's also a designated password you create at registration that you can use to collect your items in
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