The intercom on Grace Marcum’s desk buzzed. Even though it was right at five o’clock, she didn’t hesitate or feel even a moment’s hesitation as she answered. “Yes, Mr. Callahan?”
“I need to see you for a moment, Grace,” he said, and there was a stern quality to his voice that made her heart pound in her chest.
“Of course, Mr. Callahan,” she said cordially and rose to head towards his office. It wasn’t unusual to work late with him. She had no idea what might be wrong, but she wasn’t concerned. Her devotion to her job and to her employer was never in question.
Entering his office, she moved towards the luxuriously upholstered chairs that faced his antique mahogany desk. It was not one of the delicate antiques that had graced her aunt’s home during her childhood, but a sturdy partner’s desk from a bank that had been intended to hold and support the weight of money before it was made of paper. “You wished to see me, sir?”
Anthony Callahan smiled and made a benign gesture to one of the chairs. “Yes, Grace. I have a few questions for you.”
Her heart hammered and her knees trembled as she lowered herself onto the chair. Normally she was somewhat embarrassed by the fact that her bottom filled the chair entirely, but she tried to ignore it. “Of course, Mr. Callahan. How can I help you?”
“I think you can begin by calling me Anthony, Grace. You’ve worked for me for nearly two years now. I know that I have a reputation of being difficult, but we haven’t had any issues that would necessitate being so formal...Have we?”
“No, Mr. Callahan...Anthony,” she corrected. It felt foreign on her tongue, but simply saying it caused her to shiver. She’d dreamed of calling him that, of lying beneath him and whispering his name as he kissed her neck and her breasts, and as he drove his cock into her welcoming pussy. For the last two years, her every sexual fantasy had starred Anthony Callahan.
“Are you happy working for me, Grace?” he asked, and as he did so, he retrieved a small leather bound book from the top drawer of his desk. Tapping it on the desk, the sound echoed Grace’s beating heart. Someone had found it and turned it into him. She should have destroyed it, she thought. If she’d burned the damn thing instead of carting it around in her bag like some lovesick school girl it would never have happened.
“Mr. Callahan--”
“My name is Anthony, Grace. Answer my question. Are you happy working for me?”
“I love working for you,” she said honestly. It was the only way she could see him, be close to him, nurture the small bits of happiness that trickled down to her with his smile or a bit of praise. That she was utterly pathetic was not lost on her.
“But working for me isn’t all you want, is it?”
Grace rose from the chair, no longer caring about her job or her dignity, which was apparently a lost cause. “I never intended for you to see my diary! I would never--I will submit my letter of resignation immediately.” The words had no more than left her mouth when another awful possibility occurred to her. “Oh god! You don’t need my resignation because you’re firing me!” Tears threatened and she turned toward the door, fighting back the sobs that were barely contained within her. Her hand wasn’t even touching the doorknob before his palm smacked against the wood directly in front of her. She could feel his big body behind her, the breadth of his shoulders dwarfing even her considerable
“I need to see you for a moment, Grace,” he said, and there was a stern quality to his voice that made her heart pound in her chest.
“Of course, Mr. Callahan,” she said cordially and rose to head towards his office. It wasn’t unusual to work late with him. She had no idea what might be wrong, but she wasn’t concerned. Her devotion to her job and to her employer was never in question.
Entering his office, she moved towards the luxuriously upholstered chairs that faced his antique mahogany desk. It was not one of the delicate antiques that had graced her aunt’s home during her childhood, but a sturdy partner’s desk from a bank that had been intended to hold and support the weight of money before it was made of paper. “You wished to see me, sir?”
Anthony Callahan smiled and made a benign gesture to one of the chairs. “Yes, Grace. I have a few questions for you.”
Her heart hammered and her knees trembled as she lowered herself onto the chair. Normally she was somewhat embarrassed by the fact that her bottom filled the chair entirely, but she tried to ignore it. “Of course, Mr. Callahan. How can I help you?”
“I think you can begin by calling me Anthony, Grace. You’ve worked for me for nearly two years now. I know that I have a reputation of being difficult, but we haven’t had any issues that would necessitate being so formal...Have we?”
“No, Mr. Callahan...Anthony,” she corrected. It felt foreign on her tongue, but simply saying it caused her to shiver. She’d dreamed of calling him that, of lying beneath him and whispering his name as he kissed her neck and her breasts, and as he drove his cock into her welcoming pussy. For the last two years, her every sexual fantasy had starred Anthony Callahan.
“Are you happy working for me, Grace?” he asked, and as he did so, he retrieved a small leather bound book from the top drawer of his desk. Tapping it on the desk, the sound echoed Grace’s beating heart. Someone had found it and turned it into him. She should have destroyed it, she thought. If she’d burned the damn thing instead of carting it around in her bag like some lovesick school girl it would never have happened.
“Mr. Callahan--”
“My name is Anthony, Grace. Answer my question. Are you happy working for me?”
“I love working for you,” she said honestly. It was the only way she could see him, be close to him, nurture the small bits of happiness that trickled down to her with his smile or a bit of praise. That she was utterly pathetic was not lost on her.
“But working for me isn’t all you want, is it?”
Grace rose from the chair, no longer caring about her job or her dignity, which was apparently a lost cause. “I never intended for you to see my diary! I would never--I will submit my letter of resignation immediately.” The words had no more than left her mouth when another awful possibility occurred to her. “Oh god! You don’t need my resignation because you’re firing me!” Tears threatened and she turned toward the door, fighting back the sobs that were barely contained within her. Her hand wasn’t even touching the doorknob before his palm smacked against the wood directly in front of her. She could feel his big body behind her, the breadth of his shoulders dwarfing even her considerable
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