secretary, I fantasized about those classic scenarios - the handsome millionaire and his plain-Jane assistant, making love in the office, tossing paperwork off the desk, his strong arms spreading my legs with my skirt pulled up above my waist, my bosom bursting from my halfway-unbuttoned blouse - but those fantasies quickly disappeared as I got to know him better. Quick to temper, with a dull wit and condescending, dismissive eyes, anyone on a rung below him on the social or economic ladder isn't worth his time or attention, unless he needs to use them for his own gain.
He walks up next to my desk, and looks down at me. "I'll be stepping out for the evening, I've got a reservation at Plateau d'Argent for 7:00.”
I nod quickly, letting him know that I follow what he's saying. If I hesitate or am slow to react, he doesn't often take it in stride. “Plateau d'Argent? That place is amazing!” I exclaim excitedly. “How long did it take you to get a reservation there?”
“A couple of months. They're booked every day of the week, opening to close.” Mr. Franks seems proud of himself. “Take no messages.”
He turns on his heel and starts to walk away down the hallway, stopping a few feet from the corner and looking back with a very serious, stern expression. “Bayli,” he starts. “Wear lots of makeup tomorrow. And a skirt, too. A short one. I need you to be useful for once." With that, he turns a corner, disappearing out of view.
A skirt? Make up? "Jerk," I mutter under my breath. It must be for Mr. Schallert's meeting tomorrow. He wants to make an impression.
For the next hour until I'm off work I get what I can done of the projects I've been chipping away at, but it isn't much. My mind is elsewhere. I just want to be at home, in my pajamas, eating ice cream and watching a movie. Is that too much to ask ? The tick, tick, ticking of the clock says yes, it is .
The next morning, I walk into work dressed to kill. I decided to take Mr. Franks' suggestion (Was it even a suggestion? More like an order) to heart, and woke up an hour earlier than usual to spend extra time on my make-up and wardrobe. I put on eyeliner, a bit of lipstick, some blush, and wore my favorite dress - black, to make myself look skinnier than I actually am. I took a seat at my desk, and awaited the compliments. They didn't exactly roll in.
With my mind elsewhere, I found it difficult to concentrate on work. Mr. Franks, usually on time for work, was over an hour and a half late at 10:30, and not answering any phone calls. It isn't often that he runs late, and when it is he usually doesn't have a good excuse.
As the clock rounded in to 11:00 AM, Mr. Franks strutted quickly into the entryway of our floor, looking sharp and happy. With him was the most astounding man I'd ever seen with my own eyes. I practically had to put a hand on my chin to stop my jaw from dropping. Tall, with dark hair, a clean haircut, and smooth skin. He's wearing a well-tailored suit, perfectly fitted against his clearly toned body. He walked with a confidence that could only be attained through personal achievement.
Mr. Franks was handsome; no doubt about it, but the man he's with is on another level entirely. The man smiled softly at me as they approached my desk. "Good morning, Mr. Franks," I bubbled brightly, “and company.”
Ignoring my greeting entirely, he swept his arm out towards me nonchalantly. "And Mr. Schallert, this is my secretary, Bayli Kraft." So, this is whom he was talking about. I guess I see why he was so late to work today. They look like they've gone out for drinks already, and it isn't even close to lunchtime yet.
Mr. Schallert reaches his hand out toward me and says, "Hello , Miss Kraft. A pleasure."
Without a second thought, I stood up and found my hand in his, and started to break out in a sweat. “The pleasure is all mine,” I say back to him, trying not to sound silly. Doing my best to keep my cool, I gave him a shy smile after and
He walks up next to my desk, and looks down at me. "I'll be stepping out for the evening, I've got a reservation at Plateau d'Argent for 7:00.”
I nod quickly, letting him know that I follow what he's saying. If I hesitate or am slow to react, he doesn't often take it in stride. “Plateau d'Argent? That place is amazing!” I exclaim excitedly. “How long did it take you to get a reservation there?”
“A couple of months. They're booked every day of the week, opening to close.” Mr. Franks seems proud of himself. “Take no messages.”
He turns on his heel and starts to walk away down the hallway, stopping a few feet from the corner and looking back with a very serious, stern expression. “Bayli,” he starts. “Wear lots of makeup tomorrow. And a skirt, too. A short one. I need you to be useful for once." With that, he turns a corner, disappearing out of view.
A skirt? Make up? "Jerk," I mutter under my breath. It must be for Mr. Schallert's meeting tomorrow. He wants to make an impression.
For the next hour until I'm off work I get what I can done of the projects I've been chipping away at, but it isn't much. My mind is elsewhere. I just want to be at home, in my pajamas, eating ice cream and watching a movie. Is that too much to ask ? The tick, tick, ticking of the clock says yes, it is .
The next morning, I walk into work dressed to kill. I decided to take Mr. Franks' suggestion (Was it even a suggestion? More like an order) to heart, and woke up an hour earlier than usual to spend extra time on my make-up and wardrobe. I put on eyeliner, a bit of lipstick, some blush, and wore my favorite dress - black, to make myself look skinnier than I actually am. I took a seat at my desk, and awaited the compliments. They didn't exactly roll in.
With my mind elsewhere, I found it difficult to concentrate on work. Mr. Franks, usually on time for work, was over an hour and a half late at 10:30, and not answering any phone calls. It isn't often that he runs late, and when it is he usually doesn't have a good excuse.
As the clock rounded in to 11:00 AM, Mr. Franks strutted quickly into the entryway of our floor, looking sharp and happy. With him was the most astounding man I'd ever seen with my own eyes. I practically had to put a hand on my chin to stop my jaw from dropping. Tall, with dark hair, a clean haircut, and smooth skin. He's wearing a well-tailored suit, perfectly fitted against his clearly toned body. He walked with a confidence that could only be attained through personal achievement.
Mr. Franks was handsome; no doubt about it, but the man he's with is on another level entirely. The man smiled softly at me as they approached my desk. "Good morning, Mr. Franks," I bubbled brightly, “and company.”
Ignoring my greeting entirely, he swept his arm out towards me nonchalantly. "And Mr. Schallert, this is my secretary, Bayli Kraft." So, this is whom he was talking about. I guess I see why he was so late to work today. They look like they've gone out for drinks already, and it isn't even close to lunchtime yet.
Mr. Schallert reaches his hand out toward me and says, "Hello , Miss Kraft. A pleasure."
Without a second thought, I stood up and found my hand in his, and started to break out in a sweat. “The pleasure is all mine,” I say back to him, trying not to sound silly. Doing my best to keep my cool, I gave him a shy smile after and
Similar Books
