Wrapped up in the biggest coat I had, sent down by my uncle in Alaska the day after I arrived in New York, I ventured out on a mission to discover the bus stop, despite the fresh
snowfall.
I kept my head down as I walked into the office. My paranoia yelling at me that everybody knew. Despite the fact that it would have been quite impossible, unless everyone in the department had suddenly gained x-ray vision. It would also have to be x-vision that worked remotely because, as usual I was the third one in after Simon and Inga.
Despite my fear of discovery it was also thrilling to be doing something so naughty. Once I got past my silly fears, it started to be fun and I felt pretty damn sexy. Besides which, the tit support was amazing. I’d long had trouble finding bras that fit quite right. Though in the magic, Christmas lingerie I felt supported and confident.
Taking the opportunity, I went to the cubicle of Steve. The guy I was playing Secret Santa for. I’d gone a git bigger than before, hitting the oval thrift stores and artisan shops until I found just the right clip for the expensive silk ties he liked to wear. The little box safely situated on his desk, I retreated to my own part of the farm, finding a different sort of gift on my desk.
Officially, assignments were supposed to be given out at weekly meetings. Anyone who finished early having to do busy work until the appointed time. That was the company policy. Simon marched to his own drummer, to the point of almost having his own band. I wondered if he’d noticed how bored I’d gotten the day before. Whatever his reasoning, Simon had used his authority as head of the department to give me a new manuscript to work on. With a big, stupid smile I sat down to get started.
The book looked fascinating. I wasn’t really aware of the author but that didn’t stop me. The synopsis which came with the manuscript, printed off from the author’s original submission email, described it as a ‘steamy paranormal romance procedural.’ It was a new one on me, and I was looking forward to it. Not least because it was a break from the grimdark of the last project.
Despite having some obvious limits, we all do to some degree, the author seemed to be well aware of them and her strengths were near epic level. One of these god like gifts was in explicit powers of description. What the Greeks used to call ‘ekphrasis.’ This came in particularly handy during the love scenes, which tended to be long, detailed and frequent. I counted no less than five in the first eight chapters. About as far as I got before lunchtime rolled around. Nonetheless, it turned me on even more, and I was practically squirming in my chair before taking a break.
Taking up my back with my writing materials I headed out, surprised to see Simon coming toward me. He never came out into the farm as far as I could see. Tending to stay in his office during work hours. I looked around to see if anyone else had notice. It seemed unlikely since thy were all ready gone for lunch, leaving without me noticing. Mostly due to my habit of listening to instrumental music full blast while working. The exact style tending to depend on the manuscript.
“Skye, may I see you in my office, please?”
“O-okay.”
I had to brace my hand on the wall to stay upright, my legs feeling like they had turned to jelly. I didn’t think it was a ruse. That he was going to get me alone in his office and then ravage me. Not that I would have at all minded if he had.
“Take a seat.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, without thinking.
“Sir again, hey?”
“Sorry,” I said, head hung in shame.
“It’s fine if that is how you feel. I just want to be sure. Just don’t call me Mr. Del Rey and well get along just fine.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
I felt a shiver go through me. Not of cold or fear but arousal. I didn’t know why but I loved calling him that.
“How is Secret Santa treating you?” he asked conversationally.
“Great,” I gushed, “I got really nice earrings, from Tiffany’s if all places, and some super rare perfume. It was discontinues years ago and can’t be found anywhere except online and the people who still have it seem to be well aware of that.”
“Sellers market,” Simon said, with a smile.
“Exactly. What about you? Get anything neat?”
“I did actually.”
He took a pen from the holder on his desk. I noticed for the first time that they were all fountain pens. Completely with a bottle of ink for refills set next to the holder. Deep black India ink.