The Sandstone Affair

“As long as we keep it that way we are okay. Listen Janice, one more thing,” I try to find a non-suspicious way to clue her into Mark’s presence on my side of the war. “You know Mark Stone, Blake’s brother? He’s the Co-president.”

“Yes, he used to handle our account until he bailed like a cheap rat fleeing a sinking ship. Loser.”

“Well, he’s a friend of mine. No one can know that. He’s been helping me try to get back in. I can’t tell you anything now, but someday he may call you and ask you to do something—I don’t know what—but I want you to do what he says if he calls.”

“He’s a ‘Hi, how ya doin?’ friend or a ‘Let me make you some eggs for breakfast’ kind of friend?” Janice raises her eyebrows with a side smile.

“He’s just a friend. For now.” How could I possibly explain he’s my friend who routinely bends me over desks and cars, enters my body with a thrusting force that makes me wet every time I think about it, f**ks me like I’m a whore then holds me like I’m a precious egg? I don’t even understand it; there’s no way on earth she would.

“Do you trust him, Julia?”

The moment she asks me, the last few weeks pass before my eyes. I see my anger at him for handing off our file to Blake, and my desire when he took me that first time, his frustrating absence that made me do something stupid, and his caresses on the couch after he bailed me out. I see myself embracing his c**k in my desiring wet mouth as he told me he had a plan, and I see that text—that damn text message—saying ‘Do not trust him.’ I saw it all and I had to make a decision.

“Yes,” I tell her, wanting to believe it myself. “Yes, I trust him.”

Chapter 9

Tom Petty was wrong. The waiting isn’t the hardest part—the boredom is. I spend my time hanging around my apartment waiting for something to do. Half the time, I feel like Mark is stringing me along and I want to run out and do something, anything, to get my magazine back. Then I remember what happened the last time I went running out with a head full of steam. The other half of the time I find myself reflecting on the different ways Mark has used my body, and reliving the pleasure of it all. At all times, I’m waiting for the phone to ring. But when it finally does, I almost miss it.

After carrying my silent electronic leash around with me all day, the one time I set my phone on the table and go to the bathroom, it rings. Panicked, I nearly fall off the toilet seat, and end up jogging to the phone with my pants around my ankles and my underpants at my knees. Standing in the kitchen, I find it an appropriate way to look when I realize it’s Mark on the line.

“Come to me,” he says, his voice causing my clit to swell and tingle.

“Excuse me? Mark? What did you just say?” I ask just to be sure I’m not hallucinating this whole event. I hear his heavy sigh, and realize that’s the sound he makes when I disappoint him.

“When I want you, I will tell you to come,” he explains slowly. “But, we’ll have to work on that. In the meantime, I need you to come to my apartment. I haven’t found anything definitive on Blake yet, but I have some promising leads, I think.”

“Really? What? Did he fire me without cause? Did he take out a loan on the magazine’s assets without approval? Tell me!” I’m so excited to hear there may be a weak link in Blake’s carefully planned coup.

“Not on the phone, Julia,” Mark replies in a tone meant to show me exactly how dumb I can be sometimes. “Come to me.”

“What’s the address?” I ask, realizing I have no idea exactly where his building is and only a vague memory of how I got there the first time.

“You were here before,” he responds with another sigh. “255 West 94th Street, 27th Floor. Don’t park here. Blake doesn’t live in the city, but Kenneth is only a few blocks away and Valerie lives in Central Park West. Park at the public on 96th and Broadway. Walk over to my building, go to the service elevator and tell the bellhop your name is Lucy Conway. He will send you to me.”

The words Blake used still sting me and I find myself rebelling against his directions and fake name, “Lucy Conway? Who’s she? Your current company whore?”

Mark kept the edge in his voice to let me know he was displeased, but answered patiently and clearly. “No, we don’t have one of those. Lucy Conway was my former cleaning lady who quit when she got married several years ago. I never took her name off my visitor list, so you can use it without raising suspicion.”

“Oh, so I’m coming over to clean your apartment?” I snap, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, sweetie,” Mark replies giving me a deep-voiced chuckle that sends chills up my spine. “You’re going to do so much more than that.”

His plan works perfectly. The bellman doesn’t even look twice at me. He just checks his list, puts me in the elevator and sends me up. My hands shake with anticipation of seeing Mark again and hopefully getting another look at his beautiful place. I am so excited I nearly fall out of the elevator when the doors open.

“Easy now, Lucy,” Mark says with a smile. His earlier edge seems to have been replaced with confident cheer. Some light jazz is playing in the background and he hands me a wine glass full of something white. I don’t bother to ask what it is—I just take it and drink. That makes him smile and nod. “Everything okay getting here?”

“Yes. I was worried I was overdressed. You know—for a poor housemaid.”

“Clearly.” Mark laughs. “You’ve never had to pay for a cleaning service. There’s nothing poor about it!”

“So, what is there to tell me?” I’m so ready to hear good news. All the way over I tried to imagine what Mark was going to say and prepared for it to give me a good night’s sleep for a change.

“I do have something important to tell you. It’s something that has the potential to give you back your magazine or cost me my company. It’s not a game, and it’s not something we can handle without discipline and planning. So if I’m going to tell you, you cannot go start World War Three in our employee lounge. If I tell you, I need to trust you. And, to trust you—I need you to trust me.”

“I do trust you, Mark,” I say, looking directly in his eyes. “I made some mistakes and I’m sorry but I do trust you.”

Mark looks at me for a second, as if he is trying to read my thoughts. He smiles politely, stands up and looks me over from top to bottom.