I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of my door. The red pencil skirt hugging my narrow hips looked like it had been made especially for me, but I still sneered at it, loathing every inch of it and the short-sleeved, white button-down blouse I had tucked into its high waistband. I wasn’t an “executive assistant” kind of girl, but that was exactly the part I had to play today at my father’s company.
Well, stepfather. He wasn’t my real dad. I reminded him of that fact more often than I had to, if only because I knew that it bothered him so much.
Maybe it was cruel, but William just didn’t get me. As far as I could tell, he didn’t even try. His parenting techniques were all straight out of the books of the Eighties, where “force your kids to go to college” was at the top of the list mothers and fathers could pat themselves on the backs about. It didn’t matter to him that some people just weren’t interested in a degree, or that their real life’s passion wasn’t something that required a glorified piece of paper. From the time that William came into our lives, he made it excruciatingly clear that enrolling in a university was expected of me.
When I graduated high school at eighteen, he’d chalked up my lack of follow-through in that department to needing some time off from the twelve years of school I’d just put in. But once I turned nineteen, he laid the pressure on thick. I’d eventually broke the news that I had no intention of going to college, and that I could pursue a career as an artist without the crippling loan debt or additional four years of academic agony.
Not that I needed to take out any loans. William was a billionaire—literally. He owned his own company, which meant we had a very nice house in a very nice neighborhood with three very nice cars parked in the driveway, the kinds of cars usually reserved for movie stars and oil princes. There was absolutely no reason he couldn’t have paid for my tuition, if it had suited him.
The problem was that it didn’t. He wanted me to learn to fend for myself, which seemed rather unfair, given that he’d probably never had to learn those lessons. He didn’t build his company, his grandfather did. “Tough love” was hard to swing when you were being a giant hypocrite about it.
When I told him I wasn’t going to college, he’d gone quiet for a time, as though he genuinely didn’t understand what I was saying to him. His brows had knit together in a dark knot in the center of his forehead, and his dark eyes had suddenly lit with a fire as he began to catch on. He called my answer “unacceptable,” and I’d rolled my eyes, and we’d fought for two days straight about the condition of my future.
That all led to today, where I was now about to start my first shirt as his personal assistant so that I could “better understand what fate awaited me” if I didn’t do as he said.
I wasn’t going to make it easy on him, though. If he wanted to believe that I was an incompetent idiot, I’d play that part just fine.
I grabbed my purse from the hook beside my mirror and threw my cell phone into it. My boyfriend, Derrick, was away for the week on a trip we were supposed to go on together, but my stepfather had seen to it that I stayed at home, instead. I hoped he and our friends were having fun without me in California. I also hoped that Derrick would find the time to text me today while I was at work. It would give me an excuse to ignore my responsibilities.
I shouldered the purse and looked at myself once again in the full-length mirror, shaking my head. I’d never looked more corporate in my whole life. Parental mandate or not, I was disgusted with myself.
Don’t let him get to you, I thought, wiggling my toes in my red slingback heels. This is exactly what he wants. Keep your head up and make his life a living hell.
I smiled at my reflection. Raising hell was definitely something I could do, and it wasn’t corporate in any way, shape, or form. If anything was going to make me feel better, it would be ruining my stepfather’s day.
The commute to my stepfather’s office didn’t take long. Although we lived in a very nice neighborhood offset from the rest of society, downtown wasn’t very far away, and neither was the enormous building he owned, Holsten Tower. It was a gargantuan skyscraper with a blinking red light at the end of its spire, one that was all but lost to the fog and cloud cover today.
Great. On top of the fact that I was basically a slave to my stepfather’s whims, it was also going to look like shit outside. I wouldn’t even be able to enjoy the view.
I parked in the garage and reported to security for my plastic name badge and keycard to my stepfather’s executive level. The guard there had made a big deal about it—“not many get the kind of pass you do, girl!”—but I was considerably less impressed. I got the feeling that pretty much everyone sucked up to my insufferable stepfather, either because he was unbelievably powerful or because he was unfairly handsome, but probably both. It wouldn’t have surprised me to hear that his last personal assistant had gotten the job strictly on the merits of lying on her back.
But that wasn’t likely. In addition to every other ounce of perfection that slithered through his veins, William was, by all accounts, a man of integrity and honor. There was no juicy gossip to be had here. I’d have to make do with my sordid fantasies of catching him in the act and my mother divorcing him and getting half his fortune.
When I entered the elevator, I didn’t see a number listed for his floor. There was, however, a keycard slot near the bottom, which I assumed was meant for people like me. I sli
pped mine in and the panel sucked it in, holding it in place as some digital process read the card and instructed the elevator to take me to the appropriate floor.
That, at least, was interesting, and a phenomenal way of keeping out solicitors and other unwanted visitors. If they couldn’t even find your floor listed, they couldn’t “stumble in by mistake.”
I was surprised when the doors opened. The elevator had moved so fast and silently that I hadn’t realized we’d ascended thirty-three floors already. Not only that, but my stepfather’s inner sanctum was positively pristine, more so than I’d even imagined.
It was the very definition of immaculate. The marble floors almost glowed, and the cherry wood pedestal desk waiting for me at the far end of the room had been so vigorously shined that the glare almost hurt. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be found anywhere, not even on the antique chandelier glittering overhead. I was in awe, and I sincerely hoped that my stepfather didn’t think that part of my duties would involve keeping the lobby clean.
I slowly walked over to the desk next to a set of double doors leading into his office. I opened the bottom drawer, inserted my purse, and sat on the tufted leather chair drawn up near the computer screen. I fussed with the mouse until it came to life, asking me for a password I didn’t yet have.
I sighed, drumming my manicured nails on the desk and staring up at the clock on the wall. It was nearly eight. Where was William?
While I waited, I dug into my purse and retrieved my phone, texting Derrick: Miss u. Txt later?? I didn’t receive a reply, but I hadn’t expected one. He was on California time right now, just like I would have been had my stepfather not decided to fuck up my life.
Then I heard one of the double doors begin to open. I quickly put my phone away, only to see my stepfather walking toward me. Had he been here overnight?
He certainly looked like it. He was ragged, his hair disheveled, his finely-tailored suit wrinkled and his tie loose. He had heavy bags beneath his eyes, and when he focused his bleary eyes on me, they were so bloodshot it was a wonder he could see anything at all.
“Good,” he mumbled, “you’re here. Did you get coffee yet?”
I looked around the lobby. I didn’t see a coffee maker or an espresso machine anywhere.
“And where would I do that?” I asked him.
William narrowed his eyes at me. Then he sighed, rubbed them with his wrist, and nodded to the elevator.
“Go down to the mid-level. There’s a Starbucks there.”
I stared at him. “Seriously? You have a Starbucks in your building?!”
“I do.” He grabbed a pen from my desk and scribbled a note onto the back of a business card. “Get me this. Make sure they do it right. I don’t want to have to send you back down there.”
I took the note from him. “But the phone…”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Cheri won’t route a call up here unless it’s important.”
“Someone could still call,” I objected, but he just walked back into his office.
“Then I guess you’d better hurry up,” he said over his shoulder.
I shook my head. This day just kept getting worse. If this was what I could expect from working for my stepfather, then I had to find a way to get under his skin and force him to fire me—fast.
After getting him the coffee he’d ordered, William still sent me back three separate times to “fix” it, even though it was exactly what he’d ordered. As if to cement my determination to get out of this arrangement, he provided me very little training, or even a schedule of what I was supposed to do and when. Clearly, he wanted to impress upon me that life as a regular “working stiff” was a living hell, but it was obvious to me that he was making it out to be a lot worse than it actually was.
I tried a few different methods of intentional sabotage. When I finally got a call from Cheri, I deliberately told William it was my mother, prompting him to answer the phone with, “Hi, sweetie.” He was able to laugh that off as a joke with the client, but I could tell he was furious with me, which was what I’d wanted.
Then I made an absolute mess of the filing system, ensuring that when William returned from lunch, he had no idea where anything was. I played dumb and acted like I’d thought I was doing him a favor, but it was clear he wasn’t buying it.
By the time three o’clock rolled around, however, I was out of ideas. There really wasn’t much to being my stepfather’s secretary, which made it difficult to screw anything up. I decided to check my phone and see if Derrick had ever texted me back.
I glanced at the double doors to William’s office. They were closed, and it sounded like he was on some kind of conference call. Perfect, I thought. Now’s my chance.
I gleefully pulled my phone out of my purse in the drawer and scrolled through the three messages Derrick had sent me since I’d texted him this morning.
Miss u 2, babe.Lonely here w/o u.? By myself today in the hotel room.
I texted him back, frowning. Alone? U ok?
Yes, he quickly replied. Just sprained my ankle hiking. No biggie.?
I grinded my teeth. I hated being so far away from him. I should’ve been there. I should’ve been able to keep him from hurting myself. Derrick always took more chances, more risks when he wasn’t with me. If William hadn’t thrown a hissy fit…
I pushed back my anger to comfort my boyfriend. I’m sorry. How can I make u feel better?
His reply came as no shock to me. Well, u could always tell me what ur up to…
That was code for “sexting.” William wanted me to concoct some sordid tale he could jack off to—that was always the goal. I smiled. It had been a while since we’d last fucked. I was dying for some attention, too.
And since my stepfather was busy for the next hour or so, I had plenty of time to do one more naughty thing at work.
I began texting him a reply, greatly exaggerating what I was actually doing. I told him what I was wearing in excruciating detail, though I shortened the hemline of my skirt considerably and left more than a few buttons undone on my blouse. I described it as “sheer,” too, which thrilled Derrick to no end. He loved my tits, especially when they were thinly-veiled. He liked the “mystery” of it, even though he’d seen them a million times before.
I told him I was bored and lonely and worried about my poor, sweet boyfriend and his injured ankle. I thought maybe a blowjob would help and told him all about how I’d wrap my lips around his tip, giving him a hard, slow suck as I looked into his eyes and fluttered my lashes. That always drove him crazy, and today was no exception to the rule.
I could tell he was getting excited, which meant he had his hand down his pants stroking that thick beer can of a cock I loved so much. I tried to tell myself that this was only for his benefit, but the truth was that I was getting horny, too. Really horny. My pussy was soaking wet, and I could feel my panties clinging to me beneath my skirt. It was getting uncomfortable, and every pulse of my heart brought a similar one to my aching clit.
I glanced again at the doors. My stepfather was still busy on the phone. Could I really get away with touching myself at my desk?
It was insane. But also hot. I couldn’t resist. I just had to.
I kept texting Derrick with one hand while I hiked up my skirt with the other, sliding my chair far beneath my desk as I revealed my panties. They were drenching, hugging my shaven lips, and I peeled them to the side to expose the hungry, salivating flesh beneath. I pressed my fingers into my slit, lightly grazing them over my clit and gasping when I made contact with that little nub I loved to tease. It really had been a long time. One touch nearly put me over the edge right then and there.
I began stroking it, parting my lips wide to tease and caress it. My body warmed immediately, my nipples jutting through the cups of my bra, stiffening as I thought of Derrick touching himself for me. I loved the way that cock looked in his hand, so big and meaty. I’d never seen one quite like it, until I met him, and it had spoiled me
for all other cocks.
Or at least, that was what I’d thought at the time.
I bit my lip, half-closing my eyes as I imagined Derrick’s tip swelling, his shaft throbbing as he grew closer and closer to climax. He always came so much, spattering his load all over my tits and sometimes on my face as he snarled with pleasure. I loved the look he got on his face, that expression of restraint as he tried to hold back. But I knew just how to make him blow, even when he was trying so desperately not do.
Lost in my fantasies, I only barely registered my stepfather opening the door to his office. I startled, throwing myself forward in the chair and nearly hurling my phone across the room. It was terribly conspicuous, and he immediately knew I’d been up to something.
But I didn’t have time to adjust my position. My hand was still caught between my thighs. Heart racing, I stared into my stepfather’s suspicious eyes.
“What are you doing?” he asked me.