Sarah was obviously tense on the phone and told him she could do it earlier, anytime, at his convenience. “Not busy, then, nothing much to do today?” Shafer asked. Three o’clock would be fine, she answered hastily.
His secretary, the bestial Betty formerly from Belgravia, buzzed him promptly at three. At least he’d finally gotten through to her about punctuality.
Shafer let her buzz him several times, then picked up the phone abruptly, as if she’d interrupted him at something vital to security.
“What is it, Ms. Thomas? I’m extremely busy with this communiqué for the secretary.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Shafer, but Ms. Middleton is here. You have a three-o’clock appointment with her, I understand.”
“Hmmm. Do I? Yes, you’re right. Can you ask Sarah to wait? I’ll need a few more minutes. I’ll buzz when I’m ready to see her.”
Shafer smiled contentedly and picked up a copy of The Red Coat, the embassy’s employee newsletter. He knew Betty hated it when he used Ms. Middleton’s Christian name: Sarah.
He fantasized about Sarah for the next few moments. He’d wanted to have a go at Mzzz Middleton from their first interview, but he was too careful for that. God, he hated the bitch. This was going to be such fun.
Schafer watched the rain hammer down on the traffic crossing Massachusetts Avenue for another ten minutes. Finally he snatched up the phone. He couldn’t wait a minute longer. “I’ll see her now. Send Sarah in.”
He fingered his twenty-sided dice. This could be fun, actually. Terror at the office.
Chapter 17
THE LOVELY SARAH MIDDLETON entered his office and managed a cordial look, almost a smile. He felt like a boa constrictor eyeing a mouse.
She had naturally curly red hair, a moderately pretty face, a superior figure. Today she wore a very short suit, a red V-necked silk blouse, black stockings. It was obvious to Shafer that she was out to catch a husband in Washington.
Shafer’s pulse was beating hard. He was aroused by her, always had been. He thought about taking her, and very much liked that phrase. She didn’t look as nervous and unsure of herself as she had recently, so that probably meant she was really scared and trying not to show it. He tried his best to think like Sarah. That made it more fun, though he found it a real challenge to be as squirrelly and insecure as she would surely be.
“We certainly needed the rain,” Sarah said, and then cringed before the sentence was even finished.
“Sarah, please sit down,” he said. He was trying to keep a straight business face. “Personally, I loathe the rain. It’s one of the many reasons I’ve never been stationed in London.”
He sighed theatrically behind the rigid tent he’d made with his
fingers. He wondered if Sarah noticed the length of his fingers and if she ever thought about how large he was elsewhere. He would bet anything that she did. It was how people’s minds worked, though women like Sarah would never admit to it.
She cleared her throat, then put her hands on her knees. The knuckles of her fingers were white. Christ, he was enjoying her obvious discomfort. She looked ready to jump out of her skin. How about out of her tight little skirt and blouse?
He began to stretch the fingers on his right hand, playing his part as dominator to the hilt. “Sarah, I think I have some bad news—quite unfortunate, really, but can’t be avoided.”
She sat nervously forward in her chair. She really was nicely built up top. He was getting hard now. “What is it, Mr. Shafer? What do you mean? You think you have bad news? You do or you don’t?”
“We have to let you go. I have to let you go. Budget cuts, I’m afraid,” he said. “I know you must find this immensely unfair, and unexpected as well. Particularly when you moved halfway across the world from Australia to take this job, and you’ve been living in Washington for less than six months. Suddenly, the ax falls.”
He could tell she was actually fighting back tears. Her lips were trembling. Obviously, she never expected this. She had no idea. She was a reasonably smart and controlled woman, but she couldn’t help herself now.
Excellent. He had succeeded in breaking her down. He wished he had a movie camera this minute to record the look on her face and play it back countless times in private.
He saw the very instant that she lost it, and treasured it. He watched her eyes moisten, saw the large tears roll over her cheeks, streaking her working-girl makeup.
He felt the power, and it was as good as he’d hoped it would be. A small insignificant game, certainly, but a delicious one. He loved being able to instill such shock and pain.
“Poor Sarah. Poor, poor dear,” he murmured.
Then Shafer did the cruelest, most unforgivable thing. Also the most outrageous and dangerous. He got up from his desk and came around to comfort her. He stood behind her, pressing himself against her shoulders. He knew it was the last thing she wanted, to be touched by him, to feel that he was aroused.
She stiffened and pulled away from him as if he were on fire. “Bastard,” she said, between clenched teeth. “You are a consummate prick!”
Sarah left his office, shaking and in tears, running in that stumbling way women often do in heels. Shafer loved it. The sadistic pleasure, not only of hurting someone but of destroying this innocent woman. He memorized the stunning image for all time. He would play it back, over and over.