Sitting at my – Eric’s – desk, I stifled my eye roll no one would see in the empty office. But that didn’t stop me from sticking my tongue out at the speaker Bobby’s sneering voice had come through, before replying in a clipped out tone, “Yes, Bobby?”
But I’d made it sound more like ‘Bob-bay’ just because I knew it would piss him off.
And I wasn’t disappointed when I heard him mutter under his breath, “It’s Mr. Burnham,” before turning up the volume of his voice and lowering the hatred in his tone, as he informed me, “Your ten o’clock has arrived.”
I secretly hoped it was him who’d stolen the money, only so I’d have a legitimate excuse to put my foot up his ass. As it stood now, my only excuse was because he was a prick.
Who was not-so-secretly in love with Eric’s prick. Or Eric as a whole, but I had no doubts he secretly yearned for his prick too.
But that was mine.
Not that Bobby was ‘out’ or had done anything to warrant him being the subject of salacious office gossip – that honor was usually reserved for me – but it didn’t take a genius to know the man worshipped Eric.
But apparently it eluded a genius he had his very own boytoy at the ready and willing.
Maybe I’d remind said genius of it the next time he mouthed off to me about whose ass belonged to whom because he most definitely owned Bobby’s ass, whether he wanted the deed to that piece or not.
But who was I kidding? I was smitten with Eric’s mouth and his ass and everything in between.
And that was a lot of real estate.
Prime real estate.
But now that I’d officially planted my flag on my exclusive territory, I was feeling a little giddy.
Like a schoolgirl.
Sookie Stackhouse didn’t do giddy. Not even when she was a schoolgirl.
Stupid Eric. Stupid sexy man, sexin’ me up all night long and making me stupid.
God…I missed him.
Shaking the Eric mon-swoon that had taken over my brain from my head, I dug deep and hauled out that bitch who’d worked her ass off to get a Master’s from Wharton and replied, “Send them in.” But since she was a bitch, I waited a tic and added, “Bob-bay.”
Aahhh…that felt good.
So good that the smile on my face was a genuine one when the representative from the Krasinski and Associates forensic accounting firm walked through the door. He looked to be of another time – a time where Dockers and a Polo shirt qualified as acceptable business attire – and I felt my face morph into one worthy of Donald Trump on The Apprentice.
But I smiled through my surprise their firm would send someone so unrefined for a first meet. First impressions were everything and he wasn’t making a good one.
“Sookeh Stackhouse?” he asked, making no secret of the fact he must have believed it was my breasts who would be doing all of the talking.
‘Sookeh’ on my right and her twin sister ‘Stackhouse’ on the left.
I didn’t reply and neither did they. So when the sound of crickets filled his ears, he looked up from my silent twins completely unapologetic and thrust his pasty hand in my direction with a come hither smile, saying, “I am William Compton, but you can call me Bill.”
Like it was an honor.
Instead I silently dubbed him ‘Bill-ew’ in my head and nearly snickered, picturing him as the talking dancing bear in The Jungle Book.
God knows he was wearing the bare necessities to attend this meeting.
Etiquette dictated I should take his hand and return the gesture. My suspicions over where that hand could’ve been, as recently as the elevator ride up to the top floor, dictated I grab the Purell hand sanitizer from the top desk drawer as soon as I took my seat. But wanting to get past this whole ‘Call me Bill’ nonsense, I opened with, “Mr. Compton. Your firm comes highly recommended, but I’m curious as to how long you’ve worked for the company.”
I had nothing against casual days in the office, but I took it as a personal affront against Northman Inc. – and thereby Eric – he had so little respect to show up at a corporation as powerful as ours, dressed like he’d be teeing off on the back nine as soon as he got out of there.
And it teed me off.
He’d obviously taken my question – one meant to ascertain if he was new and therefore unschooled in proper business etiquette – as one of interest in him because he grinned widely and took a seat across from me – uninvited, mind you – replying proudly, “Why, I am one of the founding partners of the firm.”
Yeah, I was wondering why too.
Why did they have to send a moronic douchebag?
Why did he believe pork chop sideburns were a good idea?
Why did he sit like he had a skewer up his ass?
Why couldn’t I just have listened to Eric and played hooky after all?
In the silence – to his ears anyway – he spoke up adding, “Tell me Sookeh, will we be having refreshments?” And evidently heedless of my ‘I’m not your waitress, bitch!’ eyebrow, he added, “Sookeh…what an unusual name.”
“It is,” I nodded, ignoring his probable order for a mint julep and thinking I’d need another shower when he left because just being in the same room as him made me feel unclean. “Which is why I prefer my name as it is. It rhymes with cookie, but so there’s no mix up in the future – in names or places – you will address me as Miss Stackhouse.”
‘Because you’re nasty’, my inner Janet Jackson added.
I disregarded his flabbergasted expression – it couldn’t have been the first time he’d been verbally bitch slapped – and said, “I admit, I’m a little astonished that you chose to attend this meeting dressed so informally. Tell me Mr. Compton, have you been the victim of a recent house fire?”
“What?” he asked, looking confused. “No.”
“Hurricane? Tsunami? Sinkhole? Avalanche?”
With every State Farm question I asked, his ‘no’s’ got more haughty. His eyes more indignant.
His panties more twisted.
But that was only adding fuel to my inner bitch’s fire, so I didn’t relent by tacking on, “A bitter divorce perhaps, where your closet was turned into a bonfire? Tell me Mr. Compton, have you forsaken all of your worldly possessions in your pursuit of spiritual enlightenment?”
I found mine in Eric’s boxers just last night.
“So then, is your firm so insolvent that a trip to the Men’s Wearhouse is out of the question? Or are you just so inept at managing your own finances that you’ve become personally bankrupt?”
“I…I…I…” he sputtered, with his face growing impossibly paler.
If he kept going, he’d be translucent before long.
Ignoring the gaping sinkhole in his face, I shook my head and said, “Well then I take it back. I’m not astonished. I’m insulted. Northman Inc. is a billion dollar corporation and a leader in the technological industry. And yet you walk in here like you think we’re just going to have a friendly little chat over my tits and a glass of lemonade. I know my blond hair and impressive rack gets a lot of press, but you shouldn’t believe everything you read. You see Mr. Compton, you were mistaken. Not only am I not a ditzy airhead, prone to being impressed with the likes of you, but I’m also allergic to lemons and I’m hypersensitive to assholery. This is a business, not happy hour at the corner bar. Your unprofessionalism speaks volumes about the firm you are a founding member of and I am firm in my belief that there is nothing you can do for us. You’ve wasted enough of my valuable time. Good day.”
“But…but…” he choked out.
“Exactly,” I smiled, like I was Cruella de Vil and had just happened upon a litter of Dalmatians. “Don’t let the door hit yours on the way out.”
He stared at me like he didn’t think it was possible for him to be getting the boot, but noticing he was wearing penny loafers – yes, with a shiny penny tucked into the top of each one- I almost told him he’d been overpaid for his thoughts in the past.
As soon as he was gone, I waited until I could hear the faint ding of the elevator down the hall and pressed the intercom button, snarling out, “Bobby! Get me Victor!”
It was at his behest that I called that fuckwad in the first place. Why he thought that idiot Compton could find out where the money had went – when his choice in footwear led me to believe he couldn’t even tie his own fucking shoes – made me see red.
Like the debits in our ledgers we couldn’t account for.
It wasn’t until later on that afternoon when Victor decided to grace me with his presence, but I ignored him initially in favor of wrapping things up with the men sitting before me. I’d contacted another firm – one I’d actually gone online and researched – and Maxwell Lee seemed like a man who could get the job done. He’d offered to come that very afternoon and both his quick response and the tailored suit he arrived wearing told me he had no plans to be on the back nine. His credentials were impeccable and his references were stellar. Even his eyes were above reproach because they stayed above my neck, so after getting a feel for him I went ahead and called Bruce in to introduce them.
But not wanting to show my ass over the ass who’d just walked in – like he owned the place – I kept my smile in place and gestured at him saying, “Mr. Lee, this is Victor Madden. He’s on the board of directors here and our COO.”
Finally allowing my eyes to fall on the COCK, I explained, “Victor, Mr. Lee works for the Brigant accounting firm. I’ve just hired them to look into the missing funds.”
Rudely ignoring the man and everything I’d just said, he heatedly asked, “What happened to going with Krasinski and Associates?”
Nothing says ‘white trash’ like airing your dirty laundry in front of company and I had a whole slew of dirty words I was waiting to get off of my chest. So I ignored him and turned back to Bruce and Mr. Lee, adding, “Mr. Lee, Bruce will show you to the conference room where you and your team will have ample room to work while you’re here and see to it that you have everything you need. If there’s anything he can’t do for you, please don’t hesitate to come see me and I’ll make sure you get whatever it is that you require.”
“I appreciate it Miss Stackhouse and I’m sure we’ll have this issue resolved for you soon,” he replied with a smile.
It was sincere. Friendly.
Nothing about the man made me feel like running a loofah dipped in Clorox across my skin.
So with another round of shaking hands and a shake of their legs, Victor and I were finally alone in the office. Without waiting for me to say anything, he scolded, “What gives you the right to hire another firm without running it past me? And how dare you have me summoned?”
Pretending I was Eric, I let his chiding tone slide right off of my back and acted like I didn’t hear his accurate accusation, asking instead, “Since when did your title change to CFO?”
Victor and I tolerated one another because we each knew Eric wasn’t going to pick sides. It was just the way of the world and usually things didn’t get too heated between us because of it.
Or so I thought.
“Just because Eric keeps you around for…his pleasure, doesn’t mean you have the authority to go changing things.”
I’d been sporadically dripping little Eric swimmers all throughout the day, so I couldn’t really deny the veiled fucking insinuation. And since we’d both decided to give this a go, the odds were Victor would know about it sooner than later. All it would take was for Eric to pop in and try to pop his Tootsie into me.
Something I wasn’t really opposed to happening.
But I also knew everything else I did for Eric. What my limits were and what that made me when he wasn’t around.
But instead of slapping him across the face with my Eric cum-filled panties, I slapped him with a hard truth he’d better wrap his head around and said, “Eric gave me the authority to handle this situation, Victor. I went with who I felt would be best for this company, but if you don’t like it, please feel free to call Eric yourself.”
Eric wouldn’t override my decision whether or not I was dripping his cum. He trusted me with running his company in his absence.
But if Victor pulled the ‘son’ card, I wouldn’t hesitate to whip out the girls.
As in – they were the only thing Compton was interested in.
I’d win. Hands down.
Or rather, up.
Eric would booby trap them in a heartbeat.
And while I didn’t particularly care for Victor, I knew he was a great business man. He’d kept the company afloat for years until Eric was old enough to take charge, so I couldn’t help but ask, “Why on earth did you think Compton would be a good match for our company?”
He’d mentioned him by name when I called him into the office to tell him about the missing funds and all but shoved the fuckwad’s business card down my throat.
Victor didn’t react for a tic, but he finally shrugged and said, “I met him and his partner, Lorena, at an event not so long ago. They seemed knowledgeable and I know they’ve done work for deCastro in the past.”
Figured. DeCastro’s company was in the middle of fighting off a hostile takeover.
Not really something you wanted to model your business after.
But hearing him mention an event reminded me I needed to make an appearance at the one Leclerq’s was hosting on Saturday night. Sophie-Anne’s corporation did well enough, but she’d been after Eric for a long time now. Both for business and for pleasure.
And she’d do well enough to back off the latter because the closest she’d be getting to Eric’s cum was when the HBIC bitch slapped her with her panties.
Perhaps guessing he was fighting a losing battle, he switched things up and tried to look amenable as he dropped the issue and asked, “How’s it coming along? The project Eric is working on.”
He didn’t say the name. Once Flood was gone, we only ever talked around the pink elephant that was really a werewolf when we were in the office.
“Oh, you know…it’s coming,” I answered coyly.
If ‘it’ was ‘Eric’. Or me for that matter. So much so in the last twelve hours that I needed to wear a panty liner.
Christ, I should’ve given in and fucked him a long time ago. But it didn’t matter. He was mine now and I’d cut a bitch to keep him.
“Very well,” he sighed, knowing he wouldn’t get any info from me that he hadn’t gotten from Eric. But I only smiled, thinking, ‘Yes. He fucks me very well.’
I swung by my place before heading to Eric’s to restock my overnight bag, but because I liked to always be prepared I tripled the amount of clothes I packed. Eric seemed like he expected me to stay over and considering how hard he was campaigning for me to stay with him today, I didn’t think it would be any different any time soon.
And as long as I could resist him for long enough to go to work, everything should work out well.
I really wasn’t all that surprised I wasn’t feeling any sort of apprehension with how fast our new relationship was going. But the truth was, Eric and I had been in a relationship for the last three years. The only difference now was we’d added sex and feelings to the mix.
But peanut butter and chocolate had been getting along great for years, so it was no surprise it only enhanced what was already there.
I made it back to his place by six, which was early for me, and was surprised to see a big black SUV parked out front. Eric had a similar one – but then Eric seemed to have one of everything – but he rarely entertained company that wasn’t…
I skidded to a halt and threw my car door open, marching into the house ready to cut a bitch and a son of a bitch, only to skid to another halt seeing Colonel Flood standing in the foyer with Eric. My jealous rage was quickly swallowed up by my guilt for automatically thinking Eric could be entertaining anyone else after everything he’d said and done. He may have had loose ethics where his past floozies were concerned, but he never made empty promises, so I should’ve known better than to make assumptions he wouldn’t have kept his promise to me.
They only made me feel like an ass.
So I know I appeared apologetic when I offered a meek, “Hello.”
“Miss Stackhouse,” the colonel smiled and nodded at me before turning back to Eric and saying, “I guess I’ll be hearing from you soon then. I want to thank you again Eric, for all that you’ve done so far and I appreciate all of the help you’re giving us with this situation.”
“Of course,” Eric nodded in return, but he looked worried.
And it worried me.
But I didn’t dare ask, assuming Eric would tell me as soon as the colonel left. Instead, no sooner than the door was shut behind him, Eric snatched me into his arms and planted a kiss on me that made my already weary toes curl inside of my shoes. Lifting me up into his arms, he carried me back to his bedroom and spent the rest of the night reminding me why beauty wasn’t the only thing high heels were good for.
That’s what I got for assuming.
But at least I found out he was also a genius at giving foot rubs.