Cake Love: All Things Payne(3)

He pauses as his eyes settle on my cleavage. I am wearing a black lace bra today and I know a tiny bit is peeping out for his acknowledgment. He likes my bright color lingerie the best, but black makes me feel sexy so this is what he gets today. And by likes I mean it pisses him off that I taunt him in this manner. His jaw ticks as he flicks his eyes up to mine. I make a point to adjust my glasses knowing it's becoming a little too much for him.

He clears his throat and leans back in his black leather chair, glaring at me.

"We are having some issues with our overseas distributors in Europe, specifically Great Britain. There have been some weather related issues causing problems in shipping. But more importantly there are new laws regarding international corporations and taxes that will cause issues for us there. So, plan on working some late nights over the next few weeks. That is all."

And with that I am waved off like a servant in a nineteenth century country manor home. It would be nice if just once he asked if this is going to cause me problems or take an interest in how this might affect me. He did shove his fingers in my vagina once, well twice actually, oh and his dick, but who's keeping score. You would think he'd make an attempt at social pleasantries with me.

This is the reason for my subtle 'annoyances' that are meant only for him. It's not so much what he did to me, because if I am going to be honest the man knows exactly what he’s doing when it comes to sex. It's how he treats me after. A woman can only take so much I-want-you/This-is-a-mistake for so long before she goes off the deep end.

"Yes Mr. Payne, is that all?" I ask with a sticky sweet smile plastered to my face.

His knuckles are turning white due to the fist he's making and, oh look, his shoulders are tensing up. Does this make me disturbed that I get pleasure in his pain? Probably.

"I. Just. Said. That. Is. All! Have you suddenly gone deaf Ms. Drake?" He is gritting his teeth and sitting up to glare at me. Oh, I must have really hit a nerve today for him to straighten his posture.

"Now, Mr. Payne, what if I had actually gone deaf, wouldn't you feel real bad right about now?" I pout at him and stand to leave. Just as I turn I catch a tiny curl at the corner of his mouth before he lowers his head back to the mobile wonder.

Once I am back to my desk, just outside his door and catty-corner to the bathrooms (I make myself scarce when Ken Brooks, CFO, has his eleven o'clock bathroom break. There is no further explanation needed), I flop onto my chair.

After many client phone calls, calendar adjustments, and sorting through The Payne's emails, I look at the clock on the wall and notice an hour has passed. While most of my day consists of doing the typical assistant work: filing, fetching, and correspondence, Mr. Payne does include me with his ideas and decision making.

I’m not so na?ve that I don’t understand this is quite rare for an assistant, especially to an executive of a billion dollar company. As much as I complain about the man, he is an exceptional boss.

I am usually awestruck by how he manages to get clients to easily part with their money as if by doing so they are carrying out a great service for humankind. I can’t help but laugh a little after his meetings with them like they are contributing to the cure for cancer and not just making a deal with a large corporation to make them richer.

I give my body a little stretch and hear a whistle off in the distance. Turning my head I see Evaleen Bechmann, Head of HR, striding toward my desk. Her long blonde ponytail swaying out to the sides of her modelesque frame, her deep blue eyes zeroing in on her intended target, me. Evaleen’s crisp, formless brown pant suit does nothing to disguise her lean but perky body. Every time I see her I wonder why she isn't on the cover of Vogue or walking down a catwalk in New York. Why HR?

I asked her once at happy hour a while back when I had one too many rum and cokes. She just smiled and looked over to Edgar Mimir, VP of Technology Infrastructure here at Mimir and brother to the founder, Jacob Mimir. The usual in control and wise Evaleen turns to mush in front of the man. Unfortunately for her, Edgar is a man-whore. Don't get me wrong, Edgar is a great guy and really sweet, I totally get what Evaleen sees in him. He is also crazy gorgeous. BUT, that man will do just about any woman who shows him the least bit of attention.

"Looking extra sexy today Drake!" Evaleen has yet to actually call me by my first name. When I first started she was very professional, addressing me as Ms. Drake, but once we got to know each other we have developed a very odd friendship. One of mutual respect, fear, love, and of course, cake. She prefers cheesecake, whereas I am open minded in my love of cake.

"It's just who I am Bechmann." I get up from my chair to illustrate my point by shaking my butt to an imaginary beat.

"When you got junk like this in the trunk and milkshakes that call all the men in the yard, then you need to let it shine!" I get more into the song playing in my head 'I Believe in a Thing Called Love' by The Darkness.

"Isn't it boys in the yard, not men?" Evaleen points out while shifting her weight so her firm little ass is half on and half off my desk.

I stop my dance and give her my stone cold expression. "I don't want boys Bechmann. Men, only men!"

I sit back in my seat slightly winded and pick up a pink sticky note, one of many, which Mr. Payne leaves on my desk so he doesn't have to speak to me. It reads: Late work day. Order us pizza for dinner. Large, hand tossed, with ham, green peppers, and onions. I pick up my pen and scratch out the toppings he listed, writing in pepperoni instead. I'm such a bitch to him.