AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Thank you so much,” I say, smiling widely.
“You don’t need to thank me. Just show up on time, work hard, and get as much out of it as you’re giving.”
She rummages through her pockets, a frown on her face.
“I was going to give you my card, so you can page me when you’re done,” she murmurs, her forehead creased. Then she stops, looks up at me and smiles. “Or maybe you can just put it directly into the phone you’ve got hiding in your pocket that you really shouldn’t have on you, without the correct forms being signed?” she suggests, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, I’ll leave it at home next time,” I promise.
Wow. She has me worked out.
My face heats as she smirks at me. Yeah. I don’t like her.
“How did you even get in here with that?” she asks suspiciously. “The guard should’ve taken it off you.”
“I may have dropped a name or two …”
She smiles knowingly. “Ah, so you’re Judge Hunter’s stepdaughter? That explains why the director was suddenly so eager to create a new role just for you.”
“I’m not his stepdaughter yet, but I will be soon,” I say with a frown, because I’m really not liking her tone.
She nods. “Just so you know, you might be used to dropping names to get what you want, but it’s not going to work with me.”
I groan inwardly.
Great. Now she thinks I’m a leech.
She stands there, eyebrows raised, like she’s waiting for something. I raise mine back.
“Your phone? So that you can save my pager number?” she prompts, a hint of irritation in her voice.
“Right,” I mutter, shoving my hand in my pocket.
As I’m pulling it out, my fingers get caught and press against the phone. Sound blasts through the speakers, startling me enough that I drop it, sending it tumbling under her desk. Not only is it on speaker, but I’ve somehow managed to call my voicemail.
“Hey Arsy …” The voice chuckles.
Shit.
Fuck no, this isn’t happening.
I snap myself out of whatever trance I’m in and drop to my knees. I crawl under her desk, desperate to stop it before he says anything else.
Of course, my phone somehow managed to wedge itself between the filing cabinet and the table, where my fingers are just a little too big to squeeze into. I keep trying though, never mind that my knuckles are slowly being crushed with every tiny bit of ground I manage to gain, all the while the message continues to play.
“Cute name, by the way. I hope your name means you’re into ass play. Nothing too heavy, just some light pegging and maybe the odd fist. I’ll even fulfill your fantasies and dress as a panda. Or whatever—”
Yes.
Got the little fucker. I turn it off, my heart racing.
Thank God for that.
I’m so relieved—until I remember that she heard every last fucking word of that voicemail. I’m still under the table, my ass up in the air and my eyes closed—which is ironically exactly how “Nolan” would want me.
Why didn’t I just cough up my phone when I had the chance? Or better yet, realize that taking it to work might breach their requirements and leave the fucking thing at home?
As much as I want to stay down here until I die, I know I have to face her sooner or later. I only hope it's not so she can tell me the offer of employment has been reconsidered. Slowly I back up when I get to my feet. I can’t make eye contact with her because really, what do you say to someone after that?
“I’m so sorry about that,” I begin. “I was—”
“It’s fine,” she assures me, putting her hand on my arm.
I gape at her. Well, I’m confused as fuck. Five minutes ago, she hated me for using Jim to get ahead—which is not to be confused with using him to get head, but she’s okay with this?
She’s either really open-minded or she’s into some weird shit herself. If it’s the latter, I hope she’s not expecting me to perform for her. I shift back slightly.
Yeah, that’s definitely not happening.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed about, Darcy.”
God, now she sounds like my mother.
“Desires and urges are natural and so long as you’re not doing anything illegal,” she continues. “You’re not hurting anyone, so what’s the problem?”
“Thanks, I appreciate the support and everything, but I’m not really into chicks,” I say slowly.
She starts laughing. “Me? Oh, God no. No way.” She pauses for a moment then looks me in the eye. “My brother enjoys ‘dressing up’, too, if you understand what I mean,” she murmurs, barely moving her mouth.
It’s like she’s afraid of being overheard, even though it’s just her and I in the room. I stare at her, finally process what she’s saying. Her brother is a furry? And she’s telling me this why?
