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"All due respect, Sir, if you need it before tomorrow, that doesn't leave me much of a choice. I have work to do here today already." I offered a smile, hoping to alleviate some of his guilt. "Per our arrangement, I am being compensated generously for the work. I don't mind adding a few extra hours to my week. If it would make you feel better, I could stay at the office late to get it done, but… I have a cat and Archie gets a little temperamental if I'm not home in time for his evening feeding."
"Your cat's name is Archie?" he asked with a smirk.
I grimaced, for the first time realizing the closeness between my cat's name and his. "I've had him for three years," I offered lamely. "He's named after the comics. Well, the character on the show based off the comics."
He smirked again. "I'm familiar with it." His eyes sparkled with mischief, and not for the first time I noticed the uncanny resemblance he bore to the character in question.
I cleared my throat. "Right. Well, anyway. It's no problem. I'll get it done."
"Very good." His eyes shuttered and he looked like he wanted to say something more but he nodded again and crossed the threshold into his office, reaching up to tap the wall above the doorway as he entered.
I couldn't help but roll my eyes. He was a well-respected icon in the community, and a hotshot lawyer, but sometimes he acted like a teenage frat boy. The enigma of it made him all the more intriguing.
Audrey
I'd been home for about an hour when I changed into my comfiest clothes, an oversized pair of wide-leg sweats and a concert tee from my favorite musical icon, and sank down cross- legged on my couch with the files Archer had given me at lunch.
I knew what the business was. I understood his role. But somehow I still wasn't prepared for the personal and intimate information contained with those folders.
Women—six of them—all faceless but not nameless, had poured their hearts and souls onto printed questionnaires. And it was my job to not only read, but to document all of it.
So I did. Their worst qualities, the things they needed help with, hard limits, or in several cases, lack thereof, triggers, pet names, lifestyle history, marital status, middle name, sexual fantasies… it seemed nothing was off limits, and I was reading about things I’d ever only seen in books and the dark corners of the web. When Archer described the service, it sounded fairly straightforward, like he was acting as a glorified accountability partner, but this… the information in these questionnaires hinted at something far more involved and… intimate.
"Holy crap," I murmured, wondering what I had gotten myself into.
Archie climbed across my keyboard and I pulled him into my lap, holding him close while I willed my heart to stop racing at the mental picture of my boss, Archer Brennan, fulfilling each and every one of their fantasies.
For a split second I entertained the idea of calling him up and saying that I couldn't do it after all. But eight hundred dollars a month extra would go a long way toward getting me on my feet and the idea of getting another "good girl" out of him was heady.
So I settled Archie in my lap, poured a glass of wine, took a deep breath, pulled up my big -girl panties and went to work.
Two hours later, I had stripped down to my panties and bra, was three glasses of wine in, and all sorts of hot and bothered, but I was done.
Glancing at the clock, I hoped it was time to go to bed, but it was barely eight. No amount of mindless television seemed to pause the fantasies running through my brain on a loop so I did what I always did when my single status got the better of me: I wrote.
Her boss was a shark and she wanted to be his prey. Not in the courtroom, like everyone else, but in the bedroom.
The way Archer Brennan commanded a courtroom was nothing compared to the way he would command her orgasms in the bedroom. She just knew it.
On any given day all he had to do was look at her and her panties were soaked. She lived for the soft-spoken words of praise he threw her way, way more sparingly than she would like.
She'd spent weeks trying to coax a ‘good girl’ out of him. She came in early, left late, and finished her tasks way ahead of the deadline. She made his coffee the way he liked, ordered his lunch the way he asked, and always knew when to take a message and when to put a call through, but nothing, none of it, was working.
And she knew of his reputation, the girls that came out of his office tugging down their skirts, and the way he'd never held an assistant as long as he'd held her, and though she really couldn't afford to put her job in jeopardy, she also couldn't bear his indifference any longer.
It was time to try a new way to get his attention—a way that went against everything she stood for, but was the only way she knew would work.
"Audrey Lynn," Archer called from the doorway to his office.
He always called her by her given name—full and middle—as if she was a child who had been naughty and it made her stammer and blush every time. This time was no different—or maybe it was very different because this time she'd actually been naughty.
"Y-yes, Sir?" she stammered.
"Where is that brief I asked you for? It was supposed to be in my inbox before lunch. It's now after lunch, and it's not there."
This had been a bad idea. Now she felt like she was going to throw up.
"I… um… it's not done, Sir."
