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Danielle was late for work, horribly late actually. Just a few minutes past getting her ass handed to her on a pretty pink slip. Her knees were already starting to knock involuntarily in anticipation for the chewing out that was going to happen. Danielle worked for Generex, a company so prestigious that the first floor toilets could be eaten off of. Her position, or whatever was left of it, was to make sure that the big man was happy. If she was a no-show, the big man was not going to be happy.
She pressed the elevator button to the thirtieth floor. It didn't work. The silver 3-0 stared back at her waiting for an appropriate response. Nothing. It was supposed to glow and sigh pleasantly as if recognizing it's passion on earth was to ferry her to her destination. The button instead stuck it's tongue out at her as if recognizing that she was no longer a constituent of the company and should no longer be privy to its compliance. Danielle leaned backward, letting the far wall of the elevator catch her. She peeked through an eye lid at the mirror tiled ceiling, asking it silently for help and wondering when if at any time this miserable day would get started and then hopefully end. Then the elevator doors opened.
A man stepped in. Her body straightened to attention, pretending that it hadn't just been slouched against a wall. He paid no more attention to her than a passer-by pays attention to a street bum. He pressed his button, 32, and slid a silver card through an almost invisible slot. The elevator, elated that it was finally in use, dinged merrily and proceeded to take it's legitimate and illegitimate passenger on a ride. Danielle fought the urge to smack herself on the forehead. Of course, the stupid access card.
The man was calm, composed, obviously not in trouble of losing his job. From the point of view from the mirror tiled ceiling, she could see that he had no bald spots, no dandruff and no forward lean to his stance. He was taller than most men she'd stayed in an elevator with and was normal looking enough to hide in a crowd. By floor twenty-nine her stomach dropped to her toes as the approaching doom loomed just a floor away.
At floor thirty-two, Danielle exited with the man, trailing him five feet behind as to not grow suspicion. He wasn't fazed by her at all, in fact he disappeared through a mahogany colored door and waved her good-bye. Strange. Thirty-two was a floor reserved for the best bullshiters. Floor thirty, her floor, reserved for the mediocre. It smelled like leather and dark stained wood on this floor. These secretaries wore fancy undergarments if any under their skin tight pencil skirts. Two floors down it smelled like old white men who kissed ass all day. Secretaries on floor thirty wore flat shoes that made their asses look like a steamroller drove over them. Except for her boss, and except for her. Danielle hit the stairs, one hundred feet away from the elevator, and stumbled the two floors down to her destiny.
"You're in deep shi-"
Danielle rushed past Marco, the always pleasant, never judgmental receptionist. She could still hear him clicking his tongue as she zoomed through the cubicle land and into her boss's office. He didn't look up, he didn't ask her to leave either. Danielle's boss was older than her by a decade and more. While she was learning her ABCs he was making his first million dollars. While she was sneaking out of her bedroom window and onto the back of her less-than-parental approved-boyfriend's-motorcycle, he had divorced his first wife leaving her nothing due to a well written pre-nup.
Her boss gave her hives when she thought about him sexually, which happened more often than it should. He was the straight version of Anderson Cooper handsome. Must have started graying around birth and kept his Mexican maid ironed crisp white shirts tucked into a tailored pair of black trousers. Eyes were piercing blue as a Siberian husky and a low voice that made the panties wet three floors above from the deep vibrations. His coat hung unattended and unused for the remainder of the day on a coat hanger strategically placed behind his desk. If she had any fantasies during the day, they involved taking his coat on and off; allowing her hands to graze against the width of his shoulder blades, following the muscles all the way down to their insertion points. She would make him breakfast, bring him coffee, and consider birthing an heir to his kingdom if he ever asked. Today, she'd forgotten to be available to prep him for a meeting for a deal that could potentially cost the company quadruple more than her student loan.
"I-" Boss raised his hand to pause her. Without looking up, he pointed to a chair in front of his desk. Gulp.
"Shut the door first," he commanded. His voice didn't carry and it was gentle and smooth, like the calm before a storm. Danielle tip toed backward, finding the knob, and pushing it shut trying to make as little noise as possible. Boss, still engrossed in his papers, waited quietly as she twisted and knotted her fingers waiting for the inevitable. She sat down in the chair, crossing her legs to help stay conservative in a short white wool skirt.
The silence was deafening. It screamed in her ear, taunting, tingling, tickling. Danielle stared at the floor in front of his desk. He wood and dark colors. No books on his shelves, just photos of him plus insert foreign prince, king, president. His rugs were Persian and his desk was barren. No intriguing artifact or sand garden. Not even a name plate because by now every clerical staff to custodian should know his name.
"What to do?" He asked. Danielle perked up, the tears that had welled up in her eyes struggled to get sucked back in.
"I'm so-"
"Sorry?" Boss drummed his short fingernails on the desk. They were perfectly manicured, perfectly shaped, perfect. He leaned back into his leather desk chair pausing for dramatic effect. The body hiding beneath his clothing was not mid-life plump like some of the other big wigs on the top floors. Boss had kept lean through an implemented regimen of his design. Exercise and health were important aspects for him, and he only hired those who proved to be fit and calorie conscious. Danielle had fit his bill. She even had to prove her gym membership was current and consistent before he would hire her. It counted as one of her references.
"Yes."
"Danielle," she quivered deep inside whenever he said her name, "I want to make sure this never happens again."
She bobbled like a little hommie on a dash board, "It won't." She would have three alarms set if that's what she had to do. Disappointing him was last one her list; next to drinking from the drinking fountain next to the bathroom.
"You are attracted to me aren't you, Danielle?" That was an understatement.
How to phrase what she had tried to keep hidden all of these years went something like, "You know you are." She hadn't meant for that to sound cheeky, but by the way his chair rocked forward as if surprised by her answer, she knew deep shi- was exactly what she was in for.
"I suppose."
