Karen glanced at the clock, frowned, and realized she had probably missed the director of accounting by fifteen minutes. It was 6:45 in the evening, she was hungry and stressed, and this folder of papers was promised to be on his desk before he left the building. She picked up her phone and dialed the extension of his assistant. Three rings ... four ... voicemail. No one there. She pushed the handset hard into the plastic cradle in frustration, slid her feet back into her high-heeled shoes beneath the broad oak desk and pushed up from her tall, black leather seat. She reached to take her glasses off, as she usually did when she left her office, but decided on the slim chance he was still at his desk, he might want to review a few things. So she left them on.
She took the manila folder of documents and smoothed a hand down the front of her jacket, checking herself for rice cake crumbs. Seeing none, she buttoned up, reassured she was in good enough condition to visit with the high brass.
She strode down the hall toward the elevators, past the many empty desks of those who were fortunate enough to get to leave at 5:00 every night. Behind her, an intern working late leaned out of his cubicle to appreciate her womanly form and perfectly turned legs, wrapped in black, seamed nylon stockings as they carried her down the hall and through the glass doors to the foyer and elevators. He whistled low to himself; she usually wore slacks to work but on those uncommon days she wore those knee-length skirts, he could never repress his urge to admire her.
Karen's mind wandered to her husband, probably home by now with the kids, with pizza in the oven no doubt. Weeks like this were always gladly received by the children who loved nothing more than pizza and Doritos, or Eggo waffles with maple syrup for dinner. But as this week was Convention Week, everyone at the company was needed to burn extra fuel and get their jobs done so that their annual convention would come off without a hitch and make everyone look good. That meant Eggos and pizza for a while at home.
And late nights downtown, 45 minutes from her house and family, which had once been a source of excitement for her. Pure, lusty, illicit, wrong excitement. She shivered when she remembered those nights she could have returned home at 7, but lied to stay for additional hours while she and Grant would lock themselves in his office, close the blinds and fuck passionately on his desk, desperately holding their moans and cries to barely contained whimpers and whispers of ecstasy. Neither of them had any illusions that she would leave her husband, or he his wife. It was torrid, it was primal ... it was so wrong. But oh, the sex. She closed her eyes a moment as the feelings returned to her, like a warm wave passing through her. She let herself indulge in the memory of him, his eyes, his smell, the taste of his skin, the way he rabidly devoured her sex with his lips and tongue, the way he couldn't bear to keep from slamming his thick cock into her as soon as the blinds were shut. For four months they danced on a razor's edge of danger, until they'd finally had one close call too many and mutually agreed to call off the affair. Karen was ready for it to be over by that point; the guilt and anxiety, the subtle panic that ran through her every time her husband's name appeared on her ringing phone... she had had enough.
The elevator gave a soft chime as it swooped down and stopped behind the twin golden doors. As they parted, she saw the young face of Miranda Fuller. Twenty-six years old, Miranda was the daughter of CEO Gordon Fuller, the multi-millionaire patriarch of the company and icon of the industry (having been featured on the cover of
Forbes
no less than three times in the course of his career). Miranda, a small, compact woman with bright, conniving brown eyes and a short black bob cut, was the very definition of corporate nepotism. One of the youngest people to reach the third tier of executive management, Miranda was in charge of their enterprise computer systems, in spite of her total lack of management acumen.
No one could argue the woman was brilliant; conversant in three languages, MBA, national honor societies... she even regularly penned articles for trade publications, her coquettish portrait and byline too irresistible to refuse in an industry dominated by overweight men. And she understood complex computer systems, that was unquestionable. But where her I.T. skills were strong, her executive skills were at times disastrous, forcing her subordinates to clean up her messes on a regular basis and nurture deep, unspoken resentment toward her. But as the messes would be made, so too would the coverups come. Miranda was learning to be a manipulative, cynical woman, using her physical beauty and charm to coax any of the men in her employ—and others, as needed—to keep her in the best light, out of blame's way.
Karen feigned a smile to the young woman as she boarded the elevator, holding her manila folder to her chest. "Evening Miranda," she said, pressing the button marked 32. The glass ring around the quarter-sized circle glowed golden.
Miranda gave Karen a somewhat puzzling smile. "Hello Mrs. Brinks," she replied smoothly, knowingly. She knew she could get away with calling anyone in the company by their first names, but she often patronized them by starting with the proper honorific, then using their first name when she needed to assert social dominance. As Karen turned back, she caught the young woman's sweeping gaze over her body and felt a subtle, barely conscious unease at being contained in this small box with the devious young woman, as the doors slid closed.
She tried to lighten the mood of the car with small talk. "Working late?" she asked.
Miranda gave a soft "Mmmm," which Karen took as dismissive. But something about the way the younger woman was looking at her made her nervous. The numbers above the console of buttons steadily climbed as the elevator car smoothly ascended its column toward the summit of the building.
The ascent came to an abrupt halt with a sudden lurch, and the two women were suddenly enveloped in darkness. They each gave a surprised gasp, seizing the brass handrail to steady themselves. Karen lost her grip on the manila folder and documents scattered to the floor. She gave a frustrated groan as she realized what was happening. A few moments later, a low light clicked on and the elevator car was bathed in low, yellow light from the battery-powered emergency lamp.
"Oh great!" Miranda exclaimed angrily, looking up at the lamp that had come on. "What the hell is this?"
Karen sighed and bent down to begin reassembling the papers into her folder. "Guess we didn't pay our light bill this month," she answered dryly. She prayed it would only be a momentary interruption of power. She didn't think to bring her phone with her; it was still on her desk.
Miranda made no move to help Karen. She instead leaned against the wall and let her eyes devour the succulent curves of the older woman's body as she folded herself to pick up the mess. Capturing her lower lip between her teeth, her lips curled into an appreciative smile as she subtilely moved her heel to pinch one of the pages to the floor before Karen could reach for it. When she did, Miranda did not lift her foot, but held the page to the ground, forcing Karen to look up at her from her crouched position.
Karen's eyes couldn't help but travel slowly. The young woman was a fit, well-proportioned specimen wearing a sharp Donna Karan navy suit that stopped a full two inches above the knee, with dark blue stockings enveloping her toned, strong and shapely legs. Karen realized Miranda had more than likely been a cheerleader when she was in high school, by the fitness of her legs and the social status she could never have done without.
Her eyes continued up Miranda's body until they met hers. Miranda gave a sly wink. "You look hot like that, Mrs. Brinks," she purred. It was a shockingly harassing thing to say, and Karen's eyes widened, her jaw going slack.
"Excuse me?" She could barely believe her own ears.
"Oh nothing," Miranda giggled. "Just teasing you." She lifted her foot and released the paper. She smiled as she saw Karen's face darken in the golden light with embarrassment and confusion. Surely the lovely older woman could never have expected to be flirted with in a situation such as this. But Miranda's appetite had moved beyond seducing her father's golfing friends, and "securing" ridiculously low bids from certain preferred vendors (based on clandestine rendezvouses in neighboring towns' premier hotels, with the promises of future such encounters if contracts were signed). She was bored with cheating husbands and drooling frat-boy interns. Now she wanted to see if she could seduce a woman. A woman in the company. Starting with the most alluring one she knew. Karen Brinks.
Karen snatched the remaining papers from the floor and quickly righted herself again, stuffing them into the folder. The light was too low to try to sort them; it would have to wait until the power came back. She frowned, jarred by the young woman's playful tease.
Miranda enjoyed watching Karen recover her composure, her eyes occasionally glancing to the lovely curves of her calves, brazenly leering. She gave a soft giggle. "Sorry," she offered. "I just can't help that you're so gorgeous. And I haven't been with a woman in so long."
