"Miss Jones, I need you in my office, now," Mr. Proctor's voice barked through the intercom. His voice crackled.
Michelle pushed a button on her phone and replied, "yes, sir." He ended the call, the light on her phone flickering off. Michelle sat back in her seat, the scratchy fabric of the computer chair rubbing against her neck, making the skin between her blouse and the bottom of her bun itch. She stretched her legs under her desk, pointed her toes in her black stiletto heels and then relaxed.
She wondered what Derek had been so testy about lately. Attorney Derek Proctor was one of the best bosses she had ever worked for during her years as a secretary. He was wonderful at his job, smart and successful with a sharp tongue and a quick wit. He was also a kind and generous employer. Their small office, twelve people I all, respected the man. But for some reason these last few weeks, Derek had been unusually testy with Michelle, quick to anger whenever she asked a question or made a small mistake.
Michelle stood, teetering on her heels as she shimmied out from behind her cramped desk, piled high with red wells and letters. She smoothed her tight black skirt, adjusted the sleeves on her cream colored blouse and walked down the hallway to Derek's office.
She slipped in between the small crack he had left open. Papers were littered all over the room—it was a miracle the man could find anything in his office. "Close the door behind you," Derek's deep voice ordered. The back of his chair was facing her. It was a heavy, ornate red leather chair lined with bronze studs. Michelle could see the thick head of wavy brown hair just above the edge of the leather chair.
She obeyed, turning to push the door closed. She heard a click. The soundproof door would be locked from the outside. Emily gulped, her palms beginning to sweat. Mr. Proctor never closed the door unless he was in a very important meeting.
She shook on her shoes, wondering if this was it, if he was letting her go after the Jackson case screw up.
"Sit down, Michelle," he instructed. As she sat down in a small chair across from his desk, his own chair swiveled around so he was now facing her. His brown eyes glittered under the lights. His crisp gray suit molded perfectly to his well worked out body. His eyes scanned over Michelle, soaking in every delicious curve. Her red hair was in a perfectly tight bun, her clothes tight, professional, but a bit to immodest. Derek could see deep cleavage and her hips seemed to spill over the edge of the chair. She crossed her legs, a quick flash of her garter showing before her pulled down the hem of her skirt She wore tall, black stilettos, Christian Louboutins. Michelle was the only secretary he knew that had such a weakness for designer shoes.
"You wanted to see me, sir," Michelle said, leaning back in her chair.
Derek smiled. Oh, if only his little secretary knew... Derek could feel his cock beginning to harden just enough to annoy him. "Do you know why you're here, Miss Jones?" She shook her head, flashed of her tight bun peeking out from side-to-side. "The Jackson case, Michelle. Think about it."
He had her now. She flinched as if he had slapped her. Her face blanched, only small circled of pink blush colored her. Her skin had turned ghostly pale. "Sir, that was just an honest mistake. Really, I hadn't meant to" "You didn't mean to sign the Order to end the case in my name? You didn't mean to send that order to the insurance company so they could file it with the court? Because of your fuck up, Michelle, we now owe our client for a case we can't collect on because you signed my name to the wrong damned paper." Michelle shook like a scared kitten in her chair. A small tear slipped from the corner of her eye. Her knuckles were white as she held onto the chair, too afraid to move and brush away the tear.
Derek stood, towering over her as he stalked around his desk, stopping in front of her. He moved his hand down, brushing away her tear. She flinched. Derek seemed to fill the room and suck out all of the air. Michelle couldn't catch her breath. Her boss' eyes glittered, she could feel his hot gaze invading her space, making her itch in places she couldn't scratch. "I'm so sorry, sir," she whimpered.
"I'm sorry too, Michelle. I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go for this," his lips flattened in a straight line, his eyes dancing wildly.
"No," Michelle whispered, shaking her head furiously, "No, please Derek, Mr. Proctor, sir, I can't. I need this job. I have to pay my rent. I have nowhere else to go," she murmured.
"Miss Jones," Derek sighed in defeat.
"Please!" she almost yelled.
Derek sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He had her right where he wanted her, but he had to play cool. No smiling. "Look, I have to be in court in ten minutes. I won't be back until late, but stay and we'll talk. I'll see what I can do. Fuck," he muttered, turning back to his desk. "You can leave my office now, Michelle. I'll be back from court around five thirty."
Michelle nodded and left. She kept her head hung low as she strutted back to her desk, trying not to slouch. She should have seen this coming. She wondered if she could come up with a way for her to stay. Maybe he would simply dock her pay, or cut back her hours, or maybe volunteer to file on the weekends. She sighed.
It was two thirty. She had to find some way to keep her mind off her horrible situation for another three hours. She began rummaging through her filing, organizing, typing, re-filing. Time dragged as four thirty came, then one-by-one, the office left for the day.
"You coming, Michelle?" asked Michael, one of the junior associates at the firm. The attractive blonde was dressed in an impeccably crisp blue suit, his smile warm and inviting. Michael had asked Michelle on a date three times. Each time was met with a clichéd "I don't date coworkers," brush off. Maybe after tonight, Michelle wouldn't have that excuse. The thought left her feeling nauseous.
"No, I have some paperwork to file before I leave." She stood up and smoothed down her tight pencil skirt.
Michael's eyes followed the path her hands made. "Right, well, have a good weekend then," he said. He walked down the hallway and Michelle heard the office door click closed behind him. She was alone, and it was five twenty.
Michelle rummaged through the files, blindly stuffing papers into manila folders, wondering what she was going to do if she was let go. She had worked as a waitress, maybe she could work at a diner until something more promising came along? She had good recommendations from her old bosses. She should be able to keep her head afloat and pay for her rent if she found a roommate.
Michelle was beginning to feel better when the office door opened. Derek turned the corner and walked into his office. He left the door open. Michelle's stomach began to flutter. She inhaled a long, deep breath and began shaking in her heels. She walked.
She tapped on the doorframe, watching as Derek shrugged out of his coat, his back towards her. He was watching the city grow dark as the sun set behind city hall. His tall frame was perfectly outlined by his dapper black suit, cut to show off every sharp edge. "Close the door, Miss Jones."
Michelle entered and shut the door firmly behind her. Michelle shifted her weight from one foot to the other and she waited in silence. Derek finally turned to face her. His smile twitched into a smirk. "How badly do you need this job, Michelle?"
"You know I need this job, sir," she said, still quaking in her shoes.
"And what will you do to keep this job?"
Michelle's mouth dropped. This was beginning to sound like the beginning of a poorly scripted porno. But she knew lying and doing the flirty "I'll do anything for you" crack was not going to get her anywhere. She straightened her back. "I'll work weekends. I'll work overtime. I'll even take a pay cut if necessary, Mr. Proctor."
Derek stepped away from his desk and closed the gap between him and his secretary. She was trembling, but trying to be proud. Her red lips were pursed, her mascara was smudged from crying earlier, and she couldn't seem to look away from him as he began slowly circling her. He wanted her to beg. "Well, is that so? And how do I know you won't slack off on the weekends? Or while you're alone in the office, working overtime? You're not very convincing, Michelle. One last chance. What will you do to keep your job?"
Michelle took a long, deep breath. So that's what he wanted? He wanted her to be some porn star bimbo who would say she'd do "anything" to keep her job. "Fuck you," she spat and turned.
Derek grabbed her bun and yanked her head back, her whole body following. She stumbled in her shoes, nearly falling. A sharp pain pulled on the back of her head. She yelped as his large hands dug into her shoulders, dragging her away from the door and behind his desk. "You're hurting me. Get off of me you fucking asshole," she swore.
