Double Dare(60)

And I interrupted there.

“Yes, Tamara is my full name, I go by Tammy,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Tammy is short for Tamara.”

“Right, right,” said the woman disinterestedly. “Hmm, let’s see what it says here. What’s your social security number?”

“My social?” I choked. “I’m just trying to figure out where my stuff is, can’t you do that with just my badge number?” I pleaded. This was entering the seventh circle of hell and I was desperate to locate my missing drawer. “Please,” I added, a choked tone in my voice. “I don’t know my social off the top of my head.”

And the woman seemed to take pity on me.

“Okay, yeah says here that you’ve been transferred to headquarters.”

“Headquarters?” I sputtered. “Why? Where is that?”

“I dunno, you’ll have to ask your boss,” replied the woman again, clearly bored. “We just process paperwork. Your new office will be at 1 Time Warner Center.”

And I gasped then. The Time Warner Center was probably the most expensive piece of real estate in Manhattan, prized for the building’s unobstructed view of both the Hudson River and Central Park.

“You mean at Columbus Circle?” I asked hesitantly.

“Of course at Columbus Circle,” snapped the woman. “What other Time Warner Center is there?”

And slowly, I put the receiver down. I’d certainly moved up in life if my new offices were going to be in such a shi-shi location. I only prayed that my desk was still there, intact with the drawer locked.

Slowly, I put on my coat and walked the few blocks to the new place, breathing in the air, letting my lungs expand and deflate slowly, taking deep breaths. The good thing about the Time Warner Center is that to get there from 666 Madison, I could walk along Central Park South and breathe in the scents of autumn, the unmistakable fiery smell of crackling leaves, the beautiful fall foliage turning the sky red and yellow.

“You got this,” I told myself silently. “Just march in there like you belong and no one’s going to say a word.”

So when I stepped into the lobby of the Time Warner office building, I flashed my badge with a confident smile and was immediately treated like a VIP.

“Ms. Jones is here,” said the security guard, calling upstairs. He added, “They’re expecting you on the thirtieth floor.”

“Thank you,” I said graciously, “Where are the elevators please?”

And the guard gestured to a pair of doors that opened magically, not a whisper of sound despite their construction from heavy metal. I was whisked upstairs, the elevator so fast, so luxurious that within seconds the doors were flying open again to reveal an elegant foyer.

I stepped in confidently and went straight up to the receptionist.

“Hi, I’m Tammy Jones,” I said, business-like. “I’m not sure …”

But the elderly woman gave me a kind smile.

“Yes, we’ve been expecting you. I’m Norma,” she said, extending her hand. “We’ve desperately needed a new addition to the typing pool, so your arrival is much anticipated. Let me show you around.”

A typist? My heart sank. This was definitely old-school, I hadn’t even realized that typists still existed in the modern era. But it wasn’t for me to say. I was lucky to not be fired and I wasn’t about to complain about a demotion from my marketing position.

So I followed Norma around obediently, greeting various staff members including the guys who operated the copy machines to the in-house caterers who were whisking away a late breakfast of some type.

“Oh wow, the view here is beautiful,” I said, pausing at a floor-length window in the conference room.

“It is, isn’t it?” commented Norma. “Mr. Martin commissioned these windows because he wanted everyone to enjoy our location. He could have done tiny windows or no windows at all for a fraction of the cost, but he decided to go floor-to-ceiling instead,” she said.

That was the first mention of Nick and I pounced.

“Oh does Mr. Martin work on this floor?” I asked, as casually as possible. Inside my heart was thumping, my pussy automatically moistening at even the thought of the big man.

“Oh yes,” said Norma. “Luxor is headquartered here and Mr. Martin has his office just around the corner. He’s not here that often,” she confided, lowering her voice, “busy with meetings and such, but yes, this is his home base.”

And immediately my pulse began racing. I’d be working within spitting distance of Nick Martin? Seeing him every morning as he strode into the office, powerful and handsome in a dark suit? My heart began jackhammering at the opportunity, the chance to be around Nick.