Kinky Boots(7)
Jill woke up before the alarm went off. Thoughts of her encounter at Kinky Boots set off an eruption of butterflies in her stomach, and she couldn’t keep from smiling as she saw the lovely pair of mauve boots sat neatly at the foot of her bed. Still unpaid for too.
The steamy shower felt like a million tiny massages all over her body and the loofah stimulated every pore of her pinkened skin to tingle with delight. It didn’t even matter that, if it weren’t for her boss, she’d still be enjoying a lie-in all snuggled under the crisp, clean duvet. In fact the morning seemed entirely too amazing to waste sleeping. Though the sleep last night had been particularly satisfying, and she seemed to recall very arousing dreams. Not too surprising under the circumstances, she thought. And as soon as she could placate her boss and get free, she hoped for a helluva lot more than just dreams.
Breakfast never tasted so good, even if it was only toast with marmalade. She made the coffee stronger than usual and delighted in the bite of it against the back of her tongue, balanced by the velvet smoothness of the cream. In spite of her lack of interest in fashion, today it seemed a delicious chore to pick out just the perfect clothing. She chose a black pencil skirt, a soft silk blouse that was a riot of rich summer hues, and her lovely new boots. There was a bit more cleavage showing than usual, a bit more colour in the make-up. And the skirt, well, the skirt fitted like a glove. Though it came several inches below her knees, there was a long slit high up the right thigh. Under normal circumstances she would never have worn it to work, but she planned to pop by Kinky Boots afterward and pay her debt. With interest. Before she stepped out of the door into the early-morning chill, she pulled on the matching summer jacket and slipped her BlackBerry into the pocket.
To her surprise, when she arrived at the office, she found no one there but herself and her boss. It felt chilled and overly air conditioned without the complement of warm bodies crowded into the open-plan working space. She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her. The situation was almost enough to trash her post-coital morning. Being alone with the tosser always made her skin crawl, but the fact that she really was alone with him this time caused a cold clench in her stomach. She wondered what the hell was going on.
She went quietly to her desk, not wanting to draw his attention. With any luck he’d be too hungover to care what she did, then she could get her work done and leave. She spent an hour tweaking and cleaning up other people’s articles and finalising the layout for that week’s Full On webzine, tasks that he should have done. She was beginning to think she might get by unnoticed when she realised the article on street buskers she’d spent nearly a month researching had been pulled completely. It had been replaced as the lead story by an article on discount holidays lifted straight from an affiliate newsfeed. It wasn’t the first time her boss had promised that her article would be the lead story, then pulled it at the last minute for no good reason. It would bloody well be the last, she decided. Breathing fire, she slammed her laptop shut, crossed the maze of cubicles to her boss’s door and knocked before she had time for second thoughts.
He spoke to her without looking up from his laptop. ‘You’re upset about your busker story.’ He didn’t wait for her to respond, but continued. ‘I made an executive decision, hon.’ He took off his glasses and finally looked up at her. ‘It just wasn’t the kind of professional quality I’d hoped for, and when there was nothing else, I had to make a choice, didn’t I?’
Her body stiffened. She stroked and clutched the BlackBerry in her pocket like it was a talisman. ‘There was nothing wrong with that article,’ a voice whispered in her ear. ‘It was a good article, a damn sight better than what’s up there now.’ It was only the sour look of surprise on her boss’s face that made her realise there had been no voice whispering in her ear. She had spoken the whole thing out loud, and she certainly wasn’t sorry she’d done it!
‘I believe the choice of what’s good and what’s not is mine to make, honey. The name on the door of this office is still H. Devlin, isn’t it? Last time I looked it hadn’t been changed to Jill Hart.’ He pushed his chair back and came around the desk to stand in front of her, giving her a once-over that made her shiver. ‘Nice outfit, by the way. I always suspected there was a nice figure under all that frump.’ He moved closer, breathing stale coffee in her face, then he lowered his eyes to the buttons of her blouse and smiled conciliatorily into her cleavage. She pulled her jacket protectively around her.