Earning Her Keep

Author's note : The following story involves power play, a significant age gap and themes of domination/submission. Enjoy

I get off the phone. Light a cigarette. My boss's voice is still ringing in my ears.

"Bill, you'd better record some profits this month or I'm shutting your ass down. Oh, and get that deal with RetailX."

Running a secluded branch of an exotic oil and cosmetics company isn't easy.

I step outside my cabin.

There's an urgent rolling of swivel chairs, and desperate attempts at typing loudly. Giggles and chatter go dead as if someone slit their throats.

My stupid, insubordinate employees.

I gaze at the corporate jungle of cubicles. I inhale a puff.

Truthfully, I want to line all of them up and fire them. Every single one of them. But of course, that would be suicidal.

I consider delivering an impromptu pep talk. Or perhaps a team building exercise? Nah, we've had plenty of those. Perhaps a raise? Can't afford it. Not with the branch recording month after month of loss with no end in sight. The only end in sight is the end of the company itself, and the end of me... William Hoffman.

No. I shake my head. That can't be allowed.

I return to my cabin and snub the cigarette in the charred ashtray on my desk.

I smile weakly at the picture of Victoria, my wife. She never fails to smile, no matter how hard it gets.

My gaze falls on a bell next to the ashtray. Dull. Unused. Gathering dust.

Since I've got no other option... I reach for it.

The ting fills the cabin after ages. I hear shuffling of steps. The door opens. And in steps a young woman with a pixie haircut-- Natasha.

As usual, Natasha is dressed in clothing so unremarkable, you'd never guess she's my secretary. Tracie at the reception has a better sense of fashion. Natasha wears no makeup whatsoever. Thick glasses. And she's wearing the same thick coat as everyday, which conceals at least 2 layers of linen. Her pants are unironed, and brush against her unpolished shoes.

"Good morning, sir." She says meekly.

Perhaps it was a bad idea summoning her of all people.

I feel the beginnings of a headache already.

"We're bleeding money." I ball my fists. "And we're getting shut down if we continue to."

"That sounds bad, sir."

"It does, right?" I say in a singsong voice.

She doesn't get my sarcasm.

Her hands are clasped in front of her. "Got any bright ideas?" I eye her up and down.

"No, sir."

I open my mouth to berate her, but stop myself. Just my hardened expression has clearly startled her.

I never wanted a personal secretary. Heck, never needed one. Which leads to the question, why would I give that position to someone like Natasha of all people? That happened because two months ago, Peter approached me, my senior in college and a good friend. His daughter was a 22 year old fresh graduate struggling for a job. Everywhere she'd worked, she'd been fired in a month. I told him we had no openings and our budget was tight. But Peter insisted. And she did end up in my office as my secretary, without me ever glancing at her resume. Last I remember seeing her was the day of her induction.

Peter had assured me that while Natasha might seem unconventional and maybe not "that smart"(I certainly agree with that assessment), she would earn her keep one way or the other.

She hasn't though, so far.

I force a PR smile. I'm very adept at those.

"Natasha." She flinches. "Sit."

She perches on the edge of the seat. I offer her a glass of water.

"Call me Bill, alright?"

She smiles sheepishly and takes a sip.

"You went to college, right?"

"Yes si--uh, Bill."

"What for?"

"Um... environmental science. With a minor in marketing." Her voice is barely above a whisper.

Environmental science. Marketing. The universe has a sick sense of humor.

"We are in deep trouble." I rub my aching forehead. "We need the deal with RetailX."

She doesn't respond.

"Do you understand?" I get a hesitant nod.

"Good."

Then there is silence. Too long a silence. If this girl can't make herself useful, like most of these employees, I will have to fire them all before the company drowns in useless expenses. Even if it means upsetting Peter. I can't--

"Perhaps I could accompany you to the meeting with RetailX." She mumbles.

I hold back a snicker.

Hot secretaries swaying deals in your favour isn't totally unheard of. But Natasha?

My face turns red as I stifle a laugh.

"How might that help?" I try to sound earnest.

"I will handle all your documents and presentations, so you can focus on the deal. I might provide insight too."

"Wouldn't that be wonderful!" I grin.

She smiles. Her ignorance of my sarcasm makes this so much better.

"Thank you, Bill."

At this point, I am so beyond stress that messing around with a girl out of college is somehow keeping me sane.

I decide to actually let her tag along. If not for much else, then to at least keep me from breaking down when I lose my career.

"Make sure you carry appropriate formal wear. And uh... maybe visit the parlour?" I try not to sound like the typical creepy boss. I fail.

She nods her head like an obedient pup though, eager to be useful.

That's how I like it.

RetailX owns more than half the stores in the district. And if this deal goes through, which I'm sure it won't, then it might get us some extra time to stay afloat and fix things long term.

I have taught myself to not be optimistic though. It saves me from disappointment.

It isn't easy carving a name for yourself in the corporate world, but I certainly have. With sweat and blood. I have lost a lot. Family. Friends. Money. But I have always fought till the end.

When the day of the meeting arrives, I pack everything carefully. My notes. My pitch ideas.

I check myself out in the mirror. Well groomed. My suit has just been dry cleaned. My tie is a neat Windsor knot. I may not look like a supermodel, but I take care of myself.

Then... Natasha walks in.

She looks... the same?

I can make out a certain glow on her face. And there's a hint of lipstick. But she is still in her battered, everyday coat.

"Good morning, Bill."

Even though I had low expectations, I feel anger surging at the sheer incompetence of this employee.

I smile bitterly.

"You look like you mean business." I remark.

"Thank you, Bill." She beams, a blush burning in her pale cheeks.

God save me.

"Is the presentation ready?"

"Absolutely."

Finally. Something goes right.

"Tell me you've packed some formals?"

"I have."

This might not be that bad afterall.

Two hours later we check in to a fancy resort on the outskirts of the city.

The Royal Pulse. What an original name. Certainly screams rich people and shady deals.

Natasha does most of the check-in formalities, while I fidget with my wedding ring.

I married Victoria -- Vicky, twelve years ago. On first day of college our eyes met, and in a few days our hearts. I smile, remembering how I got down on one knee during a stupid dorm party, and she said yes amidst showers of booze and hollering.

I love Vicky.

"Bill, we're ready."

The porter is a young guy, in his early twenties. Very skinny. How he manages to haul two suitcases and a bag of our samples in one go is a mystery.

We reach the second floor. He pulls out a key. 206 -- the plaque on the door reads.

"Is this mine or yours?"

"Sorry?" She raises an eyebrow.

"You booked two rooms, right?"

"Oh."

"Don't tell me..."

"The meeting is scheduled at four. I figured even if we are done in two hours, we most likely won't have to spend the night."

I shrug. Kinda makes sense.

This is their luxury suite. A king sized double bed, a giant curved TV, mini fridge, balcony overseeing the artificial beach, and a luxurious bathroom with a grand tub.

The meeting will begin in an hour.

"Get ready." I tell her.

In five minutes, she steps out of the bathroom.

The coat is gone. In its place, a very unappealing white shirt, and a black full length skirt.

Unimpressive, to sum it up.

"Is this alright, Bill?"

"Sure." I scratch my chin.

Thankfully, I brought back-up.

"Although..." I open my luggage and pull out a fancy tube top and knee length skirt my wife used to wear.

"What do you think?" I hold up the top.

"Bill, I--"

"Why don't you try it on?"

"I don't think it'd suit me."

I sense this isn't her style. But the fact she won't even listen to me. I feel another wave of rage washing through me.

I gulp down the lump in my throat.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Fuck it.

I toss the clothes back into my luggage and pull out my notes and laptop. She props on a couch and boots up her laptop.

As I go over my pitch, I glance at her. Her eyes are wide. Her pale face now almost ghastly white.

"Everything alright?"

"The... presentation."

"What about it?"

"It's missing."

"You've gotta be kidding me."

She shows me, with teary eyes, the folder where it supposedly had been.

"You told me, in the morning--"

"I know." She refreshes her laptop desperately, as if the PPT will reappear magically.

"Natasha, I've had enough of your crap."

"Excuse me?"

"I have been extremely patient with you, more than I ever should have. You've been leeching off company money for absolutely nothing."

Vicky once pointed out that whenever I'm angry, there's a vessel on my forehead which twitches violently. And right now, I can feel it almost bursting out. I can't hold back any longer.

"The only reason you got this job..." I point a finger at her. "Is because your dad is a good friend of mine. But that doesn't give you a free pass to be incompetent, insubordinate, and most importantly, a big fat liar."

I spit out the word 'liar' as I jut my index finger in her face.

Silence settles in the room as I catch my breath. Natasha doesn't meet my eyes.

"I'll handle this meeting." I settle back.

"Bill, I'll make the presentation right no--"

"Save it." I take a deep breath. "You're fired."

She looks at me, stunned.

Her face isn't pale anymore. It's red. A steady stream of tears has washed down whatever make-up she bothered applying.

Tension hangs hot and heavy in the air-conditioned room, as I scribble on my notepad.

Natasha sobs silently. Gaze downcast. Hands clasped in her lap.

My phone buzzes. They're here.

"Be gone before I return." I grab my laptop and notes and step out, slamming the door behind me.

I shake hands with Eliyas Green -- the district manager of RetailX. He's a tall, black man, in his early forties. Handsome by most standards.

We've been seated in the hotel's conference room. It's illuminated with neon lights, a giant conference table, made entirely of glass in the center with swivel chairs all around it. A white board occupies the front wall, along with a projector screen next to it.

Although the room is huge, it's just me, and Eliyas Green. He occupies the chair near the entrance, while I occupy the center seat right in front of the white board.

We have microphones in front of us. But my voice is so loud and firm I've never needed one.

It all goes downhill after the pleasantries. While I continue to ramble about RoseGlit-- our latest herbal remedy which instantly cleanses the skin, I can see he is disinterested, doodling on his notepad instead of taking notes.

My lips continue pitching, although my heart feels the deal slipping away every second.

"A presentation would be good, Mr. Hoffmann?"

"I'd thought so too." I shoot back. "But I figured, why watch a boring PPT when I can have you test the sample itself?"

The man nods in agreement.

I reach into my bag and feel around for the plastic bottle.

My heart sinks. It's not there. I forgot the sample back in the room.

My stupid secretary distracted me enough with her incompetence that now I have no sample which I just volunteered to have him try, instead of a PPT. I have nothing to offer.

"Mr Hoffmann?"

"Just a minute, Mr. Green."

The deal is off. I have lost.

"Mr Hoffmann, we're burning daylight here. I also have another meeting to attend." He stacks a bunch of papers in a file and clears his desk.

"Just post us a few samples and we'll get back to you." He smiles. That's a smile of formality. This man will never get back to me. I know it.

"Sure." I smile too. What else can I possibly do?

He stands up.

There's a knock on the door. Possibly housekeeping.

"Come in." The door swings open.

My eyes pop out.

It's a gorgeous woman.

She's dressed in a dazzling maroon tube top, and a black skirt. Her blue eyes are shaded by beautiful eyelashes dabbed with mascara.

Her giant bust strains against the seams of the top, with a pendant which travels along the valley of her bare cleavage, and rests between her breasts.

Her tummy is ever so slightly chubby, but that only adds to her curvaceous look.

Her legs are pale, smooth and contrast against the black skirt. She's tall, maybe because of the high heels.

It can't be Natasha. Except it is. This woman right here, is my stupid secretary Natasha.

She has a bag in her arms.

"You forgot the samples, Bill."

"Right." I stutter. "Thank you."

Mr Green appears more perplexed than I am. His gaze lingers on her curves, as he unabashedly eyes her up and down.

Natasha walks towards me. I can see she's not used to the heels, her gait uneven.

As she keeps the bag in front of me, she loses her balance and stumbles.

"Whoa--" I instinctively reach out and grab her by the waist.

Our faces are inches apart. Her eyelashes flutter in front of me.

"You look like you mean business." I am not sarcastic this time.

"You betcha." I smell alcohol on her breath. A lot of it.

Greene clears his throat.

Natasha takes a step back and steadies herself, adjusting her top.

Despite my wife being a busty woman, her tube top doesn't seem to fit Natasha properly. The maroon cotton struggles to restrain her breasts underneath, and I see a hint of nipple poking through the material.

I still can't believe this is Natasha.

"Mr. Green, would you like a demonstration of RoseGlit?" She coos in a high pitched voice.

"How could I say no to a demonstration?" He grins.

What a bastard. I smirk.

With a swift motion, she pulls out the bottle and oozes some of the gel on her hand.

Soon she's applying it on her forearms, then her upper arms and then her underarms.

Smooth skin. So she did go to the parlour afterall.

Her hands then move to the upper swell of her breasts. Her fingers dig into her creamy mounds, and she does it all so nonchalantly.

Green is almost drooling.

Now she stands in the center of the room, hands resting on her head.

The gel is supposed to air dry for two minutes.

With every breath, her breasts heave outwards, and her top falls ever so slightly lower, millimetre by millimetre. It appears as if it will give away any time.

Strangely, I see no hint of a bra, as almost half her pale breasts become visible.

Her arms remain in the air, smooth underarms shining with RoseGlit.

Her eyes meet mine. There's a fire in them.

Yet, if this girl thinks this excuses her malpractices, she's wrong.

And while I do appreciate the show I'm getting, I take decisions with my head, not my balls.

Two minutes pass. No one says a word.

She walks over to Green, her heels clicking against the marble floor. But she doesn't stumble again.

Gracefully she bends over in front of him.

I see two things : her voluptuous ass under the fabric, and Green's eyes popping out as he stares at her cleavage.

She pulls out a couple of tissue papers from the dispenser in front of him and proceeds to wipe her arms dry. She then walks to the middle of the conference room and does a twirl.

The upper margins of her pink areolae are slightly visible, but she makes no attempt to adjust the top again.

As she raises her arms, we see that the skin of her arms is fairly smoother and cleansed.

Green appears impressed. By the product or by her? I can't tell. I most certainly don't care.

"Well I'll be damned." Green opens his file again and scribbles something. "Your stuff actually might sell."

"Thank you, Mr. Green." I smile.

"I'll be contacting you, soon." He hands me a few papers and stuffs the bottle of RoseGlit into his bag.

We shake hands.

"You didn't tell me your name, darlin'."

"Natasha."

"Make sure to follow up with him for a raise, Natasha."

She giggles. "I'm sure I will."

They shake hands, and I notice him staring at her bosom yet again, and Natasha doesn't seem to mind at all.

It's just her and me in the conference room after Green leaves. My brain is still struggling to process the events of the last twenty minutes.

"Are you happy now, Bill?"

"I don't know." I stretch. "I'm not getting my hopes up until we get a formal yes."

"Oh. Right." She plays with the skirt.

Silence hangs in the air.

I pack my notes and the samples.

"It will happen."

"Huh?" I look up at her.

"The deal. It will go through."

"How would you know, Natasha?"

"I just do."

She walks over to me. We are inches away.

"Am I still fired?"

"Yes." I say.

She nods bitterly.

Despite the show she just put on, it doesn't undo all of her incompetence in the past, and until the deal actually goes through... we're facing budget cuts anyways.

"You know, Bill..."

"I'm not changing my mind, Natasha."

"No, it's not that." She looks at me with her big blue eyes. "I have been a failure since college... I lied. I have a major in environmental studies, yes. But not marketing."

"So I was right about you being a liar afterall."

"Shut up, Bill."

"The audacity--"

"You're not my boss anymore. Now listen up."

She's got a point.

"I've worked three jobs before dad landed me here. And yes, I was incompetent. Perhaps I still am."

"You absolutely are."

"But, despite that, you chose to give me an opportunity. You know, I've never once worked outside a cubicle or from behind a counter."

I want to speak. But she raises a hand.

"Out of everyone in the office, you chose me to accompany you for possibly the most important deal in this company's history. And if this deal doesn't go through, I can not offer anything except my deepest regret. I am sorry. Yes, I am a liar..." She pauses.

Draws in a breath which makes her top ride lower. But she doesn't bother fixing it.

"I tried making that presentation. It was terrible. I realised that after I came to office. I am dumb. And so I deleted it and came up with that sorry excuse. But despite all that... thank you Bill, for this opportunity. I shall forever be... indebted to you. But I do wonder, Bill, and you can choose to not answer. Your silence will be an answer in itself."

I know the question that is coming.

"Why me, Bill? Is it possible that, you know--"

"I do not have any sort of feelings for you. I love my wife, and only my wife... my Vicky."

"But your wife is--"

"My wife is what? I dare you to say it." My forehead is twitching. "Bitch."

She opens her mouth. But stops herself.

And with that, she shrinks back into silence.

I am not easily moved. But in the moment, I feel terrible. Should I tell her me bringing her here was just a cruel joke for my own satisfaction? Did she genuinely believe I would love her?

As I open my mouth, my phone buzzes.

It's Green.

The deal is happening.

It's a yes.

The phone drops from my hand and clatters on the floor.

She stares at me. My face is blank.

"It went through, didn't it?"

I nod. She smiles.

"Congratulations, Bill." She walks past me towards the conference room door.

She turns back one last time, "It appears there's more to success than obedience and competence."