Behind the Green Curtain
Read Behind the Green Curtain Online
Authors: Riley Lashea
Tags: #Gay & Lesbian, #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Lesbian, #Romantic, #Romance, #Lesbian Romance, #Genre Fiction, #Lgbt, #Lesbian Fiction
Behind the Green Curtain
Riley LaShea
Behind the Green Curtain
Copyright 2013 Riley LaShea
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced in whole or in part, in any form, without written permission of the
author.
CONTENTS
Halston & Company was like any
office of its kind. The people at the top made all the money, while the work
fell through the floors to pile on those at the bottom. It was an indisputable
fact of life that insinuated itself into Caton’s cubicle one random Tuesday
morning in September when her supervisor appeared at her shoulder with the
jolting abruptness of a Jack-in-the-box.
“Could you make copies of this?”
the woman barked with more irritation than authority, as if she too had just
been interrupted by the work of someone else.
“Yeah, sure,” Caton replied,
swiveling her chair in time to have a heavier-than-it-looked file dropped into
her lap. Grunting as her supervisor walked off without a hint of thanks, Caton
pushed up from the faux leather desk chair and headed for the copy room.
As far as she could tell from the
snarky comments and water-cooler complaints that made up the background noise
of the office, she was a minority of one, but she couldn’t care less what she
did each day as long as the checks kept coming, and she wasn’t about to
complain. She had lied to get the job, rounding down her education after the
dozenth interviewer called her overqualified when she possessed minimal
qualifications at best. A fancy degree and zero job experience qualified her
for absolutely nothing, apparently, and if she had one regret in life it was
that no one had asked, “You’re getting a doctorate in Philosophy?” and then
slapped sense into her when she responded “Yes” with the misplaced pride of
youth.
The copy room door was barely ajar,
but mind about as present as it was on any given workday, Caton failed to heed
the warning, walking in on an event in progress that was completely
inappropriate, but hardly unexpected. A mostly-closed door at Halston &
Company was the equivalent of a sock on the doorknob of a college dorm room,
and it wasn’t the first time she had walked in on a similar scene in her eight
months on the Halston & Company staff. The owner and CEO, Jack Halston, was
a predator, a well-known and disregarded fact. Since the copy room was
generally empty and provided the only privacy on the first floor, where
entry-level fresh meat was kept on ice, it was one of his favorite hunting
spots.
“I’m sorry,” Caton uttered. That
she had seen it, not that she had interrupted. “I’ll come back.”
“Don’t be silly,” Jack responded,
removing only the hand from beneath the front hem of the transcriptionist’s
skirt, leaving the one blatantly on her ass. “The more the merrier.”
As was their customary dance, Caton
leveled her eyes at him in a way she hoped conveyed how much that wasn’t going
to happen and Jack grinned as if he thought himself the cleverest man on the
planet.
“I should get back to work,” the
transcriptionist said uncomfortably, stepping out of Jack’s groping hand and
pushing her skirt back down her thighs.
“I didn’t realize you’d stopped.”
Caton couldn’t help herself as the woman walked by, and the transcriptionist
paused long enough to give her a heated glare before continuing from the room.
“Looks like it’s just the two of
us,” Jack said. “Come on in.”
Making a deliberate show of pushing
the door fully open, Caton walked to the copier, and Jack backed off, though
not far enough for comfort. Placing the first stack of papers in the feed tray,
Caton could feel his eyes on her. It took a distinct lack of imagination to
know what he was thinking.
“You know...” Jack took a step
closer, as if there was space to spare between them. “We still have room on the
seventh floor, and I still think you should apply up there.”
His hand running down the back of
her arm, Caton shrugged it off. “I don’t think I have the skills you look for
up there, Sir,” she responded, willing the gears in the copier to turn faster.
“Oh, I bet you do.” Jack took
another step until Caton could feel him just shy of brushing against her. It
was the creep equivalent of a four-year-old holding his finger a half-inch from
someone’s face and saying ‘I’m not touching you. I’m not touching you,’ and she
stopped herself just short of telling Jack as much as his eyes moved over her
face. “I think you have all kinds of talents you’re not telling anyone about.”
Watching the number on the copier
count down, Caton’s finger hovered over the stop button, but she knew well that
stopping the job mid-print would only result in a paper jam somewhere in the
recesses of the machine. The last thing she wanted was to be bent over and
preoccupied in Jack’s presence.
“I know you do some of Jenna’s work
when she gets overwhelmed,” Jack switched tactics.
Amusement overtaking her
exasperation, Caton laughed. That was putting it mildly. In the six months
since Jenna was promoted to Jack’s personal assistant-cum-courtesan, Caton had
done everything that crossed Jenna’s desk, except for Jack, which was one part
of her job Jenna was welcome to keep for herself.
“You shouldn’t let all that talent
go to waste,” Jack added, sliding another step into her as the last sheet of
paper shot into the catch tray.
Having to lean into him to fetch
the copies, Caton took the move elbow-first and harder than necessary,
gratified at the puff of air that expelled from Jack as she retrieved them.
“I’m happy where I am,” she declared, gathering the rest of the stack and
heading for the door.
When Jack caught her arm, Caton’s
gaze turned deadly, and, releasing her at once, Jack put both hands in the air
as if he was the victim of an unfair accusation.
“It’s nice that you like your job.”
He brandished his laser-white teeth. Everyone thought Jack so charming. No one
more so than Jack. “But that is a career-stalling attitude. You never get
anywhere by being content with what you don’t have. You’ve got everything you
need to make it on the executive floor. You shouldn’t be afraid of success.”
Amazing. He almost made it sound
like career advice.
“I’m not afraid of success,” Caton
replied. “I’m afraid of heights.”
The sound of Jack’s laughter
crawling over her as she left the copy room, she wanted to keep walking, past
her cubicle and out the front door. Or to call a lawyer. Jack really needed
that kind of intervention. The eyes of her coworkers casting away a pair at a
time as she took her walk of shame back to her desk, though, she knew no one in
the office would back her up.
Power bought loyalty. That’s why
Jack had both.
Eyes locked on the plate before
her, Caton didn’t realize she had stopped seeing it until fingertips digging
into the muscle at her shoulder stirred her back into awareness. Groaning
appreciatively, she leaned into the touch, and it continued long enough to
loosen the tension, before Laura dropped her hand to return to her dessert.
“You should quit,” she declared,
taking a bite.
“I can’t quit,” Caton responded,
picking at the pie on her own plate, unable to stir up the desire to eat it.
Pushing it away, she leaned back and stared across the room at Laura’s
bookshelf, wondering how anyone managed to align books with such precision.
“Not until I find something else.”
“Why does he keep coming after
you?” Laura asked with palpable frustration, before sending a sidelong smile
Caton’s way. “I mean, aside from the obvious?”
“Because I keep saying no, I
think,” Caton returned.
“You can’t be the only woman there
who has said no to him,” Laura insisted.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Caton
uttered. Thinking back on past encounters with Jack, she tried to remember the
number of times she had seen him without a handful of office worker. They were
rare to say the least. “I think he also thinks I’m younger than I am.” She got
that a lot, though she wasn’t sure if it was due to her youthful appearance or
her lack of real world accomplishment. “He probably has fantasies about
deflowering a late-life virgin or something.”
Head turning slowly, Laura licked
her lip, smirk revealing her particular amusement at that notion. “Yeah, you’re
not that,” she said.
“No, I’m not.” Caton managed a
laugh at Jack’s expense as Laura leaned closer, mouth opening against Caton’s
just long enough to tease her with the taste of chocolate.
Watching Laura return to eating,
Caton shifted in her chair, hand sliding up the wool fabric against Laura’s
thigh. “Is everything set for the weekend?”
“Mm hm,” Laura responded, scraping
chocolate off her fork as she pulled it from between her lips. “Now, we just
have to be there at an ungodly hour Saturday morning to set up.”
“Do you want some help?”
“Sure,” Laura returned hesitantly.
“You can help set up. You can bring us all breakfast. Then, you can come back
here and sleep.”
Eyes narrowing, Caton watched Laura
fork the final bite into her mouth. “I know I’m no expert,” she uttered,
slightly jilted. “But I’m sure I can talk to a few kids.”
“No.” Laura shook her head. “It’s
too much.”
“You do it all the time.”
“I don’t have to medicate
afterwards,” Laura softly countered, turning to maneuver her leg between
Caton’s, casually intertwining them, hands braced on either side of Caton’s
chair as she leaned closer. “Face it, your heart bleeds too easily to spend a
day listening to other people’s problems.”
“You think I’m weak,” Caton replied
without real fight, wanting to defend herself with some little-known truth, far
too aware Laura was already stating the truth.
“It’s not weakness,” Laura
responded. “Besides, there are some areas in which you are...” Laura shook her
head, gaze trailing down Caton’s throat as she searched for the word. “Mighty.”
“Mighty?” Even knowing it was
praise as diversion, a grin tilted Caton’s lips as she closed her hands around
Laura’s hips to draw her closer. “I’ve heard that about me.”
“It’s true,” Laura breathlessly
replied, arms snaking over Caton’s shoulders.
On her feet in an instant, Caton
pulled Laura up with her, and, leaning in to place a fleeting kiss against her
lips, Laura dropped her hand into Caton’s and tugged her toward the bedroom.
Spotlights cast the grandeur of the
Halston residence against the black backdrop of night as Jack’s car curved
around the driveway and came to a stop on the gray cobblestone. All other
lights were off, even the porch light, Jack noted, as he climbed out of the
driver’s seat and glanced toward the sky, trying to predict the chance of rain.
It would take only a few extra
minutes to put the car in the garage, but, at the late hour, those minutes were
precious, and he needed as much sleep as he could finagle out of the few hours
left before morning. Every time they met, he swore Jenna discovered a new
talent, each more tiring than the last. Usually by this point, Jack would be on
the verge of boredom, would see the end of the affair in sight, but as long as
Jenna kept up her level of enthusiasm, he could only picture a long-term
position for her.
Angling awkwardly so as not to
block the glow of the spotlight, he managed to get his key into the lock and
let himself in. Toeing the door closed, he entered the key code for the alarm
and was halfway out of his coat when a shadow fell over him. Arms bound by the
fabric, he whirled around, barely able to make out the familiar form in the
living room doorway. “Jesus Christ, Amelia,” he muttered, pulling the coat free
and yanking the door of the coat closet open.
“Did you forget something?” her
clipped voice returned from the darkness, and Jack shook his head. If there was
anything he hated more than being waited up on, it was his wife’s female
mindfucks.
Glancing past the closet door, he
watched Amelia cross her arms over her long silk robe. To any other man, he
knew she would be a sight to behold, furious but no less fuck-worthy, but no
other man had been forced to behold her for as many years as he had.
“Was I supposed to pick up toilet
paper or something?” he joked, refusing to let her ruin his rather satisfied
mood, no matter how many dark porches and idiotic questions she threw at him.
“The benefit,” Amelia stated.
“That was tonight?” He didn’t even
feign concern. “I forgot.” He hadn’t.
“I called you seven times. I left
messages on your assistant’s voice mail.”
“We were busy,” Jack returned,
unable to keep the smile off his face. Not that he put forth a lot of effort.
“Oh, I’m sure you were,” Amelia
responded.
“What did you tell everyone?”
“I told them you were busy,” Amelia
answered. “Working.”
“Good.” Jack closed the door of the
coat closet, removing the only barrier between them that was tangible. “So, how
did it go?”
Scoffing, Amelia moved for the
stairs, and he sidestepped into her path, bringing her up short, feeling an
undeniable sense of enjoyment as her furious gaze rose to his. “What do you
want me to say?”
“How about you’re sorry?” Amelia
suggested.
“I’m sorry.” Jack said the words,
but couldn’t remember the last time he actually meant them.
When Amelia made another attempt to
get around him, he grasped her arms with just enough force to keep her in
place. Sincere or not, apology wasn’t going to be the last thing she heard from
him.
“What now?” he asked with a shrug.
“I apologized.”
“I spent three months putting this
together for you,” Amelia returned, eyes filling with traces of old fire Jack
hadn’t seen in some time. “These are your parents, your friends, your
associates. I don’t appreciate working on something for you that you can’t even
be bothered to attend.”
“What else do you have to do?” Jack
questioned, catching Amelia again as she tried to walk off. “You spend all day
in this house with Sole to tend to your every waking need. I spend all day at
the office to pay for it. And you’re bitching about a little benefit?”
“You delegate work to a hundred
people,” Amelia shot back. “I can’t delegate being your wife. When I do what
you ask me to, I do it. Me. Every plan, every detail, every meeting. I don’t
want to do it, but I do. I know it’s hard for you to believe, Jack, but I do
have things I would rather be doing with my time.”
“What are you saying?” he mocked.
“You need an assistant?”
Sighing and deflating before him,
Amelia seemed to come to the realization she cared as little about the
conversation as he did. “What I am saying,” she stated without inflection, “is
that when I plan a benefit with your parents and your friends, the least you
can do is show up. And when you don’t show up, the least you can do is sound
sincere when you apologize.” Pulling out of his touch, she at last made it past
him to the stairs. “You smell like cheap hotel soap,” she added. “Don’t come to
my bed.”
“Come on now,” Jack called up after
her. “You know this soap’s not cheap.”
Watching her ascend to the upper
floors, he was rewarded a minute later with the muffled slam of their bedroom
door, and followed its echo. It was almost endearing when Amelia thought she
could tell him what to do.