His Pawn (The Manhattan Tales Book 1) (5 page)

6.  Mason Woodward

  Complete mindfuck.  That was part of my plan, and it had been going quite well. At least it had for the first few hours. I felt how she quivered whenever I drew my body close to her small frame.  I intimidated her sexually and it pleased me greatly.  I felt her skin radiate with heat if I so much as grazed her ear. 

Why Ms. Pryor, I was not aware you could be capable of such feelings for me.
Who was I kidding?  I merely had to look in their direction and women fell all over themselves around me. 

While I was in Chicago, I had my stylist usher her around Manhattan to upgrade her wardrobe.  I couldn’t allow a ragamuffin be seen entering or leaving any of my five star hotels.  To be honest, it was all part of the mindfuck.  I also gave Amy strict instructions to help my little “charity case” pick out some new lingerie. 

I have specific preferences which were outlined in my email.  I wondered what Jillian’s expression was when she learned that I was outfitting her with my favorite pieces of black and red lace.  I had no idea then how much I would be fucking up my own mind with that venture.  For that entire afternoon, and thereafter, I could not get the image of that girl out of my mind.  She reminded me of a fresh, red rose whose petals I wanted to pluck.

The images and fantasies of Jillian splayed over my dining table was enough to give me blue balls.  Finally, during the flight back to New York, I had no choice but to relieve myself in the bathroom as I imagined her splayed every which way in that lingerie, complete with thigh highs and five-inch heels.  I thought about that round ass, the curve of her supple hips
.
  She couldn’t have been any taller than 5’2, which is perfect.  I imagined her round tits bouncing as I threw up and and down on my cock. 
Bloody hell.

The more I thought about her, the stronger the desire overtook me.  This was not just about pay back for her brother’s past sins.  I had to
own
her
.

It’s been three days hence, and I’ve not seen Jill since the night I picked her up outside the Starbucks. After realizing the repercussions of my lingerie stunt, I could not return to my Penthouse on 5th Avenue. 

I didn’t trust my level of control once I returned home and saw her.  I knew she wouldn’t say no.  No woman has ever told me no.  I’d be overbearing. Too impulsive. I’d be too rough. 
She wasn’t ready for me-
or so I convinced myself for a short time.

Instead, I opted to stay at my apartment on West 87th Street. I called one of my regulars and she quickly came running. I needed to relieve myself and regain that control.  I chose someone who was the complete opposite of the woman waiting at my penthouse.  This woman was tall, tanned and blonde.  She could serve as the perfect distraction. 

Still, even as I had this woman bound and begging for me, I could only think about Jill.  I imagined it was Jillian’s tight cunt I was fucking.  When I was finished with the woman, I threw some bills on the table for her cab fare and went to my study where I kept my whiskey.  I had my temporary relief, but I was still unsatisfied.

I was presumptuous, believing that I’d be able to get a better grip and control myself the longer I was away.  It took me three days to realize that the longer I was away from my penthouse, the worse my fantasies became. I couldn’t keep her out of my mind, even at work as I imagined her under my desk sucking me off.
Fuck.
 

Now, I sat in my office, which gifted me with a breathtaking panoramic view of the city.  Such scenery was far from my mind, however.  I looked over the thorough background check I’d ordered on my little Jilly Bean. 

Truthfully, I didn’t really need such a thorough investigation on a girl who seemed to be clean as a whistle.  I had known her five years previously, and knew of all the clubs and organizations she’d been part of in High School before College.  Indeed, I ordered the background check
because I could
. 

As suspected, everything appeared clean.  The only disappointment I encountered on her report was her latest choice of employment and her GPA.  I knew of the Sloanes through acquaintances and parties, but had always declined their dinner party invites. 

Being an alumni of New York University myself, I was well aware that the institution was not approving of Ms. Pryor’s current GPA dip.  My own father’s raging, berating voice haunted my thoughts as I reviewed the report, and I had to take a deep, calming breath to push the memories furthest from my mind.

I paged my assistant through the phone that sat on my desk. 

  “Mr. Woodward?”  Elizabeth’s intimidated voice rang through.

“Elizabeth, call my housekeeper and have her send Ms. Pryor to my office.  Tell her to bring me a damn coffee.”  I did not intend to have a growl in my voice, yet there it was.

“Yes, Mr. Woodward.  Right away.”

  Precisely five minutes later, my personal mobile chimes, indicating I have a text message.

Jill: 
You could have just texted me, silly… or called.  You still take it black with 2 sugars? ;)

I couldn’t believe she remembered how I used to drink my coffee.  I smiled and thumbed an answer back
: Light and sweet these days.

Jill:  Yes, Sir.

That response made my cock twitch and my mind temporarily plunged into darkness as I imagine all the ways I could make her give me that answer over and over again.

“Elizabeth,” I called into the intercom.

“Mr. Woodward?” 

“Get my lawyer on the phone.”  

7.   Jilly Bean

I was feeling really good.  I’d just lined up not one, but two interviews for the upcoming week.  The first was a secretarial position within a small firm and the second was for a office assistant.  Of course, I’d have to officially quit school because I’d barely make enough to cover rent.  Without a Bachelors degree, it would be a long time before I could apply for jobs doing what I really wanted to do. 

Absentmindedly, I wondered if Mason had any open positions available in his various enterprises.  Hell, I could make beds and clean in one of his hotels.  I tossed the idea out of the window, though.  If he had any openings, he probably would have said something. Besides, Mason knows I’m unemployed.  Also, it would look very unprofessional if a member of the hotel staff was seen entering and exiting his penthouse, for however temporary it might be.

I remembered that he’d told me once, when I was seventeen, that he’d have a job opening for me if I was ever interested.  I sighed as I thought about that.  He probably didn’t remember that conversation, and it probably went out the window when he had that fight with Travis. 

Just then, Mrs. O’Malley knocked on the door to my guest bedroom.  I smiled when she poked her head in.  She is Mason’s house keeper, an older woman from Dublin with graying hair that was always puffed into a bun at the back of her head.  She has kind blue eyes.  We’d become great friends over the three days I’d been staying there and she reminded me of the grandmother I lost when I was in junior high.

  “Mr. Woodward’s assistant just rang the house and would like you to see him in his office, and bring a coffee.”  She said with a smile on her face, as though this request did not sound weird at all.

  “He has my number,” I blurted with a roll of my eyes, but I still smiled. 

I suppose when you manage thousands of employees, it is easy to get old friends and household staff mixed up with company staff…? 

  “Ah well, you know how our Mr. Woodward can be,” She smiled with a ring of affection in her tone.

  I smiled and nodded politely just before she closed the door.
I know how Mason used to be… and it was nothing like this.  

I recalled the way his scrutinizing eyes assessed my faded purple sweater and blue jeans when I last saw him.  He was certainly unimpressed and the condescending look was one I’d gotten from the Sloanes and their friends several times.  I looked through the closet now filled with new clothes from Saks and Barneys. What do I wear to my very first peek into the corporate world?  I had to “look the part,” as his arrogant words so kindly put it the other night.

  Oh, I’d look the part, for sure. He’d kill me otherwise. I chose a fitting gray pencil skirt and a low-cut silk blouse in white.  I matched it with nude thigh-high stockings and red heels.  I opted to keep my hair down, and only applied a little mascara and lipgloss because our Mr. Woodward was not one to wait for his coffee. 
Heaven forbid.

It took me almost no time to get ready and within a half hour, I was walking through the double glass doors to J.A. Woodward and Company.  The building was a glass skyscraper, fitting in with the slew of other skyscrapers in the Financial District. I entered the lobby and was immediately halted by the large security guards manning the doors as though their lives depended on it. 

I won’t bore you with the details of how I finally got to the 42nd floor, but I was stopped three times.  Finally, I reached the floor of my destination and approached the front desk.  Everyone was so crisp and immaculate.  I was grateful for my new clothes, because even with expensive attire, I felt so out of my element.  I felt like a lost puppy walking around with a stainless steel mug filled with coffee, light and sweet.

“May I help you?” I was greeted as I approached the front desk.

“Yes, I’m Jillian Pryor, here to see Mason- er, Mr. Woodward.” I answered, gripping the coffee mug quite tightly. 

Mrs. O’Malley insisted that Mason only drank coffee from his french press at home.  I suppose it was one of his many quirks, but I questioned how hot the coffee was by this point.

  “Yes, I see your name is on the list.  I will inform him that you are here, but Mr. Woodward is in a telephone conference at the moment.  He will see you when he is ready.  Please have a seat.” She answered curtly, scrutinizing me with blue eyes.

  “Okay.  Thanks.  Please tell him that his coffee is getting cold.” I said casually, half-joking, but Ms. Blue eyes didn’t find me very amusing.

  “He will see you when he is ready.” She repeated herself as though she’d been programmed to speak in repetitive cycles. “Please have a seat.”

I shrugged off the rude behavior.  This is New York after all.  I’ve seen and dealt with worse.  I sat in one of the oversized leather arm chairs that lined the waiting room and waited.  And waited.  At one point I unscrewed the cap of Mason’s coffee mug to test the heat of the beverage.  Wow.  It was still hot.  I guess it pays to have an overpriced travel mug.

  “Ms. Pryor?”  A middle-aged woman with graying hair approached me.  I looked up just as I finished screwing the cap back onto the mug.  She smiled kindly down at me from where she stood.

“Mr. Woodward is ready for you.  He apologizes for the wait,” she said as I stood.

“Oh, he can tell me that himself,” I teased as she led me toward a set of large mahogany doors. 

“I wouldn’t tell him that.” she warned, and then presented the office doors for me. 

He’s in a mood today
, I could see it written all over her wrinkled face, although she wouldn’t say so much verbally.

“Pfft.” I laughed lightly and she gave me a very worried look as I pushed through the doors and entered his office.

The doors closed quietly behind me, and I suddenly felt the thick tension in the air as soon as I entered his expansive office.   

  His office held the most beautiful view of central park I’d ever seen, but it was otherwise very sterile in appearance and comfort.  There were a few paintings which I was not familiar with, but that was pretty much the extent of it. 

I only took a few seconds to survey my surroundings before my eyes landed on Mason.  He sat at his desk, staring angrily down at the office phone situated before him.  He was gritting his teeth so tensely, I could see the knot in his jaw from where I stood. 
Ok, so he must be having a bad day…  Still, he looks sexy as hell. 
I felt an unfamiliar need to comfort him and make him feel better, but I was out of my depth with that.

  “Hi.” I spoke softly as I approached him.  My red heels clacked on the perfect marble as I approached his desk. He looked up as I pulled him from his thoughts. I could see his face soften somewhat when I presented him with the stainless steel mug of still-hot coffee.

  “Having a bad day?” I asked with sympathy as he took the mug.

  “I just had a
delightful
conversation with my father.”

His face still appeared calloused, and the knot was still in his jaw.  Then suddenly, he looked up and
really
saw me.   

The way he looked at me shouldn’t have made me feel insecure, but I was not used to any man looking at me the way he did just then.  I watched his hand flex before his fingers gripped the armrest of his desk chair.  His gaze locked with my own, silently demanding my attention.  During his absence, I’d forgotten how his presence could be so… overwhelming.  I looked away and lightly cleared my throat.  I tried to suppress all of my old feelings that I’d had for him during my senior year of high school.  Yes, I had been the teenage girl who had a crush on her big brother’s best friend… and I was failing miserably at suppressing those feelings.

  “I brought you coffee.” I said stupidly, fixating blindly on the view of Manhattan that faced me.  The energy between us was more than I could handle.               

“I see that.” he answered with a clipped tone.  It told me that he had no interest in the coffee and he had no interest in discussing such a mundane topic.  I felt his intense gaze still on me. 

“I’d much rather discuss your plans for the future.” he spoke to me like the big boss, and I was no more than an office aid. 

“Oh, well I have two interviews lined up for next week.” I answered.  The confidence I felt earlier had diminished to nonexistent. 

  “Doing what?” He asked with that same clipped tone.  His gaze bore into me. 

“An office assistant.  It’s full time.  I’d have to take a break from school to pay rent, but I applied for scholarships...” My voice trailed.  My face felt aflame. 

His lip quirked into a slight snarl, and there was a pause of silence as he stood, rounded his desk, and perched on the edge of it just in front of me.  Again, my face was level with his groin, and I looked away momentarily before my gaze met his.

“You’ll do no such thing.” his command was assertive.

I stared up at him with a deadpan expression, and that only seemed to set fire to his eyes more.  “Some of us have to work our way through college,
Mason
.  I can’t get approved for private loans and my family isn’t able to cosign for me.  I didn’t make enough last year and my GPA isn’t-”

  “You got kicked from financial aid and now you’re squirming.” He smirked. “You’re not sure if you should quit your college career just before your last semester…” Somehow he reminded me of the cat who cornered the mouse. I swallowed hard.

“What is your major?”  He asked, just before he finally took a sip from his coffee mug.

“Social Work, with a minor in economics.” I answered, wondering where the hell all of this was going, and why it was so important.

In response, he nearly spit his coffee out.

“Social Work?”  He asked incredulously. “Why the fuck would you choose a field like that?  There is no money to be had, carting around America’s welfare-”

Is he serious?
Anger flared up in my chest as I thought of my dearest friend who grew up in the foster care system. 

“You’re such an arrogant asshole!  Not everyone is dealt the same hand you were given.  Some of us have a really rough time no matter how hard we work!”  My fists were balled so tightly I could feel how white my  knuckles had become. 

No matter my fury, though, I was only met with a cool gaze from him.  It was a mask and I could no longer read his emotions.  For a split second, I thought I saw the faint trace of a smirk on his lips.

“Forgive me.” he responded smoothly, but I could not gauge the level of sincerity, if there was any.  “I was sounding like my father.  You know I was very proud of you when you were accepted into NYU.” 
Yes, I remember how much you used to care…

“I want to help people.” I stubbornly responded.

“I know you do.  You’ve always been that bleeding heart type,” He commented with a grin that would probably cause most women to drop their panties for him. 

I admit, it caused me to lose most of my fury.  It was enough to make my heart flutter in my chest, especially when a lock of black hair fell out of place and fell to his forehead. I felt my thighs clench as light tingles rushed down south.  I wanted to reach out and smooth that lock of hair away from his eyes…
as I ran my fingers through his hair… while he pulled me into his lap, firmly holding me in place, kissing me, running his tongue along my-

“I have a proposal for you.” he said in a very business-like manner and it forced me to leave my sensual fantasy of him.

I snapped to attention, meeting the intensity of his stare and my face was flushed bright pink. I just knew it was bright pink. I could feel the warmth that had spread from my cheeks down to my neck, down to the now-moist area between my thighs… He must have noticed that flush because he had an arrogant smirk as he looked down at me.  His eyes moved up and down my form momentarily before he locked his gaze with me firmly, demanding my utmost attention.

“You want me to come work for you?”  I joked, trying to lighten the intensity.

“Not exactly.  Although, I suppose it’s a matter of perspective.” There was a smirk on that handsome face as he rounded his desk, unlocked a drawer, and pulled a leather bound folder from its contents. 

His response had me immediately suspicious about what his proposal involved, but before I could ask any questions, he produced a crisp white document and presented it before me.  It contained fine print and a line for my signature and date.

“Before I say another word, you’ll sign this confidentiality agreement.  You’ll not say a word about my lifestyle, my affairs, my words to you, or any business you would consider personal on my account, to anyone.”  His dark brow piqued sternly as he explained the agreement. 

Really?
   I looked up at him drily.  My New York sarcasm suddenly flared.  I couldn’t resist.

“Yes, I suppose it is necessary, because if I wanted to say anything, to anyone, I could have done so already... years ago. But, I have this thing called
respect
, and I haven’t said a word to anyone-” 

“I would watch that sarcastic tone, Ms. Pryor.  You might find that you regret using such a tone with me.” He was terse.