The Position

The Position

Vol. 2

Izzy Mason

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
 

Copyright © 2014 by Izzy Mason

All rights reserved.
 

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
 

The Position

Vol. 2

Chapter One

Lazarus’s words seem to hang in the silence. He watches me, waiting to see what I’ll do. Isn’t this what I wanted? He has finally noticed me. Big time. But I’m not sure about this Lazarus. His usual lightness is gone. The kindness is gone. The gentle, nurturing mentor—gone. This Lazarus is dark and serious. He seems unpredictable.
 

Suddenly, I’m aware of the enormity of our building. From the outside it reaches high into the night sky, a few lighted windows twinkling in the darkness. But from the inside it feels empty and abandoned. I’m terrified.
Calm down
, I tell myself.
He’s a world famous architect. He’s too high profile to hurt you.
But then I flash on Liz’s warning. The lawsuits. What did he do to all those women? What is he going to do to me if I close the door?
 

But there’s also a strange new me emerging; a Michaela I’ve never known. This Michaela isn’t the tough survivor I’ve been all my life. This one is weak. She feels helpless under Lazarus’s lustful stare. She is tired of being ugly, of being bullied and ignored. This Michaela wants to be wanted. She’s drunk on Lazarus’s desire. She wants him to touch her more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life. And if he does, I know she’d be willing to do anything and everything he asks.
 

I cross the room very slowly, unsteady on my trembling legs. The hallway outside is dark and silent. I stand at the threshold, uncertain. The moment feels charged, as if there’s no going back. My heart does sprints in my chest, not knowing where to go. But my choice is made. I close the door.

I take a deep breath and turn around. With a gasp, I see Lazarus is right there behind me. I don’t have time to think or react. He puts his hands on my waist and pushes me hard against the closed door. His body presses against mine. It’s warm and rock solid. Heat explodes inside me. I want to put my hands on him, to touch him everywhere. But I’m too nervous. I can feel his hard bulge on my leg and it makes me light headed.
He wants me. Jude Lazarus wants me.
His breath is hot on my neck and I can smell the brandy. I tremble uncontrollably.
 

“Is this why you did it?” he breathes into my ear, his voice ragged with hunger. “Is this what you wanted?”
 

I’m dizzy. It’s like I’m floating. “Yes,” I whisper.
 

Lazarus narrows his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Michaela.”
 

I shake my head. I don’t care what I’m doing. My breasts crush against his chest and I try to memorize the feel of his body on mine in case it never happens again. His hands plunge into my hair. The fire inside me is almost unbearable.
Why do I feel so hot? So weak?
It’s all so new. Suddenly, lightening quick, Lazarus grabs a fistful of my thick, black locks and yanks my head back. I yelp, startled. But it doesn’t hurt. In fact, it sends an unexpected bolt of pleasure straight through me.
What the fuck?

The sound of my panting breath fills the silence. He pulls my head back further, forcing my chest to thrust forward. His free hand glides slowly over my breasts, his fingers exploring their shape, circling the hardened nipples. I let out a breathy moan, astounded at the sensation.
 

He’s touching me. He’s really touching me.
Lazarus teases my right nipple, then pinches it as hard as he can.
Holy shit.
Another bolt of pleasure rips through me and I cry out.
 

My mind has blurred and dimmed. It’s as if all that is left is my body and this overwhelming, baffling pleasure. I can’t get enough of his hands on me. I want him to pinch me again, to pull my hair and slam me against the door. A shrink would have a field day, I know. But it’s the most narcotic sensation I’ve experienced in my life and I want it to go on forever. But just like that, it’s over.
 

Lazarus releases his grip on my hair and steps away. He pushes past me and throws open the door. Before I can say a word, he has rushed down the hall and disappeared into the darkness.

Chapter Two

There’s no getting to sleep tonight. As hard as I try, my mind and body are constantly tussling for my attention, replaying the events at the office over and over again. The memory of his hands on my breasts is so visceral that I can close my eyes and feel their weight and heat moving over me. But I can’t understand how enthralled I am by the roughness. I’ve never been with a guy before, but I always imagined I’d like a loving, gentle touch. I thought I wanted someone to make me feel safe. Maybe I do. But over and over, the thought of Lazarus pushing me hard against the door takes my breath away.
 

Finally, I give up trying to sleep. I know what I have to do. I pull on my jeans and shoes and climb into the drivers seat. It’s very late and a full moon glows behind a thin veil of clouds. The streets are nearly empty. I roll past the sleeping houses and empty parks, making my way to the city’s seedy industrial zone.
 

I can’t stop my mind from spinning out of control. My life has been fucked up enough. I don’t need to go looking for head cases now. All I should be focusing on is getting a place to live. Getting stable. Not losing my shit over anyone, much less my own boss.
Get it together, Mickey
, I scold myself.
Pull yourself together. You can’t afford to fuck this up.
 

I decide I’ll dress down again tomorrow morning. Maybe things will go back to the way they were. And if they do, I need to grow up and drop the infatuation. But even as I tell myself this, I know it’s impossible. It’s not just an infatuation. Though it makes no sense, I’m beginning to understand that I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with Lazarus.

Beyond the skyscrapers, the buildings become low-slung and ugly. Sprawling warehouses. Storage facilities. Auto mechanics. The back roads are unpaved and my car bucks and sways through potholes. I catch sight of the highway overpass and wend through a maze of streets until I hit the encampment. Tented canopies and makeshift shelters sprawl along beneath the bridge. I recognize Captain’s ratty blue tent set up on the outer edge, as usual.
 

There’s no doubt that Captain saved my life. I’d moved out to Colorado as soon as school ended, not even sticking around for my graduation ceremony. Who cares about a square hat and a piece of paper when there’s no one in the stands whooping and clapping for you? But when I arrived in Boulder I had nowhere to say, and the police were all over me every time I tried to park and sleep. So I spent the summer in Denver.
 

It was a sucky time in my life. I was scared and completely alone in the world. It was a strange city and I had no money and nowhere to live. Captain pegged my situation from a mile away when he saw me discreetly looking for food in garbage cans near Denver University. He didn’t need to see my boney little body to know I was starving. He told me I had Hunger Eyes. Not only did Captain keep me alive that summer, he kept my dignity intact as well. Every day he’d take me to a new restaurant or bakery that had a policy of giving left over food to the homeless. All we had to do was show up at the right time.
 

Little by little I lost the Hunger Eyes. I never forgot what he did for me, even when I had my housing and food covered at CU. Sometimes I’d drive into Denver and spend an evening sitting in a park, listening to his nuggets of wisdom.
 

I park the car and wander down the gentle slope to the tent city. Even though it’s late, there are several people sitting around a fire talking, their grizzled, sunken faces flickering with orange light. I know that Captain will still be awake reading by flashlight in his tent. I crouch down beside it and clear my throat so he won’t be startled.
 

“Captain!” I whisper loudly. “It’s Mickey!”
 

I hear the rustling of the sleeping bag inside followed by a phlegmy cough. “Mickey?” His old voice rasps.
 

The zipper opens and Captain’s head pops out. His crazy white hair is flattened on one side and there are specks of food in his beard. “You don’t look like Mickey.”
 

I let out a mirthless laugh. “Well, I’m a professional big shot now. I have to look the part.”
 

Captain’s eyes widen. “You get a place, sweetheart?”
 

I shake my head. “But I’m saving for it.”
 

Weird as it sounds, Captain is the closest thing I have to family. I sit on the ground in front of the unzipped door, as if it were a little porch. He crawls gingerly out of the tent and sits beside me.
 

“It’s awful late, Mickey,” he croaks. “You should be long since asleep.”
 

I push my heel through the dry leaves and keep my eyes on the ground. “I’m all fucked up, Captain. I wanted to see you.”
 

He smiles and looks at me, his watery eyes cloudy with cataracts. “Well, even fucked up,” he says, “you bring a right ray of sunshine to this piss hole. What’s keeping you from sleeping?”

  
I shrug, embarrassed, even though I’ve never been embarrassed to tell Captain anything before. He’s been through hell and back. There’s nothing he hasn’t seen or heard. You just can’t shock the guy.
 

He grunts with laughter. “Already got the love bug.” He half leans into the tent and gropes around, finally emerging with a bottle of clear liquor. “Ain’t nothin’ to be done, darlin’. When it comes to matters of the heart, you’re either fucked or you’re screwed.”
 

My face flushes, but I don’t deny it. “Even worse, it’s my boss.” It feels good just to say it. I’m in love with my boss. It’s fucked up but it’s true.

He takes a swig and coughs again, but his eyes are twinkling. “Playing with fire!”
 

“Pretty much.”
 

Captain tries unsuccessfully to clear the phlegm from his throat. He winks at me and shrugs his shoulders. “Then again, fire can keep you warm at night.” I sit silently, grateful for his lack of judgment. He gives me a look of warm empathy and takes one of my hands. His hand is withered and boney, like a grandfather’s hand should be. “Is he married, this boss?”
 

“Girlfriend.”
 

Captain raises his eyebrows and releases my hand. He pats it gently, as if soothing a small child. I look up at the sky where the moonlight has blasted away the stars. Captain looks up as well. It’s a moment of almost overwhelming serenity. The air smells of damp earth and campfire smoke. Soft voices drift peacefully through the night. Above us, the occasional semi-truck rumbles over the bridge. This is all I needed, to feel like myself again.
 

“I should get back,” I say, finding my feet and stretching my legs. “The sun will be up in a couple hours.”
 

Captain nods and takes another swig from the bottle. He holds out a hand and I help pull him to his feet. He gives me a grandfatherly smile and pats me on the back.
 

“My dear,” he says in a low voice. “This boss man will hurt you.”

I nod. My head begins to throb with fatigue. Of course he will, I think. He already has. And yet I love him still. Captain sighs and shuffles back to his tent. Before he crawls back inside, he turns to me one last time.
 

“But everyone gets hurt, Mickey. If it ain’t this guy, it’ll be some other joker.” He looks up at the sky again and seems to be studying the moon. “So fuck it. You might as well throw your heart in the fire.”

Chapter Three

By the time I leave the encampment, it’s only two hours away from when I normally get up. So instead of going to sleep, I drive to a Denny’s and drink coffee. Soon, it’s time to head to the Y to shower and get dressed. Though I’d promised myself to tone it down, I just can’t bring myself to pull out the frumpy clothes again. Instead I choose an attractive pair of black skinny cords, a pretty, but not even remotely slutty blue silk blouse, and a pair of flat, black knee high boots. I leave out the contacts and wear the frameless glasses instead. And rather than leave my hair long, I pull it into a loose bun.
 

I’m halfway to the office when I remember the meeting. Lazarus has a big presentation at the Four Seasons conference room, and I’m supposed to be there early to set everything up. I get to my feet and pull the stop chord. It seems to take forever, but finally the bus lumbers to the curb and opens the doors. I leap out, holding my computer bag to my chest, and start waving for taxis like a maniac.