Ivy's been in love with her boss Lennon from day one. She's even his work wife. Will sneaking into a party he's attending help her convince him she wants to serve him by day and by night?
This Original Sinners short story is available in print in the collection Little Red Riding Crop: Adult Toy Stories from 8th Circle Press.
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"What would you say to a three-day weekend?" Lennon asked, and Ivy could have rung his beautiful neck for even suggesting such a thing.
"Why?" she asked, turning from the filing cabinet in his private office to face him. She'd been digging for something she hadn't actually needed, which she did about five times a day simply to have an excuse to go into Lennon's office.
"Why? You don't say 'Why?' when your boss offers you a three-day weekend. You say, 'Hell yes, boss. Best idea I've ever heard.'"
Ivy pursed her lips at him. "Why?" she asked again.
"You and I both worked all weekend last weekend," Lennon said, leaning back in his vintage leather swivel chair. He put his hands behind his head and raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to contradict him. Ivy envied the hands on his hair. Lennon was a young silver fox, and didn't seem to mind at all that he was mid-thirties and already mostly gray.
"No big deal." She waved her hand and sat in the club chair across from his desk. When she crossed her legs, she watched him, hoping he'd look at her legs. He did for a split second before meeting her eyes again. "It's not like you didn't pay me overtime." And it's not like she hadn't loved every second of it. Weekend work meant Lennon out of a suit and in jeans and his favorite ratty concert T-shirts. Saturday had been Pink Floyd. Sunday belonged to Eminem.
Lennon leaned forward, rested his elbows on his desk and looked her in the eyes. Blue eyes, bright but tired.
"Katie broke up with me," he said.
"What? Why?" Breaking up with Lennon seemed as insane as setting a Rembrandt on fire. Who did that?
"This is awkward." Lennon wrinkled his face up, and it was as handsome wincing as it was smiling.
"Me?" Ivy asked.
"She said I spent more time with my assistant than I do with her."
"You do."
"If you weren't, you know, you, it wouldn't be a problem. But you are you and that's a problem. For her, not me."
"Did you just tell me I'm pretty?"
Lennon glared at her. "You know you are. Katie wouldn't care about that if I didn't spend my weeks with you and my weekends with you. She says you're my work wife."
Then make me your real wife, you beautiful idiot.
"So why the three-day weekend? You trying to get rid of me?" Ivy asked.
"Never," he said vehemently, and she cherished that vehemence. "Jack's taking me out tomorrow for a recovery day of hiking and drinking. Then he's forcing me entirely against my will to go to a party at a friend's house Saturday night. And if I'm not here, there's no reason for you to be here."
"Three-day weekend it is then." Ivy stood up and smoothed her skirt down. "And thank you. I got invited to a party too this weekend," she said, a lie. It wasn't a party so much as brunch with her sister. "Maybe it's the same party as yours."
Lennon stood up and walked around his desk. Gently he lifted the little gold Star of David pendant she wore on a necklace. His fingers were so light on her skin she felt goosebumps all over her arms. And Lennon stood so close she could smell his light cologne.
"No offense, but I don't think you go to the same parties Jack and I go to. Although if you want to come with us, you can. Beautiful women are always welcome at that house." He said it like a dare, like a challenge.
"Is it one of those parties?" Ivy asked as Lennon played with the six-corners of the star. They were as comfortable with each other as people who worked in close quarters had to be. She'd smack his hand when he reached for her food. He'd let her sleep on his shoulder when they took red-eye flights to London. But this little moment felt different, felt personal.
"One of those parties, yeah…" He looked a little embarrassed and she adored him for it. He'd been careful to keep his personal life separate from his professional life, even with her. But one Sunday afternoon she'd had to run to his apartment for reasons entirely work-related, and while he'd been on the phone in the other room, she'd glanced through a half-open door and seen Lennon's bedroom. A leather flogger sat on the pillow and handcuffs dangled from the headboard. When Lennon had caught her looking he'd blushed and stammered an apology. She'd told him she didn't care as long as what he was doing in his free time was consensual. It had been the first thing she'd thought of to say and only later had she realized it made her sound boring, virginal and utterly vanilla. What she'd wanted to say was, The handcuffs? The flogger? Lennon, that's nothing to apologize for. It's sexy as hell, and I volunteer as your next victim. There hadn't been a night since she hadn't fallen asleep dreaming of his body, that bed, and those handcuffs on her wrists while she made herself come.
Ivy wrapped her hand around his fingers holding her pendant.
"Lenn—"
Lennon let the pendant go like it had burned him.
"You work for me," he said.
"I know. I know." She raised her hands in surrender.
She knew. She knew. They'd had this discussion once before on a night flight when neither of them could sleep but seemingly the rest of the plane could. He'd admitted his attraction to her, and she to him, and the only thing that had stopped them from joining the mile-high club had been Lennon's innate sense of decency that kept him from sleeping with an employee ten years his junior. She knew if she made the first move it would happen. But she just couldn't bring herself to do it.
Lennon took a step back. She stopped herself from taking a step forward. "Have a good three-day weekend. I'll see you on Monday."
Ivy smiled. "Monday."
Then she took her file, walked out of his office, and sat at her desk. She didn't trust herself to walk back into Lennon's office without declaring her love and/or lust for him, so instead she opened their messenger app and typed, "Need car service for the party? Where? When?"
Lennon wrote back thirty seconds later. "Yes, please. Saturday, nine. 152 Riverside Drive. Warn the driver we'll be dressed weird."
"How weird?" she typed back.
"Eyes Wide Shut weird."
"I'll make a note the comment field."
And that's when it hit Ivy…she knew where the party was. She knew when it was. She knew she could go to it if she wanted to go to it.
She wanted to go to it.
Lennon had said "Eyes Wide Shut weird" and implied he'd be dressed in some sort of costume. That would make it much easier to slip in and out. She didn't want to do anything but see him, and be part of his world for a little while. She wouldn't even talk to him. But to pass unobserved she'd have to dress the part herself. Saturday morning she made an appointment with her stylist who did her hair in a complicated and very un-Ivy updo. She bought a slinky white dress and a white masquerade mask. Lennon had never seen her wear her hair like this. He'd never seen her wear white. And with the mask covering half her face, he'd have no idea it was her. Since it was one of "those" parties, Ivy also invested in a pair of white seamed stockings and a garter belt and white high heels with white ribbons that tied at the ankle. Once dressed she looked the opposite of her usual work self. Her own mother wouldn't recognize her.
When nine o'clock rolled around, she grabbed a cab. On her way there she told herself that if the party wasn't her scene, all she had to do was turn around and leave. She could do this. Get in, get out, don't cause trouble. Don't reveal herself and whatever she did, no contact with Lennon. None.