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But, as I watch Melissa leave in a hurry with her cell phone pressed diligently to her ear, I’ve got bigger things to feel worried about. Vanacore appears in the doorway, looking suspicious and irritated as Melissa gives her a wide berth, and retreats down an opposite hallway, chattering angrily into the phone.
Vanacore spies me, her look of suspicion deepening and transforming into something like still, cold rage at being “lied to.” She strolls right over to the table I’m sitting at, which still has Melissa’s tray of food sitting across from me. Her glass of wine as well. She sits right down in the chair, not bothering to bullshit with me.
“Already had plans, huh?” She looks down at the tray of food, malicious joy in her eyes. “That must be her food then, those other plans of yours, huh, Tommy?”
Vanacore’s really trying for a light, friendly tone, but it’s just coming over as darker and mean than anything. I shrink away from it, lowering my eyes. Whatever bit of “manliness” I felt around Melissa, that’s quickly gone around my boss — around her choking, commanding aura and the way she’s looking at me, like someone is toying with her. Deceiving her. Playing games with her, though I never agreed to play any game with her. Just be her trustworthy employee, but it seems part of that role means taking her up on her lunch offers. No matter who else I may have promised time to.
When I don’t answer, Vanacore breaks into the food Melissa left behind, with no compunction. No reservation. No idea that she is overstepping any boundaries, least of all mine or Melissa’s. She finishes off the plate of neatly arranged pink meat like it’s nothing. She sucks it off the fork suggestively, before diving into the bread and cheese, which she spreads on with heavy, measured strokes. The same ones I saw her use on her pussy a few days prior.
For a good long while, all Vanacore does is eat. She stuffs her face and watches me. When she finishes all of the food, drinks all of Melissa’s wine, and sees my grimace, my frown, she says, “What? I’m hungry and based on the look of your precious secretary’s face over there, I don’t think she’s going to be back to finish the job.” Saying this, she goes to work on the chocolate cake. Which she finishes in a few large, uncaring bites. On the other side of this gluttony she adds, “And since your other plans had other places to be, Tommy, I thought I would join you. I thought I would do you the kind thing, and give you some company.”
I’m shivering under her words. Quaking.
I’m not sure how this can be the same woman who was being so flirtatious with me a few days before, who seemed so delighted to masturbate to me, but she is. She’s just a completely different version of herself. A darker side of herself that seems to just get switched on to spite Melissa. Too thwart our connection.
As if her personalities (I’m quite sure there are two distinct ones after a week of working with her) really do just get turned off and on with a switch flipping, she’s suddenly back to being nice. Gentle. Kind. Legitimately so.
She looks down at the food she’s finished as if she wasn’t in her own body until now. She looks at me, looking truly apologetic. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m just a little on edge from the phone call I had to deal with.” She reaches over and puts her hand on top of mine. It’s suddenly heavy and handcuff-like. “I’m sorry to be so gruff and mean. I shouldn’t do that to you. Not after all the help you’ve given me this week. What a good boy you’ve proven you can be for me,” she says, emphasizing “good boy” in a way that leaves me with no doubt about what she means. Instantly I get the picture of her masturbating to me again. “To reward you, I’d like to get some special work done with you back in my office.”
She pauses, and I’m not sure what she’ll to do or say. She’s just offered to do something sexual with me up in her office. I’m not sure what, but I know that much. What else could she mean by “special work”? Especially when she follows “good boy” with that. A big part of me wants to say no, it wants to avoid the office entirely, but her eyes catch me up. They wipe away any rebellion I might have in an instant.
“You’ve got a few more hours to go before the weekend, Tommy,” she says as if she’s reading my mind and knows my desire to avoid the office and her altogether. “I expect you to put in a few more good hours of work before then.”
