Take it, p.11
Take It, page 11
He flips me over quickly after pulling out and starts fingering me feverishly as he excites my nipples with his tongue. When his cock is hard again, he parts my legs and his body comes down on top of me. Our eyes lock together. It’s happening again, the powerful moment of connection that is nearly bringing me to tears. I’ve never wanted to hold on so tight to a man in my life, I’ve never been so afraid to let go. His grip feels the same on me; his eyes seem equally as vulnerable.
I love this man. And for the first time, as he slides slowly in and out of me, staring down into my eyes, we’re now truly making love.
The sparks in his eyes send my heart thudding. His gentle kisses and the way he brushes my hair back rather than tugging it, adds to the realization that we’re on a completely new plane of existence. As I begin to climax I feel his face bury into my neck as he whispers my name and quickens his pace. He’s not grunting out commands or expecting me to either. We’re just caught in the magic of this new type of connection.
We finish, our bodies limp as Harrison rolls off me. Like a true idiot I take this time, in spite of the powerful connected feeling, and decide to destroy it with the truth I’ve been hanging on to too long.
“I have to tell you something Harrison,” I start, pulling the sheet up to cover my exposed body. “It’s about the clinical trial.”
“I know, I know you’ve been putting it off and I bet your boss is finally all over you. I’ll deal with him in the morning. Just stay here tonight. I want to hold you.” He leans in and kisses his way from my shoulder to my elbow before I pull away. I’m no longer on the verge of losing something I want because it feels good; I may lose someone I love.
“It’s not that. Mr. Jones hasn’t said anything to me yet. Likely that’s because I’ve been able to piece together a decent trial even with barely clocking any real hours at work.”
“Since when? I thought you’d barely sorted out the patients let alone the whole trial.” He doesn’t look excited. In fact he looks downright annoyed and for the life of me I can’t figure out why.
“I was heading to the office really early every day, trying to cover my ass as much as possible.
Harrison is out of the bed and crossing the room toward his nightstand to retrieve his phone that isn’t ringing or vibrating. “I’ve got to take this call. Hang on.”
All the connection I feel toward Harrison, all the conviction I have that he cares for me . . . I now feel completely empty. I pull the sheet up even higher as the bed turns cold around me. What is it with this damn phone and the spell it puts on Harrison? He deserts me without a second look over and over again. It flips a switch in him that scares me. Who is on the other end of that line and what are they saying?
As he strides back into the room five minutes later he’s already dressed and I’m feeling like a fool, still naked.
“Is everything all right?” I ask timidly, reading the stress lines forming across his forehead.
Outside, a loud car horn rips through the silence, tearing it apart with four impatient blasts.
"Cab's here. Better not keep him waiting. I'm sure you can find your way out. Something’s come up at work and I’ve got to deal with it. You know how it is."
My eyes go wide with shock I don’t even attempt to mask. "You know, I wish you would have asked before calling a cab. There is something I need to tell you—"
"You're the one who wanted casual sex, Jenny. I thought neither of us are looking for anything more. You should have told me sooner what you were feeling for me.” He turns away abruptly. Clearly, I am being dismissed. “I thought you were different. Work is work and every now and then things come up. You know that. I’m under a shit load of stress and I don’t need you adding more.”
“It’s not about that,” I huff as hot tears fill my eyes. “I mean I think what we have is turning into something even though that isn’t what either of us are looking for. But that’s not what I want to tell you.”
Harrison’s phone rings, out loud this time, and he answers it as he turns his back on me. I grab my dress and fight the sobs I feel rising up in me. Leaving behind my ruined panties and most of my dignity, I flee to the idling yellow cab outside. A nice-looking Indian in a pale green turban smiles as I approach the cab's back door and try to gather myself. By the time I open the door, I barely manage to button-up my emotions as well as my dress.
"Boston, please. My company's called BioSim. I'll give you the directions once we get near the city."
"Not to worry, Miss. I am already having the directions, and your fare has been generously paid in advance. Most unfortunately, there has been some sort of automobile accident in Braintree. Not to worry though. Driving is being a piece of cake to me," the dark-skinned, bearded driver says. "Just sit back and relax."
Fuming and feeling more than a little confused by Harrison's rejection, I flop back against the rear seat and buckle myself in for the long ride back to work. I'll be damned if I’m going to relax. What the hell am I going to do?
Chapter Sixteen
I should've gone home and called it a day but I had a job to do. As a dutiful employee—no, let's cut through the bullshit—I feel guilty at this point. I'm too tired and depressed to lie. I have to cover my ass now. I'd grabbed the latest test results on my way out of the office and crammed them into my purse, but the majority of the paperwork leading to my horrible discovery was still strewn across my desk. Any curious little office mutt, of which BioSim had a whole dog pound full, may snoop and sniff around until they realize something is definitely wrong with "miracle" US, and go yapping to my boss. I can’t stop the truth from coming out, nor do I want to, but I need to get out in front of it.
I make it to my closet-sized office undetected, and began gathering anything that may scream "foul.”
"Miss Collins. Just the person I want to see."
Oh no, Mr. Jones was still here.
"My office—now, please."
Like an obedient little pittance-earning idiot, I obey the jerk without hesitation.
"Take a seat, Miss Collins. There," he orders, indicating the chair directly in front of him that promises all the comfort of an electric chair.
Not only that, I realize by sitting there, he has a pretty good view of anything his black, perverted heart desires. I picture him spending hours getting the angle of that chair perfect so he can leer at any woman sitting in it from his desk.
"Miss Collins, I'm concerned about your handling of the Tobin and Tobin account."
Oh God, here it comes. He knows about the problems with the drug. At least I can prove the drug is the problem not my tests.
"I received a distressing call from Tobin and Tobin. The director of sales, Kim Alvons, is accusing BioSim, and you in particular, with dragging our feet on the Ultimate Glucose Solution drug testing, and causing Tobin and Tobin to lose a ton of money. For God's sake, why haven't you finished with this project? It seems to me it presents nothing but clear sailing. Four other firms did all the grunt work, and Harrison just wants BioSim as a pharmaceutical giant to give it the final blessing. Why haven't we? I needn't remind you if Harrison Burke's unhappy, his company's unhappy, and BioSim stands to lose a significant amount of money. If that happens, I'll be extremely unhappy, and you—you'll be lucky if you can dispense aspirins in an alley. Do I make myself clear, Miss Collins?"
"Quite, Mr. Jones," I say, holding the side of my head, adding not the slightest bit of sympathy-seeking deception as a very real migraine begins to pound. "It’s just that the sailing isn’t really as smooth as the other companies’ results led to believe." I try to run through each scenario of what will happen if I tell Mr. Jones the truth right now. Harrison has just treated me like trash at his house, why should I care if he finds out through the grapevine that his drug is shit? If he doesn’t care about my feelings why should I care about his?
"So then you’ll need to work harder to make sure it passes. I don’t care about the details I just want this done," he snaps. Rising like a cobra out of his massive leather chair, Mel Jones slithers his way around his desk, leering openly at me as though he couldn’t care less how it makes me feel. Finally, he stands directly behind me, and rests both of his sweaty hands on my silk-clad shoulders. Oh God.
"You know, Miss Collins . . . Jenny, this doesn't have to be a big stress ball for you. Maybe I can help you." As suspected, one of his paws slips off my shoulder, his pudgy fingers sliding under the strap of my lace bra.
I bend forward as he leans into me. Thank God I am in a chair or I probably would feel his perverted little cock digging into my back. As it is, I feel his hot, sour breath drench my neck.
"Just tell me what you need, Jenny, and I'll see that you get it. I have that kind of power. You know that. I can get anything done," he mewls as his fat spider fingers begin kneading the muscles of my neck, his fingers growing closer and closer to the top of my breasts. I can feel the first trickle of sweat run down the crease between my breasts.
"I'm good, Mr. Jones," I say, shrugging myself out of his groping grasp and lurching to my feet. Lurching, not because I lack grace in heels, but because I want to get the hell away from him as fast as possible. I don’t know what Mr. Jones is really capable of, but I don’t intend to hang around long enough in this quiet office to find out. Now the idea of telling him about the flawed drug is as unappealing as a root canal. I don’t want this conversation going on a minute longer than it needs to. I certainly don’t want to be in the position to need his help in sorting out this mess either. Even if I’m angry with the way Harrison acted, I need to bring him into the loop first. "I'm on top of this one, sir. Got everything I need.” I stomp to his open door. Now I’ve intentionally missed the opportunity to tell Harrison about the flawed drug and Mr. Jones as well. Maybe I’m waiting for some kind of divine intervention to handle this situation, because I’m clearly not facing it head on.
"I'll bet you do, Miss Collins,” he smirks, his eyes firmly on my ass as always. I know, because I can see his leering reflection in the glass of his office door. "I'll expect results tomorrow, Miss Collins. And remember if you need me to dive in and help you, I’m very capable."
Chapter Seventeen
My mind is boiling over like an unwatched teakettle. I maneuver through traffic, wondering if I ought to buy a gallon of cheap wine, a dozen fresh batteries for my vibrator, and some old movies.
I opt to go home, and get a decent night's sleep instead. The plan is to hump it into the office early, and attack the US fiasco with a well rested, refreshed mind. I’ll face both Mr. Jones and Harrison and I’ll do it with the facts in my corner. It takes a sleeping pill and a glass of wine, but I manage to quiet my mind and get some rest. The cloud that rolls over my mind washes away Harrison’s sudden rejection.
The next morning, wearing a simple cotton wrap-around dress with a matching pair of modestly heeled shoes, I hurry into BioSim a good hour early, chanting to myself over and over even if all of this is uncomfortable I have a duty to present the findings and deem the drug unsafe. Even if both companies lose money and I lose Harrison. Because, frankly, my company has plenty of money, and as far as I can tell from our last encounter, Harrison may be lost to me anyway. Unfortunately, Mel Jones is already pacing around inside his corner office, ignoring the great view of the Charles River he's been awarded. Timing my mad dash to a moment when Mr. Jones looks intently at some papers spread out across his desk, I scurry into my own office.
I seat myself at my battered hand-me-down desk, gather up all the Tobin and Tobin paperwork, and dive right into a thorough scrutiny and re-evaluation of not only BioSim's test conclusions, but the research procedures and conclusions of the previous four pharmaceutical firms. I’ve done this ten times before. I’ve checked and rechecked but for an extra boost of confidence I do it again.
While I try to convince myself that I’ve done nothing wrong, I know that I actually have. Though I did my job correctly I still fraternized with the client and in turn broke many rules and maybe some laws. That’s what I’m really afraid of at this point. Once I expose all of this, how many of my indiscretions and flat out bad choices will be exposed?
"Miss Collins. I'd like to see you in my office. Now!" I hear Mr. Jones’s booming voice echo down my hallway.
As I walk into his office, I try not to look directly into his smug, leering face, so my gaze naturally falls to his desk. It’s covered by a sprawl of a dozen papers that look like photographs, all of them facedown near a large manila envelope addressed to him. Raising my eyes, I notice him take a final look at the photo he clutches in his hand before putting it on his cluttered desk, also face down.
"It’s interesting, Miss Collins, we never really know the people we surround ourselves with. Those we call our business associates, friends, and family." He gets up and starts moving around the room, coming to stand somewhere behind my chair. That is never a good sign.
"You’ve been here a good while now, a good employee on the whole, and I like to think BioSim has been good to you. Yes, with steady advancement up the corporate ladder, BioSim has indeed been more than generous to you. I've been good to you," he says, applying pressure to my shoulders as he all but sticks his nose down my dress.
"When Tobin and Tobin asked us to test their new drug, I didn't hesitate for a second to give you this choice opportunity. And what did you do? You've dragged your feet from the beginning, choosing to cozy up to Tobin's presenter, Mr. Burke, instead of getting on with your job and bringing this project to a speedy conclusion. Tobin and Tobin needs this approval; BioSim needs this approval. I need it. And you choose to piddle around, ordering extra testing and so forth."
"Mr. Jones there is something you should know—"
"Dammit, Jenny" he shouts, leaving me abruptly, his fist smashing into the desk so hard the photos jump. "I know it all. Every little bit of it."
He pauses, rubbing his fist as though he's injured it in pounding the desk. "For years I thought you were a stuck-up little prude, that you thought you were too good for the rest of our poor slobs. But you did your job adequately, so I left you alone."
First of all, Mr. Jones has never truly left me alone. Second, calling me names isn’t exactly something he’s done before either. It tells me there is something here I don’t know, something about to combust.
"But I did notice when I introduced you to Harrison Burke there seemed to be some sort of chemistry between the two of you from the start. I let it go, thinking I'd been wrong about your prudishness, and that once this project was complete, I'd take another whack at you. I can’t stand girls who play hard to get, especially when I’ve taken such good care of you over the years. These," he growls, "show you've far less inhibitions than I ever imagined."
One by one he dramatically turns over each of the dozen or so photographs strewn across his desk. They are all of me, and judging by the locations and what I am wearing, or not wearing, taken at different times. They are as personal of photos that can possibly be taken. They are me at my most uninhibited and exposed. They are me with Harrison. On Harrison. Harrison inside of me. My face is twisted with passion or laughing wildly with joy. It’s the most private moments of my life over the last month all laid across his desk and exposed for the world to see. A queasy wave washes over me and nearly bowls me over.
"They were in my mailbox this morning. Sent anonymously, of course. Who sent them doesn't really matter, does it? The point is, you're not the woman I thought I knew at all. Instead of a virginal prude you've turned out to be quite the slut."
I sit in silence too afraid to open my mouth, fearing I will vomit and make this already mortifying and violating experience even worse.
"What to do with you? Well, for starters, since you've proven you're someone far different from the way you've presented yourself I can't trust you, or any of the conclusions you've reached with regard to the Ultimate Glucose Solution. You’ve put this entire firm at risk and set the release of this drug back by who knows how long. So to begin with, I'm having Ted Baylor conduct his own testing. You remember Ted, that nice fellow who works out of our Hartford office. Good man. A Yale graduate with a charming wife and two adorable kinds. An honest Joe. I doubt he’ll be throwing himself at any clients, acting like trash and disgracing this company. He'll get to the bottom of any shenanigans with this drug and he’ll keep his clothes on while doing it." Mr. Jones stops his pacing and walks around behind my chair again, but to my relief, he makes no attempt to paw at me. He keeps walking until he stands next to his open doorway.
"In the meantime, Miss Collins, go back to your office and collect your things. You're fired. I've already called the security guard to escort you out of the building. Don't expect to collect any severance pay or use BioSim for reference. You've caused us quite enough damage. I’ll personally make sure you don’t have an opportunity to have work in this field ever again."
“What about Harrison,” I ask wondering if he’s suffering the same fate as I am. Will he be tossed out on his ass too?
“What about him? It’s not his fault you couldn’t control yourself around him. It’s not unheard of for a man to quench his thirst with willing women. He’s an established and well-respected man in his field. I don’t intend to expose his indiscretions with you. It’s only your face in these photos. I want this trial to move forward and put the damage you’ve caused in the rear view mirror. You’d be wise to keep your mouth shut and just move along. Don’t make this any worse than it needs to be. Don’t drag his name through your mud. You’ve done enough damage.”
"Mr. Jones, I'd like a chance—"
"Are you still here? Get out of my sight, Miss Collins. Now."
As I walked out the door, I can't help but notice he picks up one of the photos of me again and seems ready to devour what he sees. I don't want to think about what he'll do with those photos once I am gone. I don’t want to think at all, not about anything. I want to be sedated and numb and hide until all of this just evaporates into thin air. But I know it never will. This is a mark that will be on me for the rest of my career . . . who am I kidding, my career is over.
