Page 4 of Access

His grin dropped, and he forced down the mouthful of the Woodford-spiked Indonesian Sumatra, swallowing an old and all too familiar feeling. Guilt. As she began walking away, he grabbed the phone.

“Gina, hire her. Now.”

“Yes, Mr. D. MS. TAYLOR!” She called out, but Madison was already in the elevator heading down. “Hey!”

Gina jetted towards Alex’s office just as he flung open his door. She didn’t have to ask. He nodded a hurried approval, and she flew into his private elevator. He heard the elevator whir on its way down. Gina could only take it down. It required Alex’s access card to come back up.

As he closed his door, her name echoed in his mind. Ms. Taylor? Taylor is a common enough name, and it might be of no consequence at all. Yet it wiggled through his mind, tightening around his thoughts. He pulled up his cell and texted Paco, recalling that Gina said her name was Madison while reciting the background investigation.

ALEX: Need you to check out a woman with the last name Taylor.

PACO: Taylor? Sure. It’s been a hot minute since the last twelve Taylors I’ve looked up. Perhaps you need a day off.

ALEX: And you might need to fuck off. Just do it. Madison Taylor.

Alex’s cell buzzed. It was Paco. “Need to hear me say it? FUCK OFF!”

“Seriously, I’m worried about you. No bullshit. You gotta let this go.”

Alex took a deep breath. “I hear what you’re saying. Now try hearing me. Mad-i-son Tay-lor.” Alex hung up, dragging his hand across his mouth and cheek. He contemplated Paco’s advice, but pushed it back.

I’m right this time. I know it.

The talk with Paco reignited his edginess. He tilted his head to his mildly trembling hand, rubbing his brow, then pressing his temple. He couldn’t spend the rest of the day ping-ponging across these emotional extremes. Sitting back, his breaths fought his will to control them. His eyes closed. Could it be her?

Even if she wasn’t the Taylor, there was something about this Taylor. Something compelling. Or simply alluring? Sexy? Definitely sexy. Not just her look, but in how her raw emotions played out in every passionate move. The vision of her was still so fresh. He could use it to calm the erratic energy surging through him. He needed to get everything under control before his lunch meeting. Too much was on the line. A run was out of the question; there was no time. He was desperate for a release, and this was the perfect pressure valve. Fuck it.

He let his thoughts float from wonder to desire. As the picture of her breasts and lips filled his mind, the throbbing returned, but this wasn’t the heartbeat pounding in his ears. His bulging cock pressed against his pants, eager for an escape. He unzipped his trousers, taking the heaviness into his hand as he reclined his chair.

He stroked, succumbing to the tantalizing vision of her luscious lips. Soft skin. Ass that begged for his touch. How the sound of her breathing would fill the air as he peeled the blazer from her skin. Tugging the camisole down, he’d quell a fiery, hard nipple with the ready suckling of his mouth. His rod would feel so good pressing slowly through her willing, full lips. Everything charged him to stroke faster. He imagined the warmth of her mouth as his friction built the sensation. A heat spread throughout his body, and his balls tightened. Rapturous thoughts flickered like an erotic film in his mind. He needed to take her. Take care of her? Yes, take care of her as no man had. Or could. God, what is it about her? What if everything could change? Be turned right? This feels right.

The thought of having her, and keeping her, intoxicated him. He was so close, feeling her soft hands around him with each of his strokes. Now he was deep in her mouth, pumping himself harder. Make me cum, Madison. His fantasies closed in on him. His balls pulled up as his thighs stiffened and shook. His surging rod shot thick ropes of cum, coating her lips and throat. He ignited, slamming his other hand on the desk. As his orgasm pulsed, his tense muscles eased, and the waves of stress subsided.

He opened his eyes, seeing the reality of the situation. The only thing he’d coated was the good part of the front of his perfectly tailored Armani pants. He caught his breath, looked around, then commanded “Time?”

“The time is eleven o’clock,” returned the seductive, automated voice of his virtual assistant. He removed his shoes and stood, letting his pants fall to the ground. He slipped off his blazer, but was content to keep his shirt on. He walked over to the paneled wall behind him, and flashed his access card. The panels opened and lights came on throughout the interior, illuminating a massive closet filled with suits, shirts, shoes, and coats, most with the tags still intact. Armani and Gucci ties hung from various hooks throughout, matching the general coloring of the suits of each meticulously designed section. In the corner was another panel, which also required Alex to glide his card across. It opened, revealing three shelves. On the top shelf were eight high-end watches. The second shelf had a cluster of Tiffany & Company boxes, because breaking off a one-night stand was easier with that unmistakable blue. And the bottom shelf housed a staggering amount of cash, crisp new $100 bills wrapped in $10,000 bundles, neatly piled in rows. He grabbed one of the bundles, taking the cash.

Unlike the black suit he’d donned earlier, Alex opted for a deep blue for the remainder of the day. He removed his Omega Speedmaster and considered a Vacheron Constantin before settling on a Patek Philippe, which better matched his belt and shoes. He returned everything to its previously secured state, walked to his desk, and leaned over his computer to send one last Skype message.

DRAKE: Gina, have them clean my office before I return.

He slid the $10,000 bundle into the pocket of the blazer lying on the floor, then headed to the elevator, which had returned, awaiting his arrival. Everything in Alex’s life was programmed for his gratification. Well, everything that could be programmed.

Half an hour later, two people entered his office. Besides the garden variety wipe down and vacuuming, they removed the clothing and shoes from beneath the desk. These two cleaners were the oldest employees of D.G.I. and had seen many suits and shoes. They worked swiftly. Their jobs were confined to cleaning the executive floor, while the rest of the building was handled by a major contractor.

And whenever they found clothing on the floor, their long-standing and explicit instructions were well understood, but known only to them.

4

The fast pace and excitement of Madison’s job challenged her in ways she’d never imagined work could. Originally hired as a management intern, her intuitive skills in analysis and trending had repositioned her as an executive analyst so quickly, she’d been presented with a signing bonus. In her mind, signing bonuses were reserved for athletes, recording artists, and people who cleaned up toxic waste.

She’d caught up on a few bills and bought some new outfits, but held tightly to most of it. In the back of her mind, this dream job might go as quickly as it came. Making the most of every thrilling little bit of it was priority-number-one. A month had flown by, as she’d poured herself into work. Foregoing lunch to ingest every ounce of corporate history became her passion. Passion? Obsession? Tomato, to-mah-to. Often the first one in, by the end of the day she jockeyed for position with Fife for who’d be the last one out.

But the news she’d been on pins and needles waiting for had finally come. Her lease application had been accepted for a nicer one-bedroom apartment closer to work. Meaning she not only had a centrally-located place overlooking a quiet street, but she was also within walking distance of the grand D.G.I. fortress. Her vision for big-city living was materializing. This was exactly what she’d dreamed, coming and going, worry-free of traffic, in the easy-going pedestrian life. Everything about this metropolis lifestyle appealed to her, from the local coffee shops on the way to work, to a nice-but-modestly-priced deli or bistro on the way home. But city life has it’s risks, and easy going wouldn’t be in the cards this evening.

After her third yawn in a row, and she called it quits for the day. Sunlight was still shining, but barely. As she crossed the lobby, a little hoorah leapt from within her as she spied the empty security desk; a testament to her “last woman standing” status. The silence of the vast lobby was barely broken by the sneakers she’d changed into for the walk home. She swiped her access card to leave, assuming it was required. The building would be locked down after Fife left, and anyone remaining would need to badge out for the door to release.

Rounding the corner of the building, she started digging in her purse for a five, ready to give it to Joe, the homeless guy who often lingered at the end of the building. He’d been a staple of the block for years. Nicknamed G.I. Joe due to the BDU jacket he sported from a war long gone, everyone who bypassed him said he was harmless. But the harmless, homeless veterans were always on her mind since the loss of her brother, Jack. Whenever she could, she’d either give him a few bucks or a meal, or both if she could swing it. Today, though, the money remained in her purse. She startled at the sight of Joe on the ground, and two guys huddled around him like a rugby scrimmage, shoving him with their feet and laughing. A third guy threw his cigarette at him. Without thinking, Madison ran over, shouting, “Hey, leave him alone!” The three men turned towards her. Shit, now what?

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