Page 77 of Corporate Escapades

“You don’t really mean that, Mya. I know you. We know each other. Stop playing games.” Walking toward her, he grabbed her blouse and began to unbutton it slowly. She trembled at his touch.

“I do mean it. No, I don’t want to have sex with you!”

“Fine,” he replied and took the gun out from under his coat. “If you really need the feel of fear to get excited, here you go,” he said as he laid the gun on the bed next to her. “If you need further encouragement, well, your prior indiscretions should be plenty, wouldn’t you say?” Pulling her blouse off, he dropped it next to the gun.

“You think this makes it okay?” she asked shakily.

“What makes it okay, Mya, is that we genuinely want each other. You can’t get enough of me, so I’m giving it all to you.” His voice held a sense of urgency.

“You’re wrong, Cristo. I don’t have the same feelings for you. This is sick and twisted!” she yelled.

“Damn it all, Mya,” he shrieked. Grabbing her wrist, he jerked her around, so she faced away from him, then ripped her skirt at the seam. Tossing the shredded fabric aside, he grabbed the back of her neck and forced her down on the bed. With his other hand,he fumbled with her red silk panties, and ripped them away as well.

Mya's nerves continued to make her tremble.

“Knock it off. This is a ridiculous game you’re playing,” Cristo growled. Reaching around to her front, he snaked his fingers up into her bra and squeezed her breast. “You feel so good to me. Let me show you how good I can feel to you.” Reaching down, he shoved his boxers aside. She could feel him pushed up against the back of her thigh. Mya attempted to move, but he firmly pressed her back down.

“Do whatever you want to me,” she panted.

Leaning forward, he plunged himself into her. Moving his hand from her neck, he held both of her wrists onto the bed as he moved against her.

Mya said nothing. She was no longer shaking. He continued to move until he could take it no longer and cried out in ecstasy. Pulling away, he slapped her on the butt and flopped down beside her. Rolling over, she pressed her mouth to his and drank him in.

“There’s my girl,” he said cheerfully. Reaching down, he worked his fingers over her as she continued to kiss him and then gave in to the waves as she reached her climax. “Damn, girl, you really know how to make a man work for it, you little sicko.” He laughed.

“Same time next week?” she requested.

“Hell, I’ve got nothing else going on,” replied Cristo. “Want to watch that movie now?”

“Yes, let's,” she said, then kissed him again. “The popcorn’s probably cold but should be okay. Oh, I should probably clean up that broken glass, and I doubt I have to say this, but you owe me a new skirt and panties.” Mya knew she hadn't escaped the conversation, but at least she’d bought herself a little more time to figure things out. The game would go on.

“Sure thing, kid, you know I’m good for it,” he replied coolly.

As the week continued, Paris heard not a peep from Tom. She didn’t understand how he could simply ignore her. She left voice messages, and he never returned the calls. It was becoming quite clear that she’d been ghosted. Perhaps Vic was right. Tom was playing her for some reason, but why, she couldn’t say.

Feeling sorry for her, Burt let Paris continue with the office work for the remainder of the week, so she wouldn’t have any more mishaps. Paris was grateful. She was certain that continuing on with maintenance would eventually kill her, with how clumsy she’d become.

Despite Vic’s decision to let Paris have a day, one day turned into four. It was now Friday morning. Vic had slipped into the office and left a note on Paris’s temporary desk, asking her to meet him at the apartment after work for dinner, wine, and a discussion. With the weekend coming, they needed to get themselves back on track before going up against the board again. Paris hoped that the current situation would improve. She, after all, had been on her best behavior. Her grandfather had commented that Vic was having a good week too, which was enough positivity for her to think things might be on the upswing.

At six o’clock, Paris marched into her and Vic’s apartment and kicked off her heels. Vic was in the bathroom showering, but Paris was hungry and didn’t want to wait for him to finish his evening routine. Creeping up to the door, she cracked it open. “Vic,” she called out, “what do you want for dinner?”

“Oh, holy crap!” he yelped. Sliding around the shower, his wet feet squeaked as he tried to gain his footing. “Paris! You scared me half-to-death!”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to freak you out. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll live,” replied Vic, his heart pounding. “What was the question?”

“What do you want for dinner?” she asked again.

“Order a pizza. I’m not in the mood to cook tonight. Been a long week.” He sighed.

“Okay, I’ll order a Margherita, if that works for you?”

“Can we add sausage to it?”

“It’s not really a Margherita then, but sure,” she gave in and wandered off to place the order.

Vic turned off the water and climbed out of the shower. Reaching for his towel, he pulled it from the hook on the back of the door and ran it over his body. Brushing his fingers through his hair, he let the water spray off his fingertips. Paris hated it because he sprayed water everywhere, including the mirror, but it was the key to maintaining his short, wavy hairstyle. Well, that and the conditioner he used religiously. Towel drying had a tendency to cause frizz, and he hated frizz.

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