Chapter Five - Mac
I stand there dumbfounded as Ellie Hatcher walks off and disappears through the door that leads down to the garage.
Everyone is looking at me and even though it should be impossible for an office building that hosts more than seven hundred employees to be silent, it feels very, very silent. “Get back to work,” I say loudly. Everyone turns away and pretends to be busy.
I stride towards the door, swing it open, and follow Ellie Hatcher into the dim stairwell.
“Oh, shit,” she says down below. “Go away!”
She’s crying. I can tell from the hitch in her voice. “Miss Hatcher,” I say as I step down and she comes into view. Her face and eyes are red and she has the biggest frown on her face. Humiliated. She looks humiliated.
Well, that inner voice of mine says. She asked for it.
She did. This is not my fault. How is this my fault? I’m not the one who’s been texting dirty offers of sex and sending weird Pinterest boards filled with the delusional life she most certainly does not have with Heath. She admitted in that exchange upstairs that she figured Heath wasn’t getting her texts. And he wasn’t. He’s in China where the company phones do not work. I turned the phone off just before Senior sent him off and landed me here, running the whole company.
“Miss Hatcher,” I repeat. “Will you please calm down. I’m not the enemy and this is not my fault. No one asked you to quit. And no one cares that you made a fool of yourself—”
“Fuck you!” she yells. “Just fuck you! You were reading my private messages to your brother, Mr. Stonewall.”
I am taken aback at her outburst. Pissed off about it, actually. “Don’t talk to me that way,” I growl.
“Or what?” she challenges. “You’re gonna fire me? Too late. I already told you, I’m out. And don’t think you’re the reason, either, Mr. Fancy Jet. You’re not. I was planning on quitting before you ever showed up today.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” I say.
“Why?” she asks. “No one here respects me. And I’m not sure what that whole promotion thing is about, but it’s about five years too late.”
“That’s not why.” It comes out unexpectedly. It’s not why, but normally I don’t just blurt out the truth to women.
“Then why?” she demands. She wipes the wetness from under her eyes as she tries to regain her composure.
“God,” I say, looking her up and down. Her white ruffly blouse is all askew. I can see her lacy pink bra. She notices where my eyes have landed and looks down.
“Oh, dammit, can this day possibly get any worse?” She undoes the silky tie that is supposed to keep her shirt together and tries to straighten up her wardrobe malfunction. I can’t stop watching her tie the swath of lace acting as a belt into a bow, so when she lifts her gaze up from her task she catches me. “Seen enough? Pervert,” she mutters under her breath.
“I’m not sure that garment is work-appropriate. If one’s clothing can’t withstand a trip down the slide without coming off, perhaps one should consider a more conservative approach to fashion?”
I’m pretty proud of my professionalism. Also that I kept a straight face.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about me, Mr. Fancy Jet. I’m already part of your past.”
Goddammit. I take a deep breath. “Look, Miss Hatcher, I’m sorry you had a few embarrassing moments up there—”
“A few—” Her mouth hangs open incredulously. “For your information, Mr. Stonewall” —she sneers my name—“I was not embarrassed. I was humiliated. There’s a big difference. And you are the person who humiliated me.”
“You were texting me during an executive meeting.” Where the hell does she get off blaming her behavior on me? “And while we’re assigning blame, you were using your phone for completely inappropriate sexual encounters.”
“Sexual—” I seem to be able to render her speechless pretty easily. “That was not—”
“Really?” I interrupt. “Really?” I laugh the word this time. “I’m pretty sure anyone I ask would say those gifs you send of men pawing women—choking them as they kissed—cross the professional line.”
It was pretty hot though. I’d like to press my palm against her throat and kiss the hell out of her myself. Slide my hand up her thigh and slip my fingertips under those pink lacy underwear I got a good look at back in the lobby.
Ellie Hatcher is suddenly silent. She chews on a manicured pink fingernail as she thinks this over, and must decide I’m right, because she purses her plump lips and crosses her arms in front of her chest. Her designer shoe begins to tap on the concrete floor. “Did you read everything?” She doesn’t look at me, just stares down at her feet.
“Everything.”
“Oh, God. Since when?” Miss Hatcher looks up at me, her eyes wide. “I mean, I know all the messages said undelivered. So how the hell did they suddenly become delivered?”
“Heath had to mail me the phone back from China. He forgot to leave it and we needed his contacts. So it was powered down for a few weeks, but as soon as I powered it back up, all your messages came through.”
“Holy shit,” she whispers, pinching the bridge of her nose like she’s getting a migraine.
“You said some very interesting things, Miss Hatcher.”
“Don’t,” she starts. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I stare down her shirt. I know it’s a dick move since she’s not even paying attention, but that pink bra is driving me crazy. She fixed the shirt, but it’s falling back open again. Is it my fault she’s flashing me some lace? Should I not look?
What kind of dumbass wouldn’t look at a girl like this? And shit, those texts. Jesus. I really didn’t picture her looking so… so… fucking sweet. Some of the texts she was sending Heath would make Christian Grey blush. This woman with the pink panties, conservative skirt, and almost no makeup to speak of might have the dirtiest mind I’ve ever come across. The things she said to Heath.
I want to kiss your cock with my pretty lips, then swallow you whole as you spill your come down my throat.
Who says that?
And then, the really confusing thing was, she’d send Heath pictures of a house for sale over in the ’burbs on the other side of the airport and talk about getting a puppy. An Old English Sheepdog, to be exact.
It’s almost like she’s got a split personality. Or she’s one of those closet kinks. Hell, I wonder if Heath used to take her to sex clubs or something?
“Are we done talking?” she says. “I need to meet Andrew Manco out on the tarmac in ten minutes.”
I stare at Ellie’s mouth as she talks, imagining my cock slipping past her lips. How wet her tongue would be as it slid up and down my shaft. I can almost feel the relief as I come the way she asked.
My hand acts on its own accord. One second it’s perfectly still by my side, the next it’s wrapped around her waist. My palm looks big next to her small body. My thumb’s on her hip bone and my fingers are splayed across the top of one ass cheek.
“What are you—”
I kiss her. I kiss her like the guy in that gif she sent me a few minutes ago. My other hand palms her throat as I grab her ass and press her hips up against my rock-hard cock.
How the hell did I get hard so fast?
She puts up a small fight. But in my defense, it’s a very small fight. Her lips press together and her hands fly up to my chest and push, but it just drives me even crazier.
I know I should stop, but just as I’m about to back off and apologize, her mouth opens. My tongue slides in as she teases me with hers. I reach for her silk blouse and pull it apart, exposing the pretty pink bra as her flimsy tie holding the kimono shirt together unravels until the entire front is hanging wide open.
“I want this,” I hear myself saying into her mouth. And then I grab the sides of her bra and yank the cups down, exposing her nipples to the chilled air. I push the silky shirt down her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor in a puddle of fabric, and then rid her of the bra by ripping the fabric so hard, the hooks give way and it slides down her arms to join her blouse.
“Yeah,” I moan, squeezing both her breasts as I continue to kiss her. “You like it rough, don’t you, Miss Hatcher?”
“I don’t,” she says. “I don’t usually.”
I take that as a yes and get to work hiking her skirt up her thighs. I lift her leg and say, “Take out my cock. I want your mouth around it, Ellie.” Two fingers find their way inside her wet pussy and I pump her a few times. This makes her throw her head back and moan.
Her small hands unbuckle my belt and tug on the button and zipper until her palm wraps around the fat girth of my dick. She goes very still as she looks down at the prize in her hand.
Why did she stop? Shit, don’t fucking stop. “Squeeze it, Ellie,” I say. Her eyes dart up to meet mine and she nods as her hands obey.
“Ah,” I say. “Fuck, yeah. Harder. Squeeze me harder.”
My attention goes back to her mouth as my fingers play with her pussy. I rub her in small circles, completely avoiding her clit on purpose. I slide one wet finger back to her asshole and press. She mews into my mouth, but doesn’t ask me to stop. So I push it in a little more as two other fingers enter her pussy. “Do you like to be full?” I ask, still kissing her between words. “When I get you in a proper bedroom I’ll shove my cock down your throat and play with your ass and pussy and then you will be completely full. How does that sound, Miss Hatcher?”
She comes. Her ass and pussy squeeze against my fingers. Her muscles clamp down so hard as she bucks her spine and throws her head back, I have to wrap my free hand behind her waist to keep her from falling over.
“I want your lips wrapped around my cock, Ellie. Wrapped around so tight it feels better than your pussy.”
I push on her shoulders until she gets the hint and drops to her knees. She looks up at me, her eyes wide with surprise.
Why is she surprised? This is what she wanted, right? Maybe the message was to Heath, but she can’t be attached to him. She has to know he’s the ultimate player.
She must like being bossed during sex from her reaction. But hell, she did her share of telling Heath what she wanted. Even so, I’m happy to boss her around.
I grab her blonde hair and grip it tight, pushing her head towards the tip of my cock. She licks her lips, like she can’t wait to get me in her mouth. Can’t wait to—
“Hello?” someone says from above. The heavy door on the floor above smacks closed as heels click on the concrete landing.
Ellie stands up, shock on her face. She picks up her blouse and hurriedly wraps it around herself, tying the swath of fabric acting as a belt back together.
“Fuck,” I say, shoving my fully hard dick back into my pants and zipping back up. My belt jingles as the tapping of shoes continues down the stairs.
I look at Ellie, but she’s not paying any attention to me or the approaching shoes. She’s looking at her destroyed bra on the ground.
We both reach for it at the same time and each of us has one broken strap in hand, tugging like two dogs fighting over a bone.
“Let go,” she growls through her teeth.
“Fuck,” I say again. I wanted that bra. But I let go. I’d be on her level of crazy if I had a fight over who gets to take her ruined bra home when someone is about to catch us.
“As I said, Mr. Stonewall, I’m quitting. My resignation will be in your inbox this afternoon announcing my two weeks’ notice.”
“What? You can’t quit now, Miss Hatcher.”
“Hello?” the strange voice says.
I look over and see a tall red-headed woman in a very short skirt, middle-aged, standing on the bottom step of the stairs. She’s flashing me a hand in a wave and her thick eyelashes are batting at me in amusement.
A door slams and when I look over, Ellie is gone.
“Oh, ho, ho,” the redhead says. “Did I interrupt something?” She covers her mouth in some kind of fake oopsie move from a Doris Day flick, and then winks at me.
“Uh, no. Well, if you call that”—I wave my hand at the door—“crazy bitch quitting something, then yes. You did. How can I help you… Sorry, I don’t have your name?”
“Ellie,” she squeals.
I turn and look over my shoulder at the door, wondering why Ellie came back. But there’s no one there.
I turn back to the redhead. “What?”
“Ellie, Mr. Stonewall. I’m Ellie Abraham. Your brother Heath and I, we're very good friends.” She gives me a wink and then adds, “If you know what I mean. But I must say, you are far more handsome than he is.”
Wait. “Your name is Ellie too?” I point at the door to indicate my Ellie who just walked out.
“Oh, I know. She’s nuts, right? Don’t assume all of us Ellies are that way. So… is Heath coming back anytime soon? I really, really miss the fun we used to have.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Abraham, I have work to do.” I take the steps three at a time and burst back into the bustling Atrium lobby. I pull out Heath’s phone as I jog up the steps to the seventh floor and open up the messages.
Ellie: Look, did you see this house? It’s only fifteen minutes from the Tech Center. And no traffic. We could take side roads all the way into work each day. It’s perfect, right?
Ellie: I want to kiss your cock with my pretty lips, then swallow you whole as you spill your come down my throat.
They are two different people. Jesus fucking Christ. Dream-House Ellie and Fuck-Me Ellie are two different people.
What have I done?