Jackson

 

Jenny’s laptop was a far bigger treasure trove of insight than I’d first anticipated. I found her personal email address logged in her browser history, and automatic sign in was checked.

Under anything like normal circumstances I’d have shied far away from this kind of invasion of privacy, but having just read ream upon ream of personally documented descriptions of the way my manhood hung in my suit trousers, I wasn’t feeling quite so willing to adhere to professional ethics.

I’d already copied every single one of those documents to my laptop for closer examination later, but having unloaded my balls under my office desk once already, I was now on the hunt for more insight into my naughty little trainee.

Her emails were generally sweet but standard. Check-ins with her mother where they’d talk about her mother’s new boyfriend, David.

Jenny seemed to like David, and I got the distinct impression this wasn’t usually the case with her mother’s partners.

I was a little taken aback to find that things were going well enough between Carolyn and her new guy that she’d agreed to fly out to New York with him over the holidays. In her emails Jenny was all for it, keen to impress on her mum that she’d be just fine spending Christmas up here with her new friends.

Only there were no new friends. None close enough to be sharing a turkey dinner with, that was for certain.

It was her emails to one of her university friends, a girl named Ellie, that provided me with the real diamonds of insight.

In the latest email exchange Jenny had admitted how pitiful the holidays would be this year, all alone without family, and without the support of a friendship network. She’d shared pictures of her dire excuse for an apartment, with a cruddy little kitchenette and barely enough room for a grubby old sofa.

I should have thought harder about the logistics of moving so far up the motorway for a trainee position. I should have given more consideration to the fact that her mother was clearly employed in a perfectly respectable, but likely low paid waitressing position at a seaside cafe.

I couldn’t escape the way my asshole meter bleeped on high alert at an oversight I wouldn’t be making again in a hurry. Not that I regularly sought out university graduates from the other end of the country to take up trainee positions in my organisation.

Ellie, clearly a decent friend, had offered her a seat at her Christmas table up in Scotland, but that solution was of no great use to Jenny. Instead she’d taken advantage of a compassionate ear across the ether.

They managed to laugh about her microwavable options for a turkey dinner, and how Jenny should wrap up some of her own possessions to give the illusion that Santa had been.

They hit me deep, the heartfelt woes of this girl so far away from home. Harder even than the way my dick tightened at some of the smiling happy selfies Jenny had sent her college buddy a few days prior.

People thought I was a hard ass, and I could be. Often was, in fact, for the sake of business and keeping the company ploughing ahead in the right direction.

But there was another side. A side very few people ever saw. A side even my ex-girlfriend had overlooked for the sake of whining on constantly about my exacting standards.

I like to be needed. Relied upon. Trusted and respected and leaned on when times are hard.

It was sad, but very true, that since my last relationship had shrivelled rotten and left a whole load of shit in its wake, I’d barely been close to anyone. My older brother was a banker down in London, with three bratty kids and a wife who stared down her nose at anyone who wasn’t driving a sports car. My younger sister had hooked up with some golfing pro and was jetting from country to country on his arm while he clocked up the tournament wins.

My parents were the kind to pick my working life to pieces over dinner, despite not knowing anything about any of it.

Christmas this year was going to be one major ball-ache. One miserable, snide, gripey, fucking ball-ache.

I’d been dreading it for months, the idea of going through the motions as I chowed down on boiled sprouts and cranberry sauce at big brother’s grandiose dining table, but even for me the alternative seemed worse.

Christmas alone.

Alone in an empty house with nobody in the world to share the most magical day of the year with.

I felt a pang in my gut and it had nothing to do with my dick this time. This time it was all for the sadness of poor little Jenny without anyone to share her Christmas morning.

Not only that, but she’d be waking up in a place without space for a tree, let alone a decent Christmas spread.

I relaxed back in my chair and stared again at her laptop screen, weighing up my options.

I should bring up the unprofessional content of her documents folder and remind her that her work machine needs to adhere to company standards, but that wasn’t the foremost thought on my mind. Far from it.

I should be keen to enforce the confines of our relationship, as boss and employee only, but my mind wasn’t on that either.

I’d had her laptop on my desk for close to two full hours by the time I finally pushed myself to take action. The end of day was approaching and she undoubtedly had time sensitive work to complete before most of her colleagues would be checking out on annual leave.

Jenny herself would be in for Christmas Eve tomorrow, I’d already checked her holiday file.

And so would I.

But still, that was beside the point, and so was the Secret Santa arrangement I’d already been thinking of adding to in light of her poor scant Christmas this time around.

I made sure to log myself out of her machine and set it to sleep before I cleared my throat and dialled her internal extension.

I made sure to keep my hands far away from my pants when her sweet little voice answered mine, unmistakeably trembling with nerves.

“Come through to my office, please,” I told her sharply. “We need to discuss your laptop.”

Her intake of breath was audible. “I’ll be right there, Mr Hart.”

I had the chance to straighten my tie and regain some semblance of professionalism before she tapped at my office door.

My voice was loud and low as I summoned her in, and her posture spoke volumes when she stepped inside. There was no doubt she suspected I was onto every single one of her dirty little secrets.

She couldn’t meet my eyes as she closed the door behind her and took a seat opposite me. Her dainty fingers were twisted in her lap and her cheeks were flushed in the most delicious crimson.

I picked up her laptop, and my dick pulsed like a cunt all over again when she flinched.

I handed it across the desk without a word, straight into her shaking fingers.

All the things I should be saying piled up in my throat, but not a single one of them would come.

Instead I stared. Hard.

I stared at the slip of a thing who’d written such filthy words about me and all I could see was a sweet little girl who needed to be taught a lesson.

A lesson and other things.

Plenty of other things.

“I’m sorry, Mr Hart,” she whispered finally, not specifying exactly what she was sorry for.

The meekness in her tone sealed my fate, and hers too.

“It was a driver issue,” I told her. “Richard says you need to ensure you shut it down properly at the end of every day.”

She nodded, and her eyes were wide when they finally met mine.

“And that’s it? I can go?”

I made her wait for it, savouring every single second of her amazement.

And then, just as I thought I was about to dismiss her, my tongue had a mind of its own.

“I checked out your annual leave file,” I said. “You’re not going back to Cornwall for Christmas this year, am I right?”

Her eyes widened like saucers. “No, that’s right. My mum’s off to New York. I thought I’d stay to be available between Christmas and New Year.”

“Good,” I lied. “Very conscientious. Have you any plans for Christmas Day?”

Her saucer eyes nearly popped out of her head when I took one of my house keys from my keyring and slid it across the desk to her.

She shook her head so very slowly. “No, nothing planned, sir.”

Sir. I couldn’t hold back my smile.

“I need to ask you something very personal,” I said.