Judging from the snoring sounds coming from the next room, Sasha is sleeping off another mild hangover, but I know she doesn’t have to be in class until 11 AM today.

It’s still a little early for me. Sasha usually wakes up before me.

I wouldn’t be awake now if it wasn’t for the neighbors on the other side of the wall fucking each other’s brains out as noisily as they possibly could. They woke me up half an hour before I need to be awake for work.

My body’s in that half awake half asleep state. The last thing I want to do is get out of bed right now, but I if go back to sleep, I’ll probably sleep through my alarm. Coming into work late isn’t an option for me, considering the financial situation I’m in.

Thankfully, my mind doesn’t turn to early morning worries as it often does.

Something else fills my mind instead.

It’s my boss from yesterday, David Masters. I simply can’t forget the way he looked at me.

My phone is on my nightstand, and I grab it sleepily, navigating to the article that I was reading yesterday with Sasha.

Instead of looking at the text, though, I just gaze at his picture. His eyes are simply smoldering. His jaw looks like you could cut steel on it.

There’s a warm feeling between my legs, and there’s no doubt about it… I’m turned on.

Just because I’m a virgin, and embarrassed about it, and about my own sexual inexperience, doesn’t mean I don’t get horny. It doesn’t mean I don’t long for guys, or their thick, hard cocks.

I can’t count how many hours I’ve spent wondering what it would feel like to have a thick cock filling me up, to have a hot shirtless guy pressing himself against me.

I position my phone next to my pillow and stare at the picture… hard.

My clit is swollen, practically on fire. My breathing is rapid.

I can still hear Sasha’s snores. If she was awake, I’d be worried about her hearing me, but there’s no chance of her waking up. I don’t think anything can.

I’m on my side now, but I flip over on my stomach, putting my pillow underneath my stomach and breasts, length wise.

My hand goes under my body, against the mattress, underneath the elastic of my panties.

I rub my clit, starting out slow, but I keep staring at his picture, and I can’t help myself. Soon I’m moving my finger fast, really fast.

This isn’t enough for me, and I revert to a style of masturbation I’m embarrassed of, and would die if anyone ever knew about.

I pull my body up, and push the pillow farther down, so that it’s between my legs, and I’m straddling it.

I remove my hand and concentrate on humping and riding the pillow. It feels so good against my clit that I have to suppress a moan. I close my eyes and picture David Masters, my boss. I imagine we’re back in the office yesterday, but this time in my fantasy, he walks right up to me and pulls out his cock. I don’t know why my imagination goes here, but the next thing I picture is that he takes his strong hands and guides my head down towards his cock, which I take out of his pants. It’s massive and hard, and my mouth falls around it.

I come, and I bite my lip to keep any sounds from coming out.

I roll over, off the pillow, to look at the clock.

Shit, I’m running five minutes late now.

The only thing I can think about as I get ready, taking a shower, but skipping breakfast, is how embarrassed I’m going to be today if I see him. I’d just die if he came up and talked to me. Knowing myself, I’d turn beet red in my face and not be able to speak at all.

Let’s hope that doesn’t happen. Although I wouldn’t mind catching another glimpse of him from afar.

I catch the trolley just in time. Otherwise, I’d be stuck on the other side of the river from Center City. It’s at least a two hour walk and cabs are ridiculously expensive. And the trolleys haven’t been reliable recently.

Today, I’m wearing a shorter skirt than yesterday, one that shows off as much of my thigh as could be considered appropriate for a professional environment. I’m wearing another button down shirt, and I don’t know why, but I unbutton it one button more than usual.

Of course, being me, the first thing I do at work is rush into the bathroom to make sure my bra isn’t visible, and that too much cleavage isn’t showing.

It’s not like I unbuttoned it far—it’s just that I normally keep everything buttoned all the way up. I guess I’m just a prude, a sexless virgin prude. I get really down on myself about all this quite often. Especially recently, possibly because when I was in school I was just simply too busy to worry about my sexual inexperience. But now that I’m out in the working world, I feel like I’m not a real adult. I’m positive I’m the only virgin in the office here. I just hope no one else suspects anything.

The morning goes by slowly and tediously. I’ve got a particularly boring job to do today, printing a few thousand individual files. Most of the work is sorting through the files that come in individually from different workers, and trying to keep track of what I’ve printed yet and what I haven’t.

I don’t see so much as a glimpse of the boss.

Until, that is, I turn around, and he’s standing right in front of me, only a few feet away from me, right here in the mail room.

“Oh!” I gasp, dropping my papers.

He chuckles, and doesn’t move to help me pick up the papers.

I’m conscious of his eyes on me as I bend down to pick them up. Great, I think to myself, this is the one day that I decide to unbutton that extra button.

My thoughts flit back to the fantasy I had this morning, where I was on my knees in front of his towering figure. It hits a little too close to home right now.

I finally get up, flattening down my skirt as I do so, clutching the messy stack of papers in front of me.

He just looks me up and down and doesn’t say anything.

Up close, he’s even hotter than I’d thought. His eyes are piercing. His features are super defined, impeccable. He doesn’t have a single flaw.

His shoulders are wide and he’s tall. Just from the way he stands, you know there’s a tremendous amount of athletic power in him… I don’t even dare to think of what he could do to me with that power.

“Can I help you?” I finally say, since I’m feeling like the silence is getting awkward.

But he seems perfectly comfortable, with his hands thrust into his pockets, his posture confident and relaxed.

“Just stopped by to admire the view,” he says. His voice is deep and rumbly, and most of all, powerful.

“Can I help you with something?” I say. “Do you need some copies?” It’s a dumb thing to say, but I can’t think of anything else, and I want to cover my embarrassment. Of course, he has no way of knowing that I was fantasizing about him this morning right before coming to work. Well, I hope so, at least.

“What’s your name?” he says.

“Olivia,” I say.

He nods, as if considering this new information very carefully. He looks me up and down again. His gaze makes me blush even more.

“I’d like you to come with me, Olivia,” he says. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Are you sure?” I say, thinking he might have the wrong person. After all, what could the boss want with me?

He nods.

“Come with me,” he says, standing back from the doorway, gesturing with his arm for me to lead the way.

“Am I in trouble?” I say. I guess my goodie-two-shoes mind goes right to the fear that I might have some something wrong. After all, I can’t lose this job. I’m just a jumble of conflicting feelings right now: embarrassment, fear, and confusion.

He just chuckles deeply without answering me. He won’t take his eyes off me.

“I have a lot of work to do,” I say frantically. “They’re expecting these print outs from me.”

“Don’t worry about that,” says David.

I don’t know why I’m so reluctant to go with him. After all, I was hoping for a just a glance of him today. I’m certainly going to get an eyeful of him if I go with him to this “private meeting.”

I’m out of excuses, and there’s nothing to do but walk past him timidly out the door.

He follows me. “Down the hallway here,” he says. “To my office.”

I glance back once to make sure he’s behind me. I’ve never been down this hallway before, since the only thing it leads to is his office. He’s clearly checking out my ass as he walks behind me and he doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed when I catch him looking. He just grins at me and winks.

I blush and continue walking.

Finally, after what seems like forever, we get to his office.

I stand awkwardly by the door.

The office is incredibly luxurious, with wood paneled walls and two huge walls of windows. It’s one of those covered corner offices. The desk is massive, conveying power, made of a very expensive looking wood. I can see that the wood’s grain curves perfectly into spiral patterns—it must have taken an expert woodworker years to make this desk.

The desk is almost bare, except for a computer and a framed picture of a little blonde girl who’s probably in elementary school. She must be his daughter. That’s weird—he doesn’t seem like the type to have kids, and I’ve already heard rumors that he has a reputation as a huge womanizer.

“Take a seat,” he says. It’s more of a command than a suggestion, and he doesn’t seem like the type of guy you want to disobey.

I take a seat, crossing my legs carefully and sitting upright, trying to look professional. There’s no way he could be interested in me… that’s where my mind goes, even though I just caught him checking out my ass. I guess he just does that to all women, whether or not they’re attractive to him.

He’s the kind of guy who can get any woman he wants.

Just look at him…

He’s absolutely perfect.

Up close, I can’t even believe he really looks like that. I mean, no one looks that good.

His eyes are even more intense up close, and I find myself getting lost in them, before quickly looking away, my face flushing.

He’s sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, with his hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry if I haven’t been doing a good job,” I say, getting the words out with some difficulty, because at this point I’m beyond nervous, with my heart feeling like it’s going to beat right out of my chest. “I haven’t been here that long, but I’m sure in the future I can learn…”

“I’m sure your copying is fine,” he says, cutting me off. “I wanted to discuss something else with you.”

I’m practically holding my breath, waiting for an answer. I have no idea what to expect.

“What’s your story?” he continues. “Any history of drug use, alcohol use, excess partying… maybe one crazy night back in college that you want to forget?”

I shake my head.

“And keep in mind that this won’t affect your employment here. This is more of a… personal matter.”

Now I’m really nervous.

“No,” I say hastily. “Nothing like that. I was always too busy studying to do anything like that. I was top of my class, and I graduated early…”

“Sounds perfect,” he says, cutting me off again. “So nothing unsavory in your record?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head vigorously, still believing that despite what he says, this is going to affect my job here somewhat. “And if you need another copy of my resume, I can…”

“Won’t be necessary,” he says, cutting me off for what must be the third time. This is getting a little annoying. What’s this all about anyway? He just pulls me into his office and questions me about my personal past? Who does that? “So you’re a good girl? I mean, you have the look and everything.”

“I’m afraid I don’t really know where you’re going with this, Mr. Masters.”

“I’m in a bit of a situation,” he says. “My ex-wife is suing me again, and this time she wants full custody of my daughter, Laura. Apparently I have a bit of a reputation around town, one that might impede my defense in the eyes of the court. I’m looking to improve my image.”

I nod my head. What I want to ask is: what the hell do I have to do with this? Instead, I just say “oh,” in the most demure voice I can muster.

“What I need,” he says, “is a wife.”

I’m silent for a long moment as he stares at me. I shift in my chair uncomfortably. “Is that so?” I finally say.

He nods. “I need someone who can improve my image. I need someone who’s an upstanding citizen, that sort of person. And someone attractive enough that the whole thing is believable.”

I have absolutely no idea what to say, so I remain silent.

“And that’s why you’re perfect for the job.”

What?

I’m completely frozen.

He wants me to be his wife? There’s no way that’s what he’s saying. I don’t even know him!

This must be some kind of misunderstanding. Or maybe it’s an elaborate joke. No one mentioned that he was a big prankster, but maybe this is something he does to the new employees. He doesn’t seem to be the type to be worried about sexual harassment lawsuits.

“You’ve got a clean record, and you’ve got that studious look, but you’re hot, too, so no one will find it unbelievable that I’d choose you as my wife. Now, I’m prepared to offer sizable compensation. Let me see, what do you earn here?”

I can’t help it. The situation is just so ridiculous and absurd that I burst out laughing.

I just keep on laughing until I’m red in the face.

He doesn’t say anything, but merely looks at me and raises his eyebrows.

When I’m finally done laughing, the laughter dying in spurts, I fall completely silent, as if I’m trying to make up for my laughter. I cross my hands in my lap and try to sit up straighter.

“$30,000 a year, roughly, I would imagine,” he says, referring to my salary. In reality, it’s far lower than that, but I don’t dare correct him. “I’m prepared to offer a one time sum of, let’s say, half a million dollars to be paid in various installments, provided you do a good enough job, act convincingly, and that sort of thing. There will, of course, be various stipulations and penalties… we can go over all that later.”

Half a million dollars!

“Wait,” I say. “Are you serious?”

For the first time, it dawns on me that this is a serious offer.

“Serious? Of course I’m serious. And remember, this isn’t a real marriage. You’ll have to sign a pre-nup. I can’t afford to give you all my money in a lawsuit when we get divorced, and there will not, of course, be any alimony payments. And you’ll have to do a convincing job of it, or else, as I mentioned, there will be penalties.”

He says this last word rather severely, and for a moment, it frightens me.

The situation is absurd, but as my shock starts to fade, anger starts to grow.

So he thinks he can just buy me at his own convenience? He thinks I’m so desperate for money that I’ll just agree to this degrading position?

“This is only for show,” he says. “So don’t expect me to curtail my sexual activities. And don’t expect that we’ll have sex. This is strictly a business arrangement.”

So he thinks he’s so hot that I’m just dying to sleep with him? Even though this is true, it still annoys the hell out of me. He doesn’t even wonder if I want to sleep with him? He just assumes that every woman wants him?

The regular me would just demurely decline the offer, acting shy and nervous. But there’s real anger inside me. I feel more insulted than I ever have in my life.

I’m never sticking up for myself. When I had my extreme chronic fatigue episode, I ended up apologizing to everyone I could, even when they were jerks to me. I even ended up apologizing to my dad when he sent me into debt, falsifying my identity. And inside, it just made me even more angry that I couldn’t stick up for myself.

This is my chance.

I stand up, somewhat awkwardly and abruptly.

I’m red in the face, and aware that my anger might cost me the job that I desperately need.

“I’ve never been more insulted in my life,” I blurt out, my voice rising, full of anger. “You think you can just do that? You think you can just make an offer like that?”

He sits calmly, unmoving, watching me.

“And you’re so arrogant that you think every woman is just dying to sleep with you? I’ve never met someone so, uh, pigheaded in my entire life!”

I’m yelling now. Maybe it’s not the most coherent tirade ever, but at least I stuck up for myself.

I’m already at the door, yanking it open too hard, so that it slams against the wall.

I pause for a moment before leaving to see if he’ll say something, to see if he’ll fire me on the spot.

But he still doesn’t move.

He just looks at me.

“One million dollars,” is all he says. “And that’s my final offer.”

“Never in a million years,” I say, trying to keep my voice down in case someone is in the hallway.

“We’ll see about that,” he says.

I storm down the empty hallway back to the mailroom, and I stand here, contemplating my fury. In a strange way, I’m proud of myself.

But when my anger starts to fade, and I start to calm down, I’m left standing here wondering whether or not I should just go right home, whether or not I still have a job.

But as the minutes tick by, seeming to take forever, no one comes to tell me I’m fired.

I check my email on my phone, knowing that some companies send emails to fire employees. But there’s nothing, except for an email from my dad telling me that his move to Philly is already underway. Great.

Well, it looks like I still have my job for now. So I start reorganizing the papers I dropped on the floor when Mr. Masters came to see me.

I’m still referring to him in my head as Mr. Masters. How stupid is that? After all, he just “proposed” to me. It’s time to drop the formality in my head. I’m so formal and so uptight—it annoys me. I’m just annoyed at myself.

I’m sure I acted like a fool back there.

Could it possibly be a joke, a prank? Well, no one is rushing up to me showing me a hidden camera or anything like that, so I doubt it.

No, it was a serious offer. Mr. Masters isn’t the type of man to joke around.

That much is clear.