Just A Woman (The Porter Trilogy Book 2) (2 page)

Bracks stood up to leave, but I was oblivious to anything around me as my erection grew heavy in my boxers, tenting my pants and threatening to spill like a lovesick schoolboy. Every time I thought about Charlotte and the connection we had, I couldn’t contain myself. She was a firecracker in and out of the bedroom and, although I needed to get back into her heat, I needed to get back into her heart with a greater urgency. I just needed a scrap of information to keep me complacent for now, or else I was bound to go out of my mind, and no one had better be in my way when it happened.

Alex

Clicking on the intercom and connecting my desk to the secretary's desk, her disgusting, vile voice filled my office, helping contribute to the headache that had already formed behind my eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Porter?” She asked, skittishly.

“Get in here.” I slammed the button to disconnect the call. I hated that I had filled Charlotte’s seat with that manipulating bitch, Brigitte. I not only wanted to fire her, I wanted to strangle her within an inch of her life, or call the cops and have her arrested, or possibly a combination of both.  Charlotte had begged for mercy for Brigitte and I honored that request, but just barely.

I looked up as she scooted in, opening the door just enough to squeeze her body into the room. She stood, huddled near the door, never coming any closer. She always did that, ever since the day I brought her into the office after the kidnapping. I presumed Robert would have filled her in and she wouldn’t have bothered coming into the office, but she came in and I let her have it.

When I had demanded she come into the office that day, she was filled with rage and defiance, not understanding how I could be standing there when it was obviously Robert’s plan that I never returned. Her anger fled and her rigid spine buckled after I told her everything that had transpired, including being duped by “Steve Nelson”, and the real story of what had happened to Charlotte. I probably shouldn’t have shared Charlotte’s secret past, but Brigitte needed to hear how easy she had been manhandled and manipulated like a little rag doll.

She cried hot, angry tears, and I had never heard the words ‘I’m sorry’ muttered so many times in such a short period of time. If I hadn’t been so angry, I might have even felt a little sympathy for her, but I didn’t. When I told her I was making her my new personal assistant, her tears stopped momentarily and she looked up at me in bewilderment.

“If it was my choice, I’d have you thrown in jail with the key locked away forever, but Charlotte sees something in you. She believes you’re better than this and that Robert manipulated you. So, for now, you’ll be my new PA, and if there is so much as one paperclip out of line, I will turn you over to the police. Is that clear, Ms. Hayes?

She had sputtered her agreement and whisked out of my office faster than a lion chasing a gazelle across the Serengeti. Now every time I saw her, she was withdrawn and huddled in on herself. Most of the time her cowardice made me inwardly grin, but today I was in too foul of a mood to give a shit that she was scared of me.

I motioned for her to sit, but she declined with a shake of her head. The part of my job I loved the most was being able to see the fear in others and exploit it to my own advantage. This young girl was too easy to read, and she was petrified of me. I spent the last two weeks pushing her past her emotional limits for fun. Sure, that made me a bastard, but she made Charlotte cry and she would get payback one way or another.

“I want my coffee,” I barked at her, making her jump at my sudden command after moments of silence.

“Right away, Mr. Porter.” She whispered, ducking back out of the door.

As it shut, I chuckled a little bit. Everything else in my life was so fucked up. If I didn’t find a sense of humor soon I was going to go mad, and I had no intentions of doing anything until Charlotte was back in my arms and back in my bed.

I shoved off from the desk and clicked the mouse to bring my computer back to life. I looked through spreadsheets of information regarding an app that was blossoming far beyond our expectations, but the numbers just blurred together and my mind kept focusing on the edge of my desk where Charlotte had given me one of the best orgasms of my life. I looked at this desk often while Charlotte was gone.

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, no longer bothering with the pretense of work. Until I heard any scrap of news about Charlotte, I knew I wasn’t fit to deal with my business or any of the dealings within. Charlotte had been an amazing Personal Assistant, and loathe as I was to admit it, Brigitte wasn’t terrible, but nothing seemed to move as smoothly since she wasn’t here. 

I needed some sort of relief from the blinding pressure ricocheting around my chest. I felt weak and vulnerable and I hated those feelings. Before Charlotte Hightower and her red hair waltzed into my life, I had order. I had control. No one crossed me and no one told me no. My body obeyed me. I slept when I wanted and ate what I wanted. I had a book of women who were ok with no strings attached sex and I sought it out often. It was one of the few things that kept my rage at bay. Rachel had taught me there were better ways to let off steam then beating someone to a pulp when they pissed me off.

But then Charlotte came into my life, turning my world upside down and making me feel things other than rage and grief. She taught me how to open my heart and bare my soul, but only for her. I still battled daily with unbridled anger and frustration, but it seemed more manageable since she had come into my life. I wasn’t ready to give her up. I enjoyed not seeing the world through a red hue of violence and I reveled in knowing maybe the world wasn’t as fucked up as I had originally thought. Charlotte made me feel these things and I wasn’t going to stop until I got her back.

I picked up my phone and called her again. I knew it was pointless, but I had to try as often as I could. Maybe if she could see that I wasn’t giving up, she would come around, but I knew in my heart that, next to her soft nature, her stubbornness was her greatest strength. She wasn’t one to take shit from anyone and I was incredibly proud of her.

As predicted, her phone went to voicemail. I should have just hung up, but I couldn’t stop myself from listening to her voice. “
Hi, You’ve reached Charlie! Sorry I didn’t answer, but you know what to do! Talk to you soon! Bye.”

“Charlotte…..please.” I hung up. I couldn’t apologize again. I’d done it so many times. Her voice always sent a jitter through my veins, distracting me from leaving a coherent voicemail message. The chemistry between us was electric and primal. Within yards of each other I could feel her, even if I wasn’t facing her. Her soul knew my soul and it was as powerful as it was unrelenting. I felt lost in this moment of time.  I needed her more than I needed my next breath.

A ring startled me from my self-pity party. The intercom. I pressed the button and waited. I never said anything. I hadn’t when Charlotte was my PA either.

“Your coffee?” She muttered.

I grunted and pressed the end button. I watched as she stepped in with my coffee in her hands. The first time she had gotten me coffee, I made Bracks drink some first. Poison was a woman's murder weapon and I wasn’t gullible or naive enough to think Robert no longer had his claws in her. I still didn’t trust her, but I knew that Bracks kept an eye out for sneaky behavior, and since the initial outrage in my office, Brigitte had transcended into a feeble mouse, incapable of harm.

I beckoned her forward, watching her knees tremble in her expensively high stilettos. She sat the drink down on my desk without a word and waited for me to acknowledge her. I looked up into her gray eyes that were forcing back tears and thought about Charlotte. She’d be so pissed at me right now for treating this girl like shit, but I couldn’t help it after what she had done. I couldn’t help the hate that reverberated around inside of me.

Then again, look at what
you
did, my subconscious sneered at me. I winced at the harsh words echoing around in my brain. God, I had hurt her so badly. When she told me the story about what had happened to her eight years ago, my insides tightened to an unbearable pressure and my knuckles cracked at the rough treatment of my fists. I’d heard a version of that story already, except I had heard it from the attacker himself, and it hadn’t been so gruesome coming from his mouth. 

Robert had been my roommate for a short stint in college. I hated him so much. He was cocky and sure of himself, a pompous jackass, and everyone loved the ground he walked upon. His dad, at the time, had been a Junior Senator and Robert was his pride and joy. Steve Nelson doted on his son and gave him everything he could ever want, including paying his way into one of the top schools in Southern California. Robert may have had money, but he was as dumb as a box of rocks.

I came to our room at the frat house almost daily to find a sock tied on the door, the bro code meaning ‘Don’t come in. I’m getting lucky’. Every night, it was a different girl and every night, I spent most of my time in the common room ignoring everyone around me and immersing myself in books. I never saw any of the women he had brought home; I just knew there were many.

When Robert had come upstairs that night, I had been propped up on my bed studying for an exam the following morning. He was drunk, and probably high on something, while he bragged about drugging his naive girlfriend and then letting all of his buddies take turns with her. He said she begged for it and loved it. I remember my vision turning red at what he had done and asking where she was. When he nonchalantly waved at the window and said he didn’t care, I had gotten up to investigate.

I looked out the window to see a hooded guy pulling her body out of the pool. It looked like her arms and legs had been tied to the pool chair she was in. I watched as the guy pressed his fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. He must have been satisfied, because he untied her and carted her off to the front of the house out of my vision.

I had almost gone down to investigate, but at the time I was selfish and knew I needed to continue studying. Owning my own business was my fucking dream and nothing was going to spoil that, so I flopped on the bed and forgot about the girl, until she retold her version right in front of my eyes.

When she sat on the couch and told me exactly what happened that night, my first thought was to find Robert and rip him limb from limb. I threw my brandy glass and stormed out. She had thought I was repulsed by her, when really I was repulsed with my former self from eight years ago for not checking on her, and not turning Robert and his buddies in. I had never really known rage as I had in that moment, and hurting Charlotte because of my anger wasn’t an option. I wanted to hurt Robert, and myself.

Shaking my head, I dispersed the fucked up thoughts and self-loathing as much as I could. Brigitte was still staring at me. I didn’t know if I had been down memory lane for two seconds or two minutes. Not that I frankly gave a shit what she thought. She was my employee and, if I asked her to stand there in front of me for two hours, she could either do it or quit, but I had made a promise to Charlotte. She wasn’t getting nice Alex, but courtesy went a long way.

“Thank you, Brigitte, for the coffee,” I said to her.

“Y-You’re welcome, Mr. Porter,” she said, backing away and exiting my office in a rush. I thought I saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes, but chose to ignore it. 

Only a fraction of a second later the door slammed open again. I looked up, expecting to see Brigitte and take back my thanks, but instead Bracks scrambled in holding a few pieces of paper. I stood up in a flash, knocking my chair backwards.

“What? What did you find, Bracks?” I shoved my hands out, demanding the paper.

“She started a blog, Alex. She started a fucking blog. Here’s the first entry, don’t worry, I didn’t read it,” he assured me, thrusting the papers into my eager claws. This was what I was waiting for. Something. Anything to quench my thirst. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. I would have been content with a less than 140 character tweet, but a blog? I had hit the jackpot.

Taking the papers and shoving my hands in my hair, I sat back down in my chair and started reading.

Daydreamer Musings
July 6, 2015
Followers- 2

This is stupid! I’m writing an online blog to “write down my feelings and let it all out.” At least that’s what my shrink said. Yes, the girl whose words you’re reading is certifiably crazy. No, I’m not. Not really, although, sometimes I feel like I am. Crazy, that is. 

As prescribed by my Doc, I should write out everything I am feeling and act as if the people reading this have no clue what’s going on. Well, since I only have two followers, it seems that you’re the only person that doesn’t know what’s happening, Doctor. Hi, Danny!

I don’t know what’s wrong with writing in an actual book with pen and paper, but the good Doc told me that when your feelings and thoughts come out, typing is faster than writing and your fingers can keep up with your brain better than trying to write it down. I guess he’s right. I can type over 60 words per minute. He also said I might be able to find some support from my peers. I don’t really have any peers except my best friend, and I doubt anyone is going to follow this stupid blog anyways.

Anywho, I know why my doctor wants me to write. I’ve been to see him three times since the day of the “UB” (that’s “Ultimate Betrayal” for those of you who don’t know me) and I haven’t said a word. I feel bad wasting his time and my money, but I’m just not ready to vocalize the events of the past few weeks. Maybe he’s right, though. Maybe typing it out will help. Besides, as I said earlier, it’s not like anyone is really reading this besides my doctor, so if this is the way I can open up and let him know my feelings, than I guess it’s what I will do.

I also feel really bad that I haven’t told my mom anything. Nothing at all. I just can’t break the news and hurt her even more. I know she’s scared for me. Hell, I’m scared for me, but I don’t want my mom to be scared anymore. So, for now, I’ll keep her in the dark, unless she needs to know. Anyways, here’s the scoop.