The Sandstone Affair (An Erotic Romance Novel) (5 page)

~~~

“I demand to see Blake Stone,” I tell the
receptionist through gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I doubt Mr. Stone will see
you without an appointment,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Oh, he has an appointment all right,” I say
almost conning her with my fake sweetness until she pulls up his schedule. “An
appointment with my fists!”
I dodge past the girl and run down the hall,
turning instinctively towards Mark’s office when I realize I’m going the wrong
way. Mark and Blake don’t get along very well and have offices on opposite
sides of the building. Mark’s office is dim, no lights. Turning, I run right
into a burly security guard. The receptionist must have called him. He reaches
out to block my way.
“I need you to settle down, Ma’am.” He says in
a patient, professional tone.
“Blake!” I scream loud enough to wake the
dead. “Blake Stone! Face me like a man and tell me to my face that I’m
negligent, you slimy rat!”
“Ma’am!” the guard tries to shout over me. Clerks
and administrators pour out of the offices to see the spectacle in the hallway.
“Blake Stone!”

The guard calls for backup and a second
security officer walks into the hallway giving me firm and clear commands to
stand down. Everyone is staring, talking, yelling, swirling around in front of
me.
Then there is silence.
I hear an oily, drawling voice. “It’s all right.
Let her go. I’ll be glad to see Miss Sharp in my office.”
At the sound of Blake’s voice, all the clerks
scurry back to their desks and the guards back away. I’m sure he enjoys the
power his position gives him. Even though he and Mark were left as partners of
the firm when their father passed away, Blake has always needed the power more.
He’s shorter than Mark with darker hair and beady eyes that never seem to close
all the way, even when he blinks. No matter what the price of his suit, he
always seems ill-dressed as if his own clothes were rejecting him or
embarrassed to be seen on him. He holds out a pudgy hand and motions me toward
his office.
“Stay in the hall outside my door,” Blake
fake-whispers in a loud, breathy hiss. “I know she’s clearly a bit unhinged,
but I’m hopeful she’s not dangerous.”
I walk past him into his office. He turns to his
assistant positioned right outside the door.
“Call Kenneth Allen and get him to come down.
Have him wait out here with the guards. I want to make sure he has visual
evidence of this visit as an officer of the court.”
I enter Blake’s cave-like office, so different
from the other side of the hall. Mark’s office is neat and tidy with an
efficient business-like atmosphere. Blake’s looks like a file cabinet had too
much to eat and vomited folders and documents all over the room. Books
half-open, a Mont Blanc fountain pen dripping ink on a financial statement, and
his personal shredder overflowing with paper strips reveal the chaos he both
lives in, and creates.
“Can’t afford an office service?” I ask
bitterly as I sit down.
“I don’t like anyone in my private space,” he
says slowly and carefully as he slides behind his desk. His chair is lifted
higher than mine—an old power trick that only fools the person who thinks it
gives them power. “I also don’t care for people shouting my business down the
hall.”
“You accused me of being negligent and
incompetent. What’s the matter? Don’t want your lies shouted out for the world
to hear?”
“Miss Sharp. I didn’t accuse you of anything.
Your employment was terminated via Section six, Paragraph three, Subsection C
which stipulates to whit that if your property is collapsed or otherwise merged
into the superstructure of the corporate entity and reasonable placement cannot
be secured within the remaining capital investitures due to a superior employee
occupying the position, you are not afforded continued employment in any
manner, property, or franchise thereof.”
“So you’re not only good with double-crossing,
you’re good with double-talk. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the word ‘libel’
but I’m sure Kenneth will explain it to you when I take you to court.”
“We actually know more about your negligence
now than we did when we wrote the termination papers. So, even if you could
prove libel prior to your termination, now we have all the data in the world to
back up our claim. So, take us to court.” Blake waves me off with a smug little
smile that makes my blood boil.
“There is no negligence!” I roar at him,
waiting for the guards to bust through the door at any moment. “I gave my life
to that magazine. I may have neglected a lot of other things but Lynx is not
one of them.”
“And what do you have to show for your life’s
work? What stories of merit do you have pending? What investigative journalism
have you done? We have looked through all your pending articles and projects
and haven’t really found very much Ladies World can even use. I’m just hoping Ms.
James can retrain your staff to be more productive so they don’t get fired
too.”
For a moment I am tempted to throw out the
fact I’m sitting on the bombshell story of the year, but fortunately I manage
to keep that part to myself. If he knew about it, he would only take it and
give it to Valerie James for Ladies World and he’s already taken everything
else I have. Still, I can feel the heat in my face as I grip the side of the
chair.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve to call me names,
you thief. You came in and railroaded me out of my own company just for the
profits.” I spit the words at him. I can see the conversation isn’t helping but
I need some kind of resolution.
Blake stands up and walks around to the front
of his desk, sitting on the corner right in front of me. He leans over close
enough for me to smell the tuna he had for lunch on his breath. Speaking slowly
and deliberately, he smiles at me like a crocodile.
“Well, Miss Sharp. There is one way you can
keep working in your pathetic little career. You show me how workable you are
willing to be, and I’ll find a place for your true skills. I’m still closing
Lynx but I’m sure there would be a place for someone who can do what you’re
good at.”
“Really? How would I show you I’m workable?”
“Oh, it’s quite simple,” Blake drawls out his
words and licks his lips salaciously. “I’ll go back behind my desk and sit in
my chair. You come around to the side and get down on your knees while taking
off your shirt and bra freeing those magnificent breasts of yours. Once freed,
you wrap those breasts around my cock and let me tit-fuck you until I come all
over your face. The longer you wear my cum, the more your real value will show
and the longer I’ll keep you on, as a company whore.”
I should have stopped him when he started with
that absurd lewd proposal. I should have stood up and walked out the door. I
should have taken a recorder to the meeting like any first year reporter would
know to do. I should have done a million things– anything–except for what I
did.
My hand connected with his cheek with such
force you could have heard the reverberation all the way to Times Square.
Blake’s head rocketed to the side, his glasses flying across the room, his arm
knocking stacks of folders off his desk.
“Pig!” I shout.

Before I can release a tirade on him, his
nasally voice cries out.
“Guards! Guards! Get in here!”

The door bangs open and everything goes a
little blurry. I hear the footsteps of men running into the room. One of them
is calling on his shoulder radio for police and the other is grabbing my arms
in a restraining hold I’m growing oddly familiar with. Kenneth shouts out
Blake’s name and Blake turns in fury with his hand on his cheek and fire in his
eyes.
“You dumb cunt! I made you a damn good offer
and you attack me! That was the best deal you’re going to get in this town you
bitch!”
“Oh my god, Blake are you okay?” Kenneth
starts digging out his cell phone to record the clearly feminine handprint
swelling on his cheek.
“He provoked me. He said the most horrible
thing to me and I just lost it,” I try to explain but in all the noise and
hubbub no one can hear me.
“I offered that slap happy slut her own
section to edit for Ladies World and she attacked me! She wants it all. The
whole magazine!” Blake blurts out making sure everyone hears his lie over my
truth. The guard pulls back on my arms harder, bowing my shoulders.
“Greedy bitch,” Kenneth mutters, taking
another picture.
“No… I… No! That’s not what…” But, no one can
hear me. The police show up and half the office is watching Blake holding his
face as if he had been burned by acid while the other half is listening to his
lie and glaring at me with judging eyes. I see the police officer pulling the
cuffs from the pouch on his belt.
“That’s not necessary, officer,” I try to
reason with him while Blake is still screaming and cussing. “It’s nothing,
really.”
The cop ignores me as he takes my arms from
the guard and pulls them behind my back. He locks the cuffs into place, the
cold metal squeezing and pinching my wrists.
“I’m his attorney,” Kenneth says to the cop.
“Take her to holding and I’ll come within the hour to make Mr. Stone’s
statement and give you information for the booking.”
Pulling away from the cop, I lunge toward
Mark’s office, hoping he can set this right. Hoping all the “submission and
trust” talk wasn’t a bunch of hogwash. But as I pull away just enough to see
down his side of the hallway—his door is open, his office is dark, and his desk
is vacant.
When I need him the most, Mark just isn’t
there.

By the time they get me out of the building
and into the back of their squad car, I manage to walk under my own power.
However, sitting back there as they drive me to the station, hot tears pour
down my cheeks.
“You ever been arrested before, Miss?” the cop
driving asks while looking in the rearview mirror.
“No, Officer. I shouldn’t be arrested now.
This is all—”
“…a big misunderstanding,” the other cop adds
and they both chuckle.
“No, but it’s unfair. He provoked me. He
assaulted me with an idea so foul I can’t even think about it without wanting
to vomit. He should have been arrested too.”
“Did he hit you or touch you in any way?”
“No, but isn’t it illegal to speak in a sexual
and gross way to someone who doesn’t want to hear it?”
“Lady, if it were, we’d arrest everybody on
the internet!”
I turn to look out the window, trying to dry
my tears on my shoulders with my hands cuffed behind me. The cop driving takes
pity on me.
“Miss, if I could give you one piece of
advice. You need to stop crying and clean yourself up before they put you in a
holding cell. If people in there see you crying, they’re going to think you’re
weak. You can be in holding for up to seventy-two hours. That’s a long time to
spend with criminals who think you’re a soft piece of meat. So I know you’re
sad, but you need to buck up.”
“I’m not sad, Officer,” I say, clearly stupid
enough to bite any hand that tries to feed me. “I’m angry. These are tears of
anger. Haven’t you ever cried when you’re mad?”
“Yes, Miss, I have. So, here’s what you should
do. Instead of taking the Kleenex I was going to offer you when we uncuff you
at the station, just ask the booking clerk for a sharpie and write, ‘I’m angry’
on your forehead. Because those lunk heads in holding think all tears are the
same.”
“I appreciate your kindness, Officer,” I reply
submissively. The tone of my voice reminds me instantly of how I feel when I’m
giving myself to Mark. What’s he going to do when he finds out about this? How
will I ever face him? I just need to cut that cord and move on. He is going to
be so angry and there’s nothing he can do to save me now.
The booking process was fast and humiliating.
The cops already had my purse from when they hauled me out in handcuffs. They
checked me for any other accessories, put everything in a tagged bin, took down
my name, birthdate, and address and prepared to walk me to a cell.
“Don’t I get to tell you what happened?” I ask
as a female officer approaches to walk me back. She looks at the form the
arresting officer submitted.
“Cop says the lawyer is coming to handle
that.”
“But what about my side? Don’t I get to tell
my side?”
“Honey, this is booking. Nobody cares about
your side. You get to court, you can sing your song all day–but for now, get
off your ass and follow me to holding or I’ll add a resistance charge so fast
your head will spin.”
The words coming out of her mouth, coupled
with the sardonic and snide tone set me on edge once more. No one had even
listened to my side since the day that Blake Stone signed my termination papers
and cheated me out of my own company. That rat better not get near my side now
because I’ll do more than slap the smug off his putrid face.
The officer must see the fire ready to spew
out of my eyes because her grip tightens but her tone changes to downright
consoling. We approach two rows of cells, men on one side and women on the
other, divided by open bars. Men are hanging over their side calling to the
women, teasing and talking. I stall for just a second going in. Is this really
happening? I am being put into a jail cell?
“How am I supposed to notify my lawyer? I
haven’t had a phone call.”
“We need the booking statement complete before
you can chat on the phone. But I wouldn’t waste your time on your lawyer unless
you think you’re lucky. You get two minutes and if you get put on hold, too
bad. Most people call family and they get the lawyer.”
The pneumonic door opens with a hiss, and
immediately people start shouting all at once.
“Yo, I need some food!”
“I got a cut that needs the nurse!’
“Hey, I need my phone call! My baby needs a
sitter!”
“It’s a mistake!”
All the desperate voices shouting make me
dizzy and my heart starts pounding, pumping up the adrenaline in my system. The
officer pushes me through the opening and a buzzing sound silences everyone as
the doors close again.
My jaws clamp shut. My heaving breath, and my
hands balled into fists must send out huge red flags. Some of the women give me
a wide space to walk through and don’t make eye contact.
I sit down on a bench in the corner, not even
looking at my cellmates although they are slowly getting brave enough to check
me out. Nods and whispers pass between the others. I don’t care. I am still
thinking about who to call.
Paul’s a great lawyer. That means he’s really
busy and there’s no chance I’m going to get straight through. I could call the
hospital and ask them to tell Dad. But what would he do? He’s on oxygen, has
nothing and no way to get here. All it would do is worry him. If he lives—someday
we will laugh about this together. But if he passes—I’d rather let him live his
last days in peace, without knowing what a crazed loser his daughter turned out
to be.
There’s Greg. That would just be par for the
course and ensure my humiliation is complete. I could call and say “It’s your
ex-fiancé. You know, the woman you cheated out of her heart? Well, I’ve been
cheated out of everything now. Could you bail me out?” No. Not Greg.
I could call Janice, and I know she would
mortgage her house if she had to, but it wouldn’t be fair. Besides, if Kenneth
or Blake found out she helped me, she would definitely lose her job. Plus, if I
haven’t ruined every single thing Mark was trying to do, he might still need
Janice on the inside.
Dammit. I spent so much time buried in my
business; I’m so short of a social life that I don’t have anyone to bail me
out. What a success story I’m living. I try to recall some other friend’s phone
numbers but they are all in my phone, and it’s locked up. This is pretty
typical for my day so far—I throw a fit about a phone call, and then discover I
have no one to dial.
“Hey you,” a tattered woman says from the next
bench. “I think I know you.”
“I doubt it,” I respond, trying to buff up my
voice until I sound roughly like a serial killer.
“Yeah, you’re that magazine woman. My daughter
worked there as an intern for a summer. I saw you when I picked her up on days
she was too late for the bus. You were always yelling or instructing or shit.
She missed the bus a lot.”
“I do edit a magazine,” I lie, figuring I
really don’t need to give an accounting of recent history to
Debbie-Down-And-Out.
“What’s your name? Oh wait… I remember… Miss
Shark. You’re Miss Shark.”
“Sharp.”