Minidevilette© 2012

“I’m having a quiet affair at work.” Grant said.

“I’ll bet you are,” I answered sarcastically.

“Behave,” he admonished. “I’d like you to play hostess for me.”

It had been five days since he had demonstrated to me just how ineffectual my defiance was in the face of his determination and I had relived that afternoon over and over in my mind as I waited to be with him again.

“Nothing major, just a small business thing at the office on Thursday evening. Few drinks and a lot of boring shop talk,” he explained.

“And what would this ‘playing hostess’ involve?” I flatly refused to ask him why he wasn’t conducting this little tête-à-tête at his home with his no doubt very appropriate wife doing the honours.

“Not much,” he replied. “Just general stuff really. Maybe take their jackets, offer drinks. Keep conversation going if I’m talking to someone privately.”

I smiled wryly. “So basically you’d like me to be a charming ornament.”

“Pretty much,” he chuckled. “An intelligent and knowledgeable ornament, though.”

“You’re a rogue. Flattery will get you everywhere,” I confided.

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” he promised darkly. “Will you do it?”

“Okay, what time? Are we doing the black tie thing or is it just casual?”

“The guys will probably come straight from work but you knock yourself out. You know how much I like old school glamour. Have I told you you’re amazing?”

“That’s what they all say but they never ring,” I quipped.

So that was how I found myself being dropped off in front of his building at ten to eight on the appointed night, a simple black shift dress with a string of pearls hanging down my back under a vintage Dior coat. Each step I took caused the knot in the rope of sea gems to lightly bounce against the small of my back and I felt sophisticated and elegant. I’d also used the occasion as an excuse to splurge on a divine pair of twenties T shoes I’d been eyeing off for weeks.

I approached his office, excitement and apprehension blending in the pit of my stomach as images flashed through my mind of my last time I’d walked up this hallway. I stood quietly in the doorway and remembered him pinning beneath his body on the surface of that desk, breaking down my rebellion piece by piece until I’d been impelled to plead for him to fill me.

He was in shirt sleeves, the desk lamp throwing his face into a mosaic of light and dark as it cast shadows over his cheekbones. His attention was trained on the computer monitor, weight braced on one arm as he fiddled with the mouse, the smoky sound of Diana Krall advising a former lover to cry her a river, weaving through the air softly.

His focus was so complete he had yet to detect my arrival and I lounged in the doorway silently, watching him, letting an erotic rush of power wash through me as I thought of how I had to ability to divert that diligent attention from the most important things in his life.

His slightly olive complexion was emphasised by the mellow lighting, in stark contrast to the crisp whiteness of his collar and I shivered as I visualised biting into the skin between it and his hairline. I think I could have stood there for hours, enthralled by his controlled efficiency but as I glanced at my watch I realised that his colleagues’ arrival was imminent and I was here tonight to fulfil a role, not be a lustful voyeur.

As I strolled into the room he looked up, closed down whatever he was reviewing on the computer and rounded the desk. As we met, he spun me around and I was pulled back against his chest as he ran his hands down to my wrists and then back up again to help me off with my coat, casually draping the cashmere over the same wooden surface I had myself been draped over.

“Let me look at you,” he purred and I pirouetted playfully in front of him, bestowing my best coquette’s expression upon him as I did. He captured my face in his large warm palms and gazed at my upturned face warmly. “You look stunning,” he complimented, pressing a kiss on the pulse points on either side of my throat. “Very Marion Davies.”

I arched my neck, inviting him to do more to my exposed throat than just kiss it but he stepped away from me, briefly running through his expectations of how the next few hours should go. I soothed my disappointed vanity with the silent promise of breaching his defences later that night and paid attention to the information conveyed by his deep voice.

As I glanced around the office, I noticed the minor changes that had been made since my previous visit in deference to this evening. The surface of the credenza was now spotless, the organised chaos of paperwork that had been stacked there hidden away to facilitate a range of decanters, accompanying glassware and deliciously fiddly-looking canapés as well as a silver sphere, about the size of a baseball, on a stand. It had an opening in it much like a moneybox and I thought to myself that it was a very refined method of concealing otherwise unsightly used toothpicks and such.

Further afield, the bookcases, those beautifully imposing bastions of stored knowledge, were as before, the only difference in their outlook being a small chaise lounge positioned at a slight angle from their base. Gone were the utilitarian, if comfortable, client’s seating, replaced by a foursome of deep-sided leather club chairs that had been arranged into the remaining space in a relaxed elliptical formation and, combined with the dulcet softness of bluesy jazz and diffused lighting, the entire effect was that of an informal but very masculine space that one may imagine would have been found in the men’s clubs of the past.

Lured by the rich looking nap of blue velvet covering the chaise lounge, I wandered over to it while he poured himself a drink and sat primly on its edge, crossing my legs. The cushioning was surprisingly plush and I leaned back with a small sigh, stretching my arm along the raised end as I listened to the clink of crystal from across the room. All too soon voices sounded dimly from down the hallway and I rose, quickly running my fingers over my bobbed hair as I moved to stand near my lover, positioning myself a discreet distance from him. Cloaking myself in what I hoped was an aura that oozed congenial companion as opposed to screaming illicit sexpot, I took one final calming breath and was ready to greet his guests.

Three men entered the doorway, the tallest closing it behind him as they all made general greetings to their host. It was obvious that all of the men were familiar with each other and the quick round of back and forth banter marked them as friends to some degree as well as associates. Although their eyes flicked over me, they waited to be formally introduced before looking at me fully, at which point we; Dave, Mike and John as well as myself, all voiced the appropriate polite banalities that are inspired by initial meetings before I offered to take their suit jackets.

Over the next two hours I thanked the powers that be for all the time I had wasted in my younger days obsessively researching any trivial subject that had caught my attention.

I imagined myself gowned in the persona of cultured socialite and excelled at being a charming, slightly flirtatious general companion and it appeared that the masculine contingent were appreciative of my wry wit and quiet charisma. Between their numerous trips back and forth to the mini bar and quiet conference with their host, I discussed with my adulterous paramour’s visitors such topics as history, social media, classic vehicles, politics, religion, world economics and the deplorable lack of respect in the youth of today. Conversation flowed easily and I found myself delighted in the company in which I found myself, each of them displaying varied views, approaches and humours to certain situations.

I watched my amorous rogue surreptitiously in this time, loathe to give away our true relationship to these men by look or gesture but unable to ignore him just the same. I noticed he was very concentrated on his guests when they approached the drinks station and assumed, as a conscientious host, he was monitoring the rate of alcohol consumption. Personally I had been amazed at the men’s apparent level of sobriety given the frequency with which they made the trip and as I watched his eyes narrow as Dave broke away from the group again, I decided that perhaps he was worried I was being slightly lax in my hospitality duties. I excused myself from John’s presence to check on the supply of refreshments and noted the fluid levels in the decanters depleted but not to the extent I had expected and felt no urgency to replenish them as a distinct air of ‘wrapping up’ was overtaking the social atmosphere.

The canapés had been completely devoured much earlier so I found it a passing oddity to watch Dave drop something into the ornamental sphere before I was distracted by a satirical remark made by Mike, who had appeared at my elbow and cajoled me into an amusing exchange of words with him.

We were joined by the credenza by John and Grant, where the latter invited his male counterparts to take a seat in preparation to discuss the final order of business for the evening. I waited for them to move away before addressing him quietly.

“If you guys have got something important to go over, I can disappear if you like.”

“No, its fine,” he assured as he reached for the silver sphere. “Just go settle on the chaise for a while.” He looked at me from under amused brows as he uncapped the object in his hand and tipped out a virtual tickertape parade of paper in red, blue and yellow. “I’m sure your feet are killing you,” he observed as he began sorting the paper into primary coloured piles.

I laughed as I ruefully cursed the dual polarities of fashionable foot ware and I realised that he may not have been staring at me all night but he had been keeping an eye on me.

“I thought that was for toothpicks,” I mused, smothering a yawn and when I received no response from him other than a small smile, I poured myself a drink and wandered over to the chaise as he’d suggested. Placing the glass on top of a conveniently placed lateral file, I lay back, eyes closed, a secret smile on my lips, and let the murmur of male voices wash over me as Mr Sinatra flew me to the moon. I was languidly relaxed as I meditated lazily on all the places on my body that would benefit from some attention from my beastly lover.

I must have momentarily slipped into the arms of Morpheus because the next thing I knew my eyes unhurriedly opened to discover Grant’s face poised over mine as he softly repeated my name. “Louise, wake up.”

He was holding my hand gently in his. It was the first time he had touched me since my arrival and I automatically bestowed a dazzling smile on him, instinctively closing the distance between our lips. His response was immediate and possessive, his tongue sweeping into my mouth to plunder its depths and claim my sighs. It wasn’t until he broke away, biting my lower lip, that I heard the sudden collective intake of breath and became aware with devastating clarity of the colossal error I had just made.

My eyes flew around the room, confirming the evidence of my ears as they landed on the trio of men seated in enfolding leather, before shooting back to the man standing over me with abject horror.

“Oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry,” I whispered fervently. “I thought we were alone, I thought they were gone,”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he replied. “Just relax,” he soothed.

But I was frantic, whispered words tripping from me with no coherence. “I thought, well obviously I didn’t think but I thought, oh fuck, I think I’m going to pass out, quick, shoot me, I’m so sorry,” I finished, burying my face in my hands and wishing I could take back the last five minutes.

He took my hand in his again and lifted my chin until I was looking squarely into his face. I blinked rapidly when he gave me a very chaste kiss and wondered how he could be sporting a small smile when he was now in imminent danger of a lifetime of bitterness and spousal support.

“Just relax and trust me,” he said quietly. “You do trust me, don’t you?” I nodded at him dumbly, faint-heartedly willing to hand the entire situation over to him so I didn’t have to deal with it. The thought of being busted by his wife hadn’t bothered me; after all I didn’t know her and being a woman I knew I had a very adroit arsenal capable of dealing with anything another woman could throw at me.

But these were his peers, people he worked and socialised with; people I had just socialised with and whose company I had enjoyed. They respected him, knew him as one part of a stable couple and were likely to take a very dim view of his character now that they’d been presented with glaring evidence of his infidelity.

I glanced over at our captivated audience and avoided all three sets of eyes. “What about them?” I muttered intensely. “You can bet your arse they’ll tell their significant others about it and then your wife’s going to find out. What then?”

Grant tugged gently on my hand, urging me to rise from the chaise. “Stop panicking,” he assured. He handed me my drink and wrapped my nerveless fingers around the glass. I swallowed the fire, wincing as it trailed down my chest to burn in my churning stomach.

“I can’t believe you’re so calm about this,” I gritted through the queasiness that the alcohol had triggered.

“And I can’t believe you’ve suddenly developed a conscience,” he shot back with amusement.

I glared at him mutinously. “This is not fucking funny. How do you know you can trust them?”

“Believe me,” he answered darkly, taking my empty glass, “by the time tonight’s over no one in this room will be telling anyone anything.”

“That’s because I’ll have been forced to murder you all,” I shot back cynically.

His laughter rolled through the room and he kissed my knuckles as he led me across the room.

I studied the face of each man as we approached, searching for the shock or disgust I was convinced they must be feeling but although their posture’s seemed rigid, the most prevalent expression appeared to be nervousness. I wondered wildly if they thought the man by my side was going to try and silence them a la Cosa Nostra style and swallowed the hysterical giggle that bubbled up my throat.

We came to a halt within the curve of chairs and as I stood on edge beside him, Grant addressed his friends as if they hadn’t just seen him crawl down my throat. “Right, onto the last order of business for tonight.” He paused, surveying the three statues seated before us, allowing the tension in their rigid bodies to build until I thought my own would shatter under the pressure filling the room.

Finally he smiled, placed my hand in Mike’s and, over the explosive release of held breath from the other two men, I dimly heard him speak. “Congratulations.”

Mike’s face split wide open in triumph as Dave slapped him on the shoulder and John good naturedly cursed him as a lucky bastard. The whole time I stood, looking uncomprehendingly at my small hand in Mike’s, my usually agile mind a complete blank as I tried to process the significance of it all.

Mike’s voice cut through the fog of my mind, his incredulous tones filtering through the buzzing that was building in my ears. “Me? For real?”

“Fair and square,” was his answer.

As the current possessor of my hand celebrated his apparent good fortune I turned toward his benefactor in stupefaction. Blinking owlishly and with a creeping sense of doom settling in the base of my spine I regarded him warily. “Grant,” I asked in a guarded voice. “What have you done?”

He looked back at me intently. “I haven’t done anything,” he enunciated carefully. “Mike, however, just won you in a silent auction.”

“Silent auction.” I repeated quietly.

“Yes. All those bits of paper? They were bids, of a sort, and Mike is the highest bidder.”

The revelation was like receiving a full body dose of Lignocaine closely followed by a truck load of holy hypoxia, Batman. I stared at him, a montage of the night flicking through my brain on fast forward. All those trips back and forth to the drink cabinet, seeing Dave drop something into that innocent looking sphere, Grant sorting through that paper, the significance of the three separate colours now clear as day to me.

My vision swam as my knees literally started a slow crumple under the twin assaults of shock and oxygen deprivation and I thought detachedly that if there was ever a good time to pull a Jane Austin and faint on the wall to wall carpeting, it was now.

As I desperately sent a breathe, dammit, breathe message to...