Page 15 of The Wicked Virgin

But the elderly woman gave me a kind smile.

“Yes, we’ve been expecting you. I’m Norma,” she said, extending her hand. “We’ve desperately needed a new addition to the typing pool, so your arrival is much anticipated. Let me show you around.”

A typist? My heart sank. This was definitely old-school, I hadn’t even realized that typists still existed in the modern era. But it wasn’t for me to say. I was lucky to not be fired and I wasn’t about to complain about a demotion from my marketing position.

So I followed Norma around obediently, greeting various staff members including the guys who operated the copy machines to the in-house caterers who were whisking away a late breakfast of some type.

“Oh wow, the view here is beautiful,” I said, pausing at a floor-length window in the conference room.

“It is, isn’t it?” commented Norma. “Mr. Martin commissioned these windows because he wanted everyone to enjoy our location. He could have done tiny windows or no windows at all for a fraction of the cost, but he decided to go floor-to-ceiling instead,” she said.

That was the first mention of Nick and I pounced.

“Oh does Mr. Martin work on this floor?” I asked, as casually as possible. Inside my heart was thumping, my pussy automatically moistening at even the thought of the big man.

“Oh yes,” said Norma. “Luxor is headquartered here and Mr. Martin has his office just around the corner. He’s not here that often,” she confided, lowering her voice, “busy with meetings and such, but yes, this is his home base.”

And immediately my pulse began racing. I’d be working within spitting distance of Nick Martin? Seeing him every morning as he strode into the office, powerful and handsome in a dark suit? My heart began jackhammering at the opportunity, the chance to be around Nick.

But as we rounded the corner to Mr. Martin’s suite, my heart dropped. Because the most beautiful woman was sitting at a desk right outside the massive double doors, a woman with gleaming blonde hair effortlessly swept into an elegant updo, wearing a chic black dress that highlighted her slender figure, her long arms and legs.

Norma smiled.

“Hi Jeanette, this is Tammy our new typist,” she said by way of introduction. “Jeanette is Mr. Martin’s personal secretary, she handles all of his appointments, his bookings, his everything. If you need to get to Mr. Martin, you’ve got to go through Jeanette first,” she said with a wink.

And my heart dropped even further at that. Everyone knew that some secretaries were more like wives than employees and it certainly seemed like Jeanette fell into that category. The blonde was elegant, beautiful, with a charming smile and an air of sophistication. I felt dumpy and plain next to her, my curls a mess, my dress suddenly tight in all the wrong places, hopelessly frumpy and outdated.

“Hi,” said the blonde, extending a hand. Oh god, even her hand was perfect. Long, lean fingers surrounded mine, cool, almost cold, whereas my hand was fleshy and warm, my nails slightly bitten.

“Hi,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “Nice meeting you.”

“If you need anything just let me know,” Jeanette said, her red lips curling into a fake smile. “I’ve been here two years already.”

And Norma nodded approvingly.

“Mr. Martin goes through secretaries like crazy, he’s very particular about who works for him. For Jeanette to be here two years means that you’re doing a very good job,” the old lady praised.

And Jeanette preened at the compliment.

“Thank you, I do my best,” she said with a smirk. “I’m organized, efficient, and I know just how Mr. Martin likes it. Exactly how,” she said with a wink.

That got Norma laughing.

“Young ladies these days!” she clucked, winking at the double meaning. As we moved away, she leaned in, whispering confidentially.

“If you ask me, Jeanette’s got her eye on the boss and if Nick Martin’s a real man, he’ll put a ring on her finger. After all, he couldn’t do better than her. Beautiful, efficient, sleek, sophisticated, who could ask for more?”

I nodded although my mind was whirring. Norma had just described what to me sounded like a computer or some kind of high-end iPad. Couldn’t Siri do all that with more feeling?

But I shook my head. I was a lowly typist, part of a pool of secretaries available to transcribe notes, type up labels, and file documents. I was lucky just to have a job, much less at a place like Luxor.

So my heart heavy with disappointment, I followed Norma down a hall, then down another hall and to the right. Before me was a sea of cubes, the walls about chin-high, a maze of repeating grey nylon. She led me to a cube on the far side and it was with a sigh of relief that I saw my old desk. The shabby metal frame was banged up and scratched, but everything else was intact, all the drawers closed.

I sat down in my chair and swiveled happily.

“Yep, this is my stuff,” I said gratefully.

The old lady smiled gently back.

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