Page 16 of The Wicked Virgin

“Well I’ll let you get settled then. It’s your first day, help yourself to supplies from the supply closet, and Tammy, the women’s restroom is right over there,” she gestured. Sure enough, the door was about ten feet from my cube. “You’re lucky and unlucky,” confided Norma. “This cube is so out of the way that hardly anyone uses that restroom, but on the other hand, yes, you can hear the toilets flush,” she added wryly.

I colored. Oh god, I had such a tangled past with the women’s restroom, did Norma know? But I scolded myself. There was no way the old lady could know, my masturbation incident had happened only yesterday and Mr. Martin wouldn’t confide in a receptionist.

So I pasted a bright smile on my face.

“Thanks, I’ll look you up if I have any more questions. And thank you again for the tour!” I chirped.

The elderly lady just smiled back and slowly scuffled off, her bent form disappearing as she rounded the corner.

Taking a deep breath I turned back to my cube. It was tiny and Spartan, to say the least. Grey cloth walls surrounded a desk and chair, with my old computer already plugged in. There was a banker’s box on the desk with a few of my belongings, my paper weight and some binders, as well as a photo of my mom and dad from long ago.

Slowly reaching a hand forward, I tested the handle to my desk drawer. Oh thank god. It was locked. Taking a deep breath, I shook myself, determined to start fresh, give myself an opportunity to succeed.

And flicking on the computer, I was able to log in, relieved to find that all my old passwords worked. I kept myself busy for a while, arranging my stuff in the new cube, re-reading the Employee Handbook, settling in when suddenly a new message flashed onto my screen. Clicking the icon, an email from Nick Smith popped up.

Come to my office, it said.

I frowned. Who the hell was Nick Smith?

But another email appeared right after it.

I’m waiting.

And I immediately blushed. Of course. Nick Smith was actually Nick Martin, Mr. CEO. He had more than one email account because it was very likely that his official account was handled and monitored by the beautiful and efficient Jeanette.

So I got up and straightened my dress, heart pumping. Slowly, I slipped my feet back into the violet pumps and made my way to Nick’s office, already feeling oddly warm and liquidy inside. Of course, his pretty secretary was waiting, staring at me like I was an alien and not a new employee who’d been introduced just an hour ago.

“I’m here to see Mr. Martin,” I said formally.

“I don’t have you on the schedule,” the blonde sneered. “Are you sure it was him?”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Mr. Martin called me? I got an email from his shadow account, I can show it to you?

But an old-school buzzer rang on her desk and Nick’s disembodied voice floated out.

“Jeanette, could you send Ms. Jones in please? And pour us some coffee too, will you?”

I smiled victoriously then. Not only had Nick invited me to his office but Jeanette was going to be our waitress. If you asked me, it suited her perfectly, although the ugly frown on her face wouldn’t be getting her any brownie points.

But once inside Nick’s office, the blonde was all smiles, bowing and gracious.

“Oh Mr. Martin, I didn’t know you were expecting company,” she cooed. “Just a moment, here’s your coffee. You like it black, right?”

And Nick watched with a bemused expression, all elegant masculinity as the blonde poured the steaming liquid like a geisha, swift with a sure hand. But that sure hand lost its grip when it came to me. With a shriek and a small “whoops,” Jeannette managed to upset my cup so that the steaming brown liquid splashed all over my dress, leaving me with an ugly wet spot on the chest.

“Oh I’m so sorry!” she cooed again, “Here, let me help you,” she said taking a napkin and rubbing all over my bosom, forcing the stain into the fabric.

I grabbed her wrist tightly, holding it away from me.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I said tightly, my eyes shooting daggers at her. But Nick stepped in there before we got into a literal catfight.

“Jeanette, thank you so much, I’ll let Ms. Jones use my private bathroom to get cleaned up,” he said smoothly, his tone betraying nothing. And sure enough, there was a door to the side of his enormous office. “Ms. Jones, please,” he said nodding his head. “And Jeanette, thank you, I’ll be ready for my five o’clock soon.”

“Of course!” chirped the blonde. “I’ll let you know as soon as they’re here,” she warbled, elegantly walking out the door, coffee pot in hand.

Meanwhile, I was a dripping mess. I almost cried, the coffee already turning cold, the material sticking to my skin clammily. My purple sheath was ruined and I’d be out a pretty penny – it’d cost me a hundred bucks on sale at Nordstrom and I couldn’t afford to replace it.

“I … I guess I’ll just use your restroom and try and get some of this stain out,” I mumbled, looking at the floor.

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