won’t be dining with you this evening,’ he added. ‘I’m taking Benedict round the corner to the club.’
He was talking about the men-only, elitist old boys’ private club where he’s on the board. A place I wouldn’t be seen dead in even if I wasn’t the proud owner of a vagina.
‘Have a marvellous time,’ I muttered, shaking off my father’s hold on me and giving him a cursory nod.
Then I turned away and headed back towards the kitchen, the need for that numbing glass of wine stronger than ever now.
Perhaps it’ll actually be a good experience working for Benedict Chivers, I told myself as I took down the largest wine glass I could find from the cupboard and filled it to the brim with Sancerre from the industrial-sized fridge. It would certainly brighten up my day having him around to look at. Maybe if we got close one evening, while we were working late and everyone else had gone home, something might spark between us and melt the wall of ice he appeared to have so hastily thrown up.
Something good. Something exciting and illicit.
The best kind of something.
It would be so damn satisfying to stick it to my perfect sister too—knowing I’ve already had the man she’s destined for. She’s almost as bad as my father some days, with her judgement about the way I choose to live my life.
According to her, our family would have been better off if I’d never been born. She actually said that to me when we were younger. To my face. I laughed it off, but a small part of me died inside. Even now she still treats me as if I’m scum on her shoe, and she and my father are always on my back about something.
It’s like being tag-teamed by the fun police.
If it weren’t for my little sister, Juno, whom my father barely acknowledges exists most of the time—probably because she keeps her head down and hardly says a word when he’s around—I’d avoid all family gatherings.
Juno’s very different from the rest of the Darlington-Hume family, though—sensitive and studious, as opposed to worldly-wise and bullish—and I’ve always had an innate instinct to protect her because of it. She has a tendency to stand with her shoulders pulled in a little towards her chest and her head slightly bowed, as if she’s constantly ducking people’s attention.
I think that started in her tweens, when she suddenly put on a lot of weight and got acne. I know she was bullied for it at school—until I stepped in and put those bitches right, that was.
No one treats the people I care about badly.
No one.
So, anyway, that’s the story of how I’ve come to find myself now staring at Benedict Chivers’s smug, handsome face over a highly polished meeting room table at his multi-million-pound software company, while everyone talks numbers and he steadfastly ignores me.
I’ve been here nearly a week now, and he’s barely said a word to me, scarcely even looked my way, getting one of his other PAs to instruct me in what he wants instead of connecting with me directly.
Yes, it fucking rankles.
I hate being treated like I’m beneath someone’s notice. I’ve had to put up with enough of that over the years from my father, and I don’t intend to take it from Benedict Chivers as well.
It wasn’t as if I planned to masturbate in front of him, but from the cool way he’s acted towards me since I’ve arrived here you’d think I did it deliberately to embarrass him. But then I suppose I do have a reputation for being a little wild.
The only reason I’m putting up with this torture for the next few months is so I can prove to the world that I’m more than just a party girl. That I’m someone who deserves respect. All the drudgery and sucking up will be worth it if I get to be my own boss one day. Maybe I’ll even impress my father by making a success of my life.
Stranger things have happened.
I’m not banking on it, of course. The man has an emotional wall so high it’s impossible to see the top, let alone scale it. I should know—I’ve tried hard enough over the years.
But enough of that. I’ve never been one to feel sorry for myself and I don’t intend to start now. I’m the master of my own destiny and I’m going to bloody well make it a good one.
I watch my new boss now, as he leads the meeting with hypnotising control, garnering the full attention and respect of his minions as he determinedly works through every point on the agenda. He conducts himself beautifully, with a grace and confidence that sends little thrills of awe chasing around my body. They collect together in an erotic thrum at the juncture of my thighs, making my skin prickle with awareness.
Despite the fact that he acts as if he’s got a dildo permanently shoved up his behind whenever he’s around me—or maybe because of it—I find him fascinating.
‘Would you like me to fetch you anything, Mr Chivers? A cup of tea, perhaps?’ I ask him, to make sure he has to look me directly in the eye during a short pause in the meeting. We’ve not made full eye contact since I started here, and I’ll be damned if I don’t at least get a couple of seconds’ worth of attention from him before we break for the weekend.
‘No, thank you, Maya,’ he says, and I hold my breath, waiting for those dark, sensual eyes to lock onto mine.
But they don’t. Instead he looks down at his tablet with the meeting notes on it that I so painstakingly prepared for him, as if my presence here doesn’t have any impact on him whatsoever.
Well, fuck that.
I excuse myself, going the long way round the table, past where he sits at the head, and making sure to bump my hip gently against his shoulder as I pretend to squeeze past him, and stride off to the bathroom.
Once in there, I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering whether I’m really brave enough to do the thing that’s been racing round my mind since I realised I’d be forced to endure the whole meeting being patronised by Benedict and his fawning associates. They’re talking about company pensions and I have to take what must be entirely pointless notes.
It seems Benedict Chivers is following my father’s lead and trying to subdue my life force by subjecting me to endless spreadsheets and slide presentations.
I’ll be lucky if I even get to the point of setting up my own business at this point. There’s a good chance I’ll have died of boredom before then.
So hell, yes, I have got the guts to do this, I tell myself, reaching up under my skirt and sliding down my knickers, then stepping out of them and hiding them in the small utility cupboard under the sink. After smoothing my skirt down, I give myself one last daring smile in the mirror, then exit the bathroom.
I return to the meeting room, feeling the cool air from the air-con unit swirling around my pussy, which only adds to the thrum of arousal that started as soon as the idea shimmied into my head.
Let’s see how easy it is to ignore me now, Mr Chivers.
I go back to a different place at the table, right next to Benedict, and subtly shift my chair as I sit down so he’ll have a full
