On Company Time

On Company Time By J.M. Snyder The moment I walk into the office on Monday morning, my boss Debbie Hogan corners me. I don’t even make it to my desk before she’s at my side, a crocodile grin already sliding into place. “Good news, Taliafero.” From the way she says it, I know whatever she has to tell me is anything but good. “Remember that workshop we talked about a few weeks ago?” she asks. Actually, no, I don’t, but I don’t get a chance to say so. “It’s approved. You’re going.” The workshop in question is a two-day affair on customer service techniques. I’d rather spend the time deleting spam from the company’s catch-all e-mail account. I set my laptop case on my desk and drop into my chair. “Debbie, look,” I say with a sigh, “Is this really necessary? I mean, I know how to answer the phone…” The look she gives me suggests she thinks I need the workshop a lot more than she’s letting on. “You could improve your people skills, Jimmy.” She crosses her arms and leans back against my desk. “You aren’t the most enthusiastic employee here, you know.” No s**t. But if the company has extra money to throw away, they could start by giving me a raise, not sending me to some dumb training I already know I’ll hate. Two days in hell. The only good thing about it is I won’t be at work. But they won’t pay me for the extra time, everything not nine to five that’s usually my own. Knowing my luck, the workshop will probably start at eight and include a social hour in the evening I’ll be expected to attend. “When is it?” “Next week.” Her grin turns smug; she’s got me and she knows it. I can’t say I won’t go…that’ll look bad, and I’m still technically in the new employee probation period, so if I balk, she can hold it against me. I haven’t worked for her long, but I already have her figured out. And I hate her. “I’ll get Brooke to make your reservations,” Debbie tells me. I sip at my Starbucks latte to hide the grimace on my face. “You’ll have to leave here Tuesday to allow enough time for travel, and that night there’s a social at the hotel.” I knew it. But my mind snags on another word. “Travel?” Her brows arch above her heavily lined eyes, mirroring my surprise. “It’s in Charlotte, remember?” I choke on my tepid coffee. “As in North Carolina?” Just when I think this can’t get any worse. Why did I even dare hope this might be something local? Charlotte’s a good six hour drive south of Richmond, which means this isn’t just a workshop now, it’s a whole f*****g business trip. “Debbie, that’s quite a drive, don’t you think? Just for a silly little workshop. I mean, really. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” “You’re going,” she tells me. No amount of arguing will get me out of this, I just know it. “I need you to get up with Scott Raines in Sales—he’ll be driving down there with you. Brooke can rent you a car to share. Do you know Scott?” Suddenly my whole mood changes. I busy myself with unpacking my laptop and hope Debbie doesn’t notice, though she’s watching me, waiting for my answer. I try to ignore the tremble in my fingers that has me fumbling around like an i***t who’s never seen a computer before. Finally, when she opens her mouth to say something, I ask, “Scott?” My voice squeaks—I hear it, so I know Debbie notices, too. “You know who he is?” Do I know who he is? Who’s she kidding? Scott Raines works in sales. I’ve talked to him a few times but haven’t really gotten to know him, not as well as I’d like. He’s a fairly new employee, like myself, and I’d be lying if I said just thinking of him didn’t bring a smile to my face. About my age, mid-twenties, he has that clean-cut, fresh out of college frat-boy look that I’ve always been weak against. The first time I met him stands out in my mind as the single best moment I’ve had at work yet. It was my first day on the job and already five after nine—I was running late, setting a precedent I haven’t managed to break. Straightening my tie as I skidded into the lobby, I saw the elevator doors start to close and hollered out, “Wait!” A hand stuck out between the doors, stopping them. It was a man’s hand, a warm caramel color that reminded me of the way I like my lattes, and the fingers were tipped with pale, perfectly shaped nails. My gaze followed that hand to the pressed sleeve of a light blue shirt that matched the color of the eyes staring at me. They looked so incongruous with the man’s darker skin and short dreadlocks that they took my breath away. His wide lips pulled into a faint smile, and in a deep voice I felt in the pit of my stomach, he asked, “You coming?” I swear to God I almost did, right there, and I had to reposition my laptop case in front of my crotch so he wouldn’t see the effect he had on me. Sweet Jesus, I wanted an office with a view of his. The employee ID that hung from the lanyard around his neck read SCOTT; I didn’t dare lean closer to read the rest of it. I was afraid if I started toward him, I’d never be able to rein myself in. We rode to the second floor in silence, me stealing glances of him from the corner of my vision. Everywhere I looked, he was reflected back to me in the mirrored walls of the lift. He was a few inches taller than me, with a straight back, squared shoulders, and a flat chest that hinted at thin muscle beneath the shirt he wore. I couldn’t look away from his narrow waist, where that shirt was tucked into his belt, or the ironed pleats in his khaki pants that made him look sharp and sexy. I felt flushed and gawkish beside him, and wanted to just collapse into myself, fall to his feet, unworthy. Instead, I leaned against the side of the elevator, putting some much needed distance between us, and got a good look at the round ass pulling those pants taut across his backside. Hot damn, but this man was fine. I had to shift from one foot to the other to alleviate the sudden pressure at my groin as my c**k went from mildly intrigued to zowie! in one heartbeat. Oooh boy. I was in love. I wanted to say something, anything—tell him my name, my phone number, how freaking hot I thought he was—but my throat had closed up with lust and my mind was so short-circuited by the sight of him that it refused to piece together the most rudimentary of sentences. Thank you, perhaps, or Nice weather we’re having, or f**k me already, will you? Something along those lines. I wasn’t picky. But just as I screwed up the courage to introduce myself, the elevator stopped and the doors parted. With the briefest smile my way, Scott said, “See you around.” Then he stepped out into the hall and was gone. The rest of my day was a blur I barely recall, but I still remember each twinge of lust that shot through me every time our gazes met in those mirrored walls. Every move he made, every hint of a smile, even the heady scent of his clean cologne that gripped my balls and squeezed like an iron fist to make my crotch ache. Every inch of him is tattooed into my brain, fodder for the moments I’m alone and touching myself. So yes, Debbie, I know Scott. When I stare at my computer screen, it’s because I’m lost in thoughts of him. I don’t even really know the guy but I have it bad for him. He’s sexy and exotic, and I’d love to find out if those icy blue eyes are real or contacts. I dream of how smooth his coffee-colored skin would feel beneath my fingers, and more than once I’ve jerked off thinking about his chocolate d**k melting in my mouth or dipping between my lily-white buttocks. I want to bury my nose in those short dreads of his—they’d feel like cotton to my touch, I’m sure of it—I want to breathe deep their dusky scent, fist my hands in their lengths, tug on them to pull him to me. I dream of delving my tongue between those dark lips to taste his bright pink interior. He makes me giddy and clumsy all over again, and if it’s just going to be the two of us next week, at this workshop? Then damn. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.