Continental Breakfast (4 page)

“Yes, Sir,” I squeak out, trying my best to hide my despair.

He quickly turns on his heel and goes back into his office. 

The day goes by slowly. Amelie is pleasant enough and a quick learner, but my thoughts are on my CEO. He hides in his office the entire afternoon, not once calling for anything, not even lunch.
Late in the day, I order his favorite deli sandwich and soup, hoping to coax him out.

I buzz him, but he doesn’t respond, so knock once on the door and let myself in.  Mr. Pettifor is standing and looking out the large window, his arms crossed and deep in thought.

“Mr. Pettifor, I’ve brought you lunch, Sir.”

“Leave it on my desk,” he
grouses.

“It’s your favorite, Sir, a Reuben with au jus,” I say softly.

He turns to face me and his hard look softens. “Thank you, Ms. Darcy. You always know just what I want.”

“After years of training, I should hope so.”

“Have you rethought your resignation, by chance?”

Why does he persist with this? “I would hate to disappoint Amelie. She’s quite taken with you. She’s a fas
t learner, Mr. Pettifor, and I genuinely think she’ll be a good match for you.”

I’m picking at the wrapping on his sandwich when he reaches over and touches the top of my hand.

“What I said earlier about continental breakfast – I didn’t really mean for you to discuss that with her…”

I cut in before he finishes his sentence. “It’s fine, Sir. She’s quite aware of your needs and
inclinations. I was very thorough in finding someone who would be well-suited for you in that regard. I can assure you that she will be very discrete about your proclivities.”

Mr. Pettifor reaches up, cupping my chin and guiding me to look into his eyes. His to
uch is gentle and his tenderness reminds me of the day of my interview.

“You’re well-suited
for me in that regard, Ms. Darcy. I don’t need a replacement.”

I take a step back, loosening his grip on me.

“I’ll see myself out.” I attempt to leave but my CEO puts his hand firmly on my shoulder, stopping me.

“When you said you
had met someone but that he had chosen someone else over you, to whom were you referring?” he asks quietly.

I don’t want to answer this question. My mind is already made up.

“No one important, Sir. He hurt me and I’m moving forward with my life now so it makes no difference who I was referring to.”

I’m doing my best to sound convincing, but tears blur my vision. Mr. Pettifor’s eyebrows furrow and he opens his mouth to say something, but all that can be heard is a pitiful sigh.

“Is this about Svetlana and tell me the truth,” he finally asks, his voice cracking with his words.

B
y the grace of God, there’s a knock on the door and Amelie’s voice is heard on the other side.

“Come in, Amelie,” I say loudly.

Mr. Pettifor’s hand drops away from me and he moves back towards the window.

“We should get
you ready for dinner. There’s a blue evening gown in the closet that should fit you beautifully,” I tell her, pointing toward the closet.

Her eyes light up
and she practically runs to find it.

“The shoes should also fit. What size are you?”

“A 6.5. Oh, Bella!’ she squeals when she sees the frock.

“Yes, they’ll fit you.”

Mr. Pettifor spins around to watch my interaction with Amelie.

“That dress belongs to you, Ms. Darcy
. Why is it here?” he asks.

“I won’t
need it anymore. Nor will I need any of the gowns you purchased for me. I’ll have them all brought back here for Amelie, as well as the jewelry, seeing as we’re about the same size. I would like to keep the shoes, though. Do you find that acceptable?”

His breathing quickens and he puts his hands on his hips, obviously irritated with me.

“Okay, then. I’ll do that,” I reply when he doesn’t answer me.

“I don’t want any of that back, Ms. Darcy. I bought those things for you and
only
you,” he snaps.

The look on poor Amelie’s face makes me cringe.

“And I appreciate that you bought them for, Mr. Pettifor. It was very generous of you. My giving them back doesn’t mean that I’m not grateful, please understand that,” I say softly, trying to convey my deep gratitude. Two years ago I would’ve blown up at him for speaking to me in such a manner, but I’m more refined now thanks to Mr. Pettifor. I know my place with him and how to soothe his irritation.

He blinks rapidly and his mouth twitches, but he says nothing more.

I turn back to Amelie who still looks mortified at me and Mr. Pettifor’s interaction.

“I’ll leave the two of you alone so that Mr. Pettifor can dress you and you can attend to his needs,” I s
ay, disgusted with myself for even suggesting it.

I try to make a
quick getaway, but my CEO’s voice halts me in my tracks yet again.

“Bella, my beautiful
princess, I’d like you to stay and watch, please.”

Oh my God -
those words
. Why is he doing this to me? Why does he choose now of all times to speak to me so tenderly? He’s had two years to say these things to me but he resisted and
now?
No, I can’t bear the image of him dressing another woman.

I move quickly to open the door and respond without lookin
g, “No, Sir. I’d rather not. Text me with the details of where to meet the two of you,” I respond, sniffing back tears. I hurry out his office door and stumble on my way out, tripping over my 4 inch heels and crashing onto my hands and knees. I try to pick myself up quickly, but Mr. Pettifor’s strong, warm hands are on my shoulders, helping me up.

“Princess, are you okay?”
he asks, sounding distraught.

A lone stra
y tear rolls down my cheek, infuriating me, but Mr. Pettifor’s thumb sweeps it away before I can.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

He pulls my face up and when he sees my glassy eyes, he looks startled and sickened. He should be. Hell, I’m revolted with myself for feeling so damned emotional right now. Damn Svetlana and her magical pussy.

“I just scuffed my knees. I’ll be fine. Amelie is waiting for you, Sir. Call me with the plans,” I tell him, pulling out of his reach and practically running out the front door.

When I get into the car waiting for me, I finally allow myself to cry. I look at my watch, deciding that three minutes should suffice. When the three minutes are up, I take a deep breath, hold it and suck my tears back.

At my apartment, I l
ay out all of the wonderful dresses and jewelry, setting one aside for this evening, and box it all up. I go through my drawers to see if I’ve left anything out that needs to be returned or thrown out and I find the funny pair of flowery panties that Mr. Pettifor bought for me when we were in Italy on a business merger. Our time in Italy holds some of my fondest memories. Touching them, I can’t help but smile.

Mr. Pettifor bought them as a joke, but I wore them to work the next
morning, making sure to wear a skirt that was just sheer enough for him to see the imprint of the flowers. He almost gave me a smile that day.
Almost.
After the long and tedious meeting, he pulled inside one of the empty conference rooms and asked me to strip down to my frilly panties for him. I did my first strip tease that day and from the gleam in his eyes, he quite enjoyed it. That day we not only had continental breakfast, but also continental lunch and dinner as well. Yes, I think I’ll hold onto these.

I put them away and sift through the dresses again.
Amelie will look amazing in these. I hope she makes my CEO happy. She seems like such a sweet girl, I hope she doesn’t make the mistake of falling for the insatiable and unobtainable Mr. Pettifor like I did. I would hate to think of her heartbroken like me. I will just have to let her know about LB so that she has fair warning.

I dress myself in front of the mirror and daydream that Mr. Pettifor is dressing me, his large hands to
uching my shoulders, my spine; his fingers caressing my thighs as he puts the stockings on me and then fingering me to orgasm. I will miss those fingers and that magnificent tongue of his. I will miss everything about him. Yes – absolutely
everything
.

I let my hair down, the way he likes, put on the dress that he picked out for me on our very first outing, and pinch my cheeks for color.

After checking my text messages, I head to the designated location. How apropos to be meeting at the same place we first had dinner. When I arrive, I’m led to Mr. Pettifor’s usual table. Amelie is chatting him up, but he remains silent and indifferent to her attempts at charming him. She looks troubled over his lack of interest. When Mr. Pettifor sees me approach the table, his eyes light up and he straightens himself. His money green eyes look me up and down and for the second time in one day, he smiles at me.

When Amelie
sees me, she looks relieved. I scoot in next to her and place my hand on her thigh for comfort.

I lean
over and whisper, “It’s not you, Amelie. This is par for the course.”

Sh
e lets out a sigh, smiles and nods.

“What is
?” Mr. Pettifor asks, startling both Amelie and I.

“
What is
what
?” I ask.

“Par for the course.
”

Uh oh - h
e wasn’t meant to hear that. Poor Amelie sips at her wine nervously and glares at the table top.

“May I speak freely?” I ask.

“Have I ever stopped you from doing so?”

No, I suppose he hasn’t. 

“Go on, Ms. Darcy, what’s par for the course?” he prods.

“Your indifference, t
he distance you place between yourself and those around you, and your lack of awareness to those who show genuine interest in you.” That felt good to say out loud. I mean, what is he going to do at this point? Fire me?

Amelie
stiffens up next to me, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping at me.

Mr. Pettifor narrows his eyes at me, seemingly mulling over what I’
ve said and chewing his bottom lip tetchily.

He doesn’t respond to me, but looks at Amelie and
replies, “I want you to know that the way Ms. Darcy is speaking to me is not acceptable behavior. A word of advice Ms. Davidson:  If you ever feel the need to
speak freely
as Ms. Darcy has,
don’t.
”

The poor little blonde shakes her head emphatically at him. “No, Xan… I mean…
Mr. Pettifor. Of course not - I would never.”

Mr. Pettifor then casts his
disapproving glare back onto me. “Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from Ms. Davidson on proper manners.”

He told me to speak freely and now I’ve
pissed him off. I sigh loudly. Feeling chastised and mildly embarrassed at my outburst, I swirl the ice around in the glass of water in front of me.

“Perhaps,
but you did tell me to speak freely,” I say in my defense.

Dinner arrives and Amelie nervously tries to make up for the
uncomfortable silence between Mr. Pettifor and me. Not hungry and mildly depressed, I pick at my dinner.

Mr. Pettifor finally chimes
in and starts asking the standard interview questions about Amelie’s experience, education, and then giving her different scenarios relating to how she would deal with stress. She’s very well-spoken and well-learned, and I’m impressed with her answers. The conversation eventually turns mildly explicit.

“So Ms. Darcy has told you about my sexual proclivities, yes?” he asks.

True to form and making me proud, Amelie doesn’t flinch. “Yes, Mr. Pettifor, she has. She was very forthcoming regarding your
needs.
I promise you that I’m a trustworthy person. I would even go so far as to sign any kind of documentation regarding my confidentiality regarding this matter.”

Nice.
I really do like Amelie.

“And you’re willing to service me in any
way that I desire and to accept punishment in any manner that I see fit?”

I look up at Mr. Pettifor and he has an eyebrow raised at me. No doubt he’
s making a reference to my lack of allowing him to spank me last night. Why do I have to be here to listen to this? I mean, I know what’s going to happen between the two of them, but do I really need to hear the painful details?

“Absolutely, Mr. Pettifor,
I’m very uninhibited and my sexual philosophy is I can’t make a judgment about liking something unless I try it first,” she answers very professionally.

Bravo, Ms. Davidson
, I want to say and pat her on the back.