Chapter 3
As soon as Vanessa got comfortable with her new office—her own
office—she sighed. At lease she wouldn’t
have to be overly nice or polite. He
could take any attitude she had. It
wasn’t her fault that he tried her patience so well.
“Vanessa, get your ass in here,” he yelled.
My ass? She dashed
from her chair and into his office, despite hating having to respond to his
orders. “Yes?”
“Fax these, call this list of people—invite them to Aftermath’s
big bash next weekend. All the info is
on this sheet. Don’t be uptight when you
call them, they aren’t some damned politicians.
These are our friends. So be
friendly.”
“Sure, I can be friendly.” Asshole.
“Bitch,” he replied.
“Excuse me?” her voice level raised a notch.
“You have a real attitude, you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
“And?”
“And what? I thought you
wanted me to can the manners.”
He laughed then, with a slight smile. “You’re a crazy one.”
“No crazier than you, I’d guess.”
“Probably not,” he agreed.
She leaned over his desk to pick up the pile of papers that he’d
made for her, while his eyes zeroed in on the flesh exposed by the open
buttons. Marshall
shook his head to clear the thoughts he had of unbuttoning her blouse and
seeing a little more than a teasing glance.
“Anything else?”
“Not at the moment. I’ll
need you in an hour. At eight.”
“All right,” she replied and walked back to her office. Vanessa failed to realize that the way she
walked offered everyone a tantalizing display of swaying hips and her
voluptuous curves.
Marshall softly
swore as she disappeared into her office.
“Hell on wheels.”
Promptly at eight, Vanessa was walking into Marshall’s
office.
“Sit. I need you to take
notes. I’m about to have a meeting. Get all the important ideas down.”
“Okay,” she nodded.
Vanessa chose a seat off to the side of his desk, offering her a good
view of her boss and whoever was his guest.
She was far enough way that gave them a sense of privacy, but still
within close range so that she could hear their conversation.
The guest wasn’t anybody of note—at least not, publicly. She assumed that he had some importance as a
behind-the-scenes player. They went at
it for three hours, by the time they said goodbye, and her hand was starting to
ache. She did not favor shorthand. Absently, she rubbed the palm of her right
hand.
“How’s your hand?”
“What? It’s fine.”
“Most meetings aren’t three hours.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“Then why were you rubbing your hand?” he pointed out.
“Expelling energy.”
“Right.”
“It’s all here, so obviously I was able to get the job done.”
“I’m sure it is.”
The phone rang, interrupting their tête-à-tête. She took that as her cue to leave and stood
up, when he stopped her as he grasped her forearm in his hand. “Hold up,” he spoke to the phone. “Sit, we’re not done yet,” he said to her.
Vanessa did her best to contain her anger.
He hung up shortly after the call was received, and released his
grip on her arm. “You tell me why you
hate this job so much. Or do you hate me?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’m your boss, it’s my business now.”
“If you must know, I have a low tolerance for the
entertainment industry and everyone in it.”
“That’s a nice way of saying you hate us.”
“Think what you want.”
“You’re damn right I will.
You hate us without even knowing what we’re about.”
“I know all about it, and I wish I didn’t,” she replied
cryptically.
A puzzled expression crossed his face. “You don’t know, because if you did, you
wouldn’t act the way you do.”
“Sure,” she said, sarcasm lacing her voice.
“Why do you have to be a bitch about everything?”
“I’m not!”
“Could have fooled me,” he said sardonically, advancing on
her. “I can be a bastard, but that’s a
part of me. That’s not all of
me.” He had backed her against the
filing cabinet.
“Mr. Mathers—Marshall,
it’s not that—”
“Isn’t it though?” he murmured.
He stood close to her, now.
She could faintly smell the cologne he wore, feel the heat of
his breath in the air, see the emotions in his
eyes. “Maybe this isn’t working
out. I can have the agency send over
someone else,” she offered.
“Honey, I think you’ll do just fine,” he leaned in slightly, as
if to kiss her, but pulled back abruptly.
“Here’s another list—a shopping list.
And here’s some cash to pay for it.
Oh, and you can take them to my house, can’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” she nodded.
His house? “Who will be
there so I can drop them off?”
“The housekeeper Maria.
Just go up to the front door and tell her who you are. She should have your name on the list of
people to accept. If she doesn’t believe
you, have her call me on the cell.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, yeah, here’s my numbers.
Call me on the cell if it’s important.”
“I will. What time am I scheduled to come in for? And leave?”
“Normally, I need you here by ten. The hours you stay vary. Sometimes you’ll be done by one, other times
not until seven. I’ll warn you a day in
advance if I’ll need you beyond six.”
“Uh, thanks. Any hours
are fine,” she added.
“Good, I’m going to need your flexibility.” He felt like smacking himself as the idea of her
flexible brought many un-business-like ideals to the forefront of his mind.
Chapter 4
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Author: zines@aol.com
These
stories are for entertainment purposes only. They are completely fictitious,
and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else
that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character. No money was made on
the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In
other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't
take it seriously.