The Festival

My desk was as I'd left it, a mess. I quickly stashed my personal things into their drawers. I fired up the computer and went through the weekend's correspondence which was thankfully light. There was an email from Mr. Griffin.

Subject: Miami Trip

Meeting with Halstead, Wednesday 2PM at the Thompson.

Early morning flight preferable.

Return flight Thursday evening.

Need rental car.

Itinerary on my desk by noon.

-Griffin

Nothing like short notice. I took a deep breath, let it out and began my research. Booking the Thompson turned out to be the easy part. I reserved a meeting room for two hours, complete with coffee, iced tea and a selection of light snacks. The flights were more difficult. Nothing in first class available on Wednesday morning. I reserved the Wednesday seat and a first class seat on Tuesday night. The rental took a while. I had to find one that was least problematic, one where the in and out was smooth without lines. Mr. Griffin hated lines. I found it odd that he wanted a rental at all. Usually, a ride to and from the airport was all that was necessary.

"Itinerary?" Griffin grumbled. I looked up as he walked past the desk. Timothy was inside that gruff exterior somewhere.

"Good morning, Mr Griffin," I said offhandedly. "First class Tuesday night or coach Wednesday morning?"

"Coach - next time call sooner," Griffin chastised. I smiled as he disappeared into his office. There was no recognition of our Saturday in his face. I knew it was on his mind. I held his head and watched him quiver because of it. I wanted that power again.

I committed on the Wednesday flight and canceled Tuesday night. I researched the surrounding restaurants and made a list, complete with maps. I included a list of the walking and bike trails in the area. Griffin always had me include these. I assumed they were to help him unwind from traveling. I never asked. Griffin just wasn't the sharing type.

I assembled all the information into a single document and printed it. I placed it all in a folder, most pertinent information on top. I emailed a copy to Griffin and then entered his office. It was only ten, two hours early. I was on an efficiency roll. The best assistants always are.

"Your itinerary, Sir," I said as I placed it on the corner of his desk.

"I still have a Tuesday appointment on my calendar," Griffin said, not looking up from the papers he was reading. My breath caught. My little bit of revenge was now going to bite me back. I almost fell into Saturday. Almost demanded that he meet with Mrs. Pritchard, and allow the sweet lady some time. I sucked it back. It wasn't my day. I didn't relish the idea of breaking the woman's heart again. Griffin was an asshole. My asshole.

"Yes, Sir," I conceded, "I will reschedule it right now." Silence. A dismissal without words. I retreated slowly with my nasty task. I should have canceled it on Friday. Now I had to do it with even shorter notice.

I sat at my desk staring at the phone. Last time I rescheduled, I could almost hear the pain in Mrs. Pritchard's voice. She was such a sweet woman. I bit my lip and picked up the receiver. I could feel the tension in my chest. As painful as it was, it had to be done. I began dialing. My email flickered a new message.

Subject: Mrs. Pritchard

She doesn't want to speak with me.

Good Morning,

Timothy

I read it four times. I wanted desperately to run into Griffin's office and tackle Timothy for the 'good morning.' I held myself in check. There was no way Griffin or Timothy was this inciteful. I thought back to all the cancellations and reschedulings. The hours of conversations with Mrs. Pritchard. She knew more about me than my own mother. Only Sandra knowing more. I had never met Mrs. Pritchard, but we had inched into a friendship. No wonder it hurt so much to reschedule.

I restarted Mrs. Pritchard's number, forgetting where I left off. It rang twice before she picked up.

"Good morning," Mrs. Pritchard greeted me with her unwavering friendliness.

"Good morning, Mrs. Pritchard," I started, "this is Victoria, from Mr. Griffin's office."

"Are we going to have to reschedule again?" I could hear the humor in her voice. I hadn't noticed it before.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Griffin is tied up tomorrow," I answered, "how about sometime next week?"

"Of course, my dear," Mrs. Pritchard continued our dance, "I sure hope you had a nice weekend." The conversation turned. This time I listened to what I was saying. It wasn't the small talk I had imagined. She delved as deeply as I would let her. Real curiosity and caring drove her questioning. My questions were always answered then turned back on me.

"So you met a man," Mrs. Pritchard verified. I had let it slip, she was very good. "What's he like?"

"Something completely different," I answered truthfully, "caring and so...he seems to know me."

"Is he good looking?" I closed my eyes and remembered Timothy on his knee. Those lost boy eyes staring at me. A shiver sailed through me.

"Oh, yes," I said, with more passion than I intended. I quickly looked around. No one had seemed to notice. At least I wasn't talking loudly. Mrs. Pritchard gave me a soft chuckle.

"I remember my first husband," Mrs. Pritchard continued, "he was 'oh, yes' too." I had to chuckle back, covering my mouth so the rest of the office couldn't hear.

"When did you know?" I asked, forgetting Mrs. Pritchard was a client, "I mean, that he was the one."

"That first kiss," Mrs. Pritchard sounded lost in a memory, "it took him three dates to work up to it. I wanted to kiss him on the first date, but I was too much of a chicken back then." More giggles. "Everything seemed right and I knew I wanted a lifetime of his kisses." My heart gladdened at her words. "Alas, his heart gave out after twenty-five years. Best years of my life." I felt her sadness.

"He sounds wonderful."

"The men we love always are," Mrs. Pritchard continued, "difficult, pain-in-the-backside, but oh so wonderful. Do you have another date planned with your new beau." 'Beau' sounded silly coming from her. Almost like she was trying to sound young. I let it be.

"This weekend."

"Will you indulge an old woman and call me next week?" Mrs. Pritchard asked. She knew I would. I would have to reschedule her again. "I'd like to hear about what I'm missing these days."

"Of course," I said, looking forward to it. We ended the call with some banter about the rain that had been persistent all morning. When I put the phone down, I realized Mrs. Pritchard never asked me for Timothy's name. I would have lied, but it was a curious omission. Probably slipped her mind. At her age, it was the actions that counted, not the names and places.

Griffin walked by my desk, his eyes never drifting to me. He tossed the itinerary folder on my desk. "If you'd spend less time on the phone, your work wouldn't be so sloppy." I watched him exit for his eleven o'clock meeting upstairs. Infuriating. I opened the folder to find all my work had been attacked by his red pen. It was an itinerary, not some doctoral thesis. Of course that's a sentence fragment - it was meant to be simple instructions. Under the list of restaurants, he had commented on the lack of sample menu items, and they were listed alphabetically instead of by distance from the Thompson. Bastard. I really hated that red pen.

I spent the next hour cleaning up the itinerary. The sample menu items were difficult to obtain, not all websites had a menu, not all restaurants had a website. I had to make phone calls. I turned to the last page as I finished my rewrite - trying to make sure I hadn't missed any other frustratingly useless corrections. On the bottom right of the page, tucked in the corner, in the very last position Griffin was able to write in, there was a tiny, hand-drawn red smiley face. Timothy thought it was funny. I knew then, that I was being baited.

My mind worked feverishly as the smile grew on my face. I would have to dream up something special for this weekend. The punishment must fit the crime. It was going to be a very long week waiting for my power to return. I closed my eyes, imagining Timothy kneeling at my feet once again. Foreplay. A week of tortuous foreplay. I would have him under me, paying dearly for this week. A shudder traveled up my spine. I had never wanted someone so much.

I printed and assembled the new itinerary, sent the revision to his email and placed the hard copy on his desk. I stopped when I saw his red pen. Unlike the two Montblanc pens rising out of the marble holder at the end of his desk, this was a cheap over-the-counter thin red marker. I lifted up my evil nemesis, and a lovely idea formed. The weekend would be delicious.

I headed down the street, wrapped in the heavy coat I finally broke out of the closet that morning. The rain had stopped, but a taste of winter was in the air. I pulled the coat tighter around myself, moving quickly to my favorite sandwich shop. Griffin was off eating with the partners, not that he ever joined me for lunch anyway. Griffin didn't fraternize with underlings. I smiled - Timothy did.

"Victoria!" I stopped and turned to see Susan jogging toward me. She worked in the secretarial pool I had left a year ago. I waited for her to catch up. Her cheeks looked as red as mine felt. I really wasn't ready for winter.

"Lunch?" Susan smiled.

"Sure," I agreed as Susan moved along side. "I just heading over to Krockner's Deli."

"Sounds good." We walked together, trying to stay warm as the wind whipped between the buildings. "So, you're like the talk of the office," Susan said, smiling. I could see she was dying for information.

"What do you mean?" I said, my own smile felt silly.

"Come on, give," Susan said, bouncing her shoulder into mine as we walked. "You were escorted out of the building on Friday. Half the office heard you lay into Griffin. Now, here you are back at work like nothing happened." It was fun being a mystery, but I wasn't sure if I wished to be the main topic of conversation. Who knows where the speculation would lead?

"Sandwich first," I offered, holding the door to the deli open for Susan. She seemed satisfied to wait for a few more minutes. I needed the time to come up with the half truths I wished the office to know. Susan was a nice person, but secret keeper was not in her job description.

"I kind of let loose during my vacation," I started while unwrapping my half tuna salad sandwich. I really liked the pickle spears the deli added in the meal. I moved it off to the side to save for desert. "HR found out and terminated me." I had Susan's complete attention.

"How loose?" Susan interrogated.

"Nothing illegal," I hedged. There was no reason the office needed to know I was flashing my painted breasts on a float. "Just not the image EL Corcoran wished to display."

"Continue," Susan prompted, realizing I wasn't going to go any deeper into my violation of company policy.

"Before I left, I asked Mr. Griffin if he would give me a letter of recommendation," I continued, "I knew it was a long shot, but I tried anyway." I paused for a moment to sip my iced tea. I should have gotten something warm to drink. It was too cold for iced tea. "When he refused, I kind of lost it. I gave him a piece of my mind...loudly." I remembered poking him with my finger. His shocked expression. The shudder that went through him. It was the same shudder when I had taken that kiss from him. He liked it. He liked my power. I felt a wonderful clarity at the revelation. I yelled at Griffin and Timothy emerged.

"So?"

"Huh?"

"How did you end up with your job again?" Susan pushed. I had lost my train of thought.

"He stuck up for me," I smiled, thinking of the risk Timothy took.

"Who?"

"Mr. Griffin," I answered. Susan's eyes grew.

"Griffin doesn't like anyone," Susan pointed out.

"Turns out I am a good assistant," I said proudly. I had it in writing so I knew it was a fact. "He told Mr. Corcoran that if I wasn't back on Monday, he wouldn't be either." I was bragging now. I kind of wished I hadn't let that last part out.

"Whoa," Susan sighed. I took another bite of many sandwich as she digested what I had said so far. "You must be very good." I was and I had it in writing. I loved that I had it in writing. It was Griffin who wrote it down. It was Timothy who handed it to me. A wondrous gift of power. Only four more lunches to go.

"It was a really nice compliment," I admitted. I saw a new respect emanate from Susan.

"So, any good boy stories lately?" Susan asked, changing the subject.

"Nope," I lied, "you?" The rest of the lunch was instantly filled with Susan's love life. Some guy she met online. My opinion was suddenly invaluable. I could tell it was a whirlwind Internet romance fostered by her intense need to be liked. I gave her the normal online relationship warnings, but conceded that was where a lot of couples met now. I really couldn't warn her off. I had ignored Sandra's warnings out of hand. So I listened, which seemed to make Susan happy.

The week crawled. Griffin was gone Wednesday and Thursday. On Tuesday, he assigned me more work than could be humanly done in three days. I wasn't human, so I got it done. I was a really good assistant who worked overtime to please the unpleasable. Somewhere in that disagreeable man was my Timothy. In my mind, he was mine now. I don't know how I found him hiding in that cantankerous shell. I don't know how he knew what I needed. I knew he needed it too. I saw it in his eyes when he kneeled at me feet. Such a beautiful man.

Griffin walked in Friday morning with an urgency, again not acknowledging me, or anyone else, with his eyes. If fact, he avoided my eyes. "Breakdown Report?" he growled as he passed.

"Good morning, Mr. Griffin," I said, "it's on you desk next to the quarterlies." I watched him enter his office, smiling at my camouflaged Timothy. One more day.

Griffin spent the day in his office. I expected the reports back on my desk with red graffiti all over them. Nothing. I was practically swimming in red on Tuesday. He had never accepted the first draft of anything. Even perfection needed his improvements. I waited until four, then, like an idiot, I went to seek out his abuse. It is strange what you can get used to.

"Mr. Griffin," I said, knocking on his open door, "do you need me to redo the Breakdown?" Griffin immediately spun around his chair, facing away from me, and started playing with the fax machine behind his desk.

"No, they're fine," Griffin said in an unfamiliar tone. The number he was dialing certainly contained a lot of numbers. I moved forward, to the side of his desk.

"Are you okay?" I asked. I knew Griffin and I knew Timothy. The man that was fumbling with the fax machine was new. I took another step forward when he didn't answer. His shoulders slumped when I neared. He gave up on the bogus fax and turned toward me. The upper part of his left cheek was swollen, a painful mix of green and purple marked the area. I sucked in my breath inadvertently.

"I'm fine," Griffin spat. I was hurt by his tone. It never really bothered me deeply before, but it had never been accompanied by physical injury. "I'm fine," Timothy repeated, in his softer voice. I wanted so much to make it better - it looked like it hurt something awful. "Ignore it," Griffin ordered.

"Yes, Sir," I replied and stepped out of his office. I wouldn't ignore it tomorrow, though his change in demeanor frightened me. I wondered if tomorrow was in jeopardy. Something terrible happened, and I wasn't sure how deep it went. I wondered if he was mugged in Miami. Maybe he fell. I really knew so little about him, such a guarded man. Maybe a traffic accident. Does he even wear a seat belt? The rental car!

I moved quickly to my computer and looked up the rental company. I called and lied, my anger rising as thoughts ran through my mind. I told them our company tracked all vehicle mileage. It took them a few keystrokes to tell me it was 357 miles. I was livid. I waited until the clock rolled to five. Work day was over, everyone was leaving. The weekend had started. My time!

I slammed the door closed, a little louder than I had intended. Griffin looked up in surprise. I pointed at him trying to get words out, but I couldn't think of where to start. He stood, taller, intimidating, which only angered me more.

"You drove to Key West," I accused him. He visibly shrank. I knew it was true. "There wasn't a meeting at all, was there?"

"How did you..."

"You never get a rental car for such a short trip." I pointed out his idiocy with all the Griffin tact I had learned in the last year. "I don't need protecting!" I sometimes did, but not by him. It granted him too much. I wanted everything.

"No one calls you a bitch!" Griffin countered. His fist slammed down on his desk. I felt the vibrations along the floor. I was losing him. My hands were shaking as I closed the distance. I wasn't sure how much I had lost.

"Kneel," I whispered. Slowly, Timothy dropped to his knee. My heart leaped, my smile grew, my lost boy was still here. I reached for the hair on the back of his head and gripped it snugly. "What did you do?" I asked, my smile ruining my anger.

"I had a talk with a Doug Fuller," Timothy answered, his smile grew with mine. He was the one shaking now. So much power.

"I did not ask you to," I scolded.

"You'll never have to," he answered.

"I don't want you fighting for me," I insisted.

"Then leave me," Timothy said. His smile was gone. He meant it. I knew I could never do that.

"You're mine," I admitted. I took his lips once again. He shuddered as I parted his lips with mine, my tongue delving into his, my hand gripping his hair tighter. The surge of heat was stronger than before. All mushy, with little waves rippling across my skin. I forcibly broke the kiss.

"Eight AM" I reminded him, "don't you dare be late." I turned, a power turn, and sauntered out of the office. He watched in silence. I had lost nothing. If anything, I had more. Timothy was a most wonderful drug.

I grabbed my purse and left for home, silently hoping Doug was living off aspirin and cold compresses.

I was nervous waiting for eight o'clock to roll around. I had barely slept, the last day's events rolling around in my head, mixing with the fantasy my mind was anticipating. I wanted to look and feel sexy. I didn't want that look in Timothy's eyes to fade. I had never spent money on provocative lingerie, never having a boyfriend I deemed worthy of the effort. Now I felt my wardrobe was woefully inadequate.

I did possess an almost see-through robe. It was a gift from Kendra when she returned from a trip to the far east. Soft white silk, mid-thigh in length with a flower design embossed throughout. If the light caught it right, you could see shadows of what lay beneath. I went through my underwear drawer, trying to match bras to panties. All my bras were comfortably functional, nothing frilly or exciting. I wasn't brave enough to start out topless - it was way too early for rum.

I moved to my summer drawer; maybe some shorts. I had thrown the green bikini from Key West on top of my shorts. The labels were still attached. After Doug, the bikini didn't appeal to me so it never saw the sun. Its appeal was returning. I stripped and stepped into the bottoms. I wrapped the strapless top around me, connecting it in the front, then shifting the clasp to my back. I pushed the cups over my breasts and looked in the mirror. I think it looked sexy. I would have to shave more than just my legs. I wished I had bigger tits.

I threw the robe on and turned back and forth in front of the mirror. It looked more cute than sexy. I was too short for sexy. I grabbed some heels out of the closet. I shifted a bit away from cute, but nowhere near sexy. I would rather be short, the business heels made me look goofy. I stood in front of the mirror, opening and closing my robe. I believe I was thinking of confronting Timothy in a swimsuit in November. I tried to step back and think like a man. An objective view of my look. Impossible. I barely knew what made me tick.