Charlize Benett - Fifty Shades of Lies

“I hope that is not a bad sign.” I tried to drown my laughter—she smiled at me—I bit my lower lip. “For me, I mean, a bad sign for me,” I repeated so she didn’t think I was jinxing her day.

“Yes, I understand. I get it, it looked like rain today—and rain could kill a good hair day. Never hurts to be prepared.” She smiled politely, rapidly blinking her lashes. By her expressions, her brain seemed to be working overtime.

“No, I meant bad luck with the interview.” I firmly said, somewhat annoyed with her giddy attitude.

“Oh yes, of course.” She sheepishly said. I paid her back just a little for her previous it never rains in southern California dig.

“Have you been offered any refreshment?”

“Err—no.” I replied. She frowned and eyed the young woman at the desk. Oh dear, am I going to get Blond Number One into trouble?

“Would you like tea, coffee, or some apple juice?”

“A glass of water would be lovely, thank you.” I replied. Damn, I winced she didn’t even offer me water. They must think I am a real diva, or super contrary.

“Jessica, please be so kind and get Miss Ridame a glass of water.” She sweetly asked the young woman at the desk. Jessica scooted up immediately and slid behind a door on the other side of the foyer. Her chubby thighs made a sound when she walked. Boy, Jessica, had a tiny waist, but what a caboose she was towing. It was kind of freakish.

“My apologies Miss Ridame, Jessica is our new intern.” She whispered, lowly so Jessica could not hear. “Please be seated. Mr. Maximillion will probably be another two hours—I am just kidding.” She quickly added. I didn’t like her sense of humor. “He’s finishing up with the last girl, these things take a while, some girls take five minutes; others take much longer. Is there anything else I can do for you?” She asked so sweetly as if honey was pouring off her lips.

Her decorum was over the top, seething properness. She was a little too blond for me, but yet elegantly poised, even when I was behaving like a smartass, trying to knock her off her pedestal, she did not falter. Ms. Perfection stayed on task. She would make a great spy, or CSI agent. Damn. In my humble experience, most girls that look like her would have a good snide comeback. Conclusion, these weren’t girls, but trained blond angels, or worst yet, wolves in sheep’s clothing. On second thought bunny clothing. Silently, I admitted to myself I was very intimated with all the blond hair and huge boobs. Something was odd here, amiss.

Jessica returned with a large glass of sparkling water. “Here you are Miss Ridame. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No thanks,” I replied.

“Thank you. Jessica.” Blond Number Two turned away and motioned Jessica to follow her back to the marble desk. I glanced at them periodically, as they both continued in their work. Their banter was very professional, not ditzy at all. This was very confusing, their blond giddy demeanors faded away.

Perhaps, Mr. Maximillion insists on all his employees being blonde… is that legal? I wondered idly. When the office door opened, a tall elegantly dressed, rather beautiful black woman exited. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes. She was dressed in a tight pencil shirt and her damn knockers were bulging out of a crisp white button down.

She turned and said through the space in the partially opened door, “Drinks, definitely, Steele Rod,” as she blew him a kiss.

Her voice was deep, solid and smooth like slab of granite. She was laying it on heavy and thick. I didn’t hear his reply. She turned her eyes towards me and flashed me a fake smile. Jessica jumped up and called for the elevator.

“Good afternoon ladies,” the black woman waved to the blondes, as she departed through the sliding doors.

“Mr. Maximillion will see you now, Miss Ridame,” Blond Number Two said.

I stood up, feeling rather shakily, collecting my thoughts and my little Chanel. One might think I was seeing the dentist. I left the water on the side table and made my way through the partially open door.

“Miss Ridame?” the latest blonde asked.

“Yes,” I croaked, clearing my throat, then turned toward her. “Yes,” there, that sounded more confident.

“Please, knock three times then enter.” She smiles kindly.

“But, it’s open,” I whispered. What’s with all the theatrics? I thought. I felt as if I was being initiated into some private club, or worst yet an occult.

I knocked three times, as she had ordered, then slowly pushed open the door. My ankle twisted and I stumbled through, tripping over my own feet, as usual, and fell headlong onto the office floor—landing on carpet. Thank God, it was carpeted. Shag red blazing carpet. For a minute, I thought I fell into the lake of fire. My knees were sure to be carpet burned. I felt my cheeks ignite to a shade of crimson too.

“Ouch.” I squealed.

“What. Are you okay?” His voice penetrated every cell in my body.

Here I am, down here, making my intro. I was on my hands and knees in the doorway to Mr. Maximillion’s office, when gentle hands wrapped around my waist, helping to pull me up. I was so embarrassed. Damn, my clumsiness. I had to brace myself to glance up. Holy shit fire, he was so fucking gorgeous. I limberly brought myself to my knees. Oh Lord, I was perfectly aligned with his crotch. Putting me in the position, if I knew him better, to give him what Bleu-Rae suggested—a blowjob. I could just pray… that he unzips his pants so I can take a small peek inside at the goods.

“Miss Ridame…” he extended a long-fingered hand to me. In one quick movement I stood up in a daze, mentally pinching myself. “I am Steele Maximillion. Are you hurt? Would you like to sit?” He fanned his hand through the air toward the sofa.

Like a cliché from a movie, our eyes met first. Time stood still. My heart nearly stopped beating. His face alighted with a twinkle in his sexy gray eyes. He was so young and attractive. Devastatingly, handsome. Tall, chiseled, with lean expansive shoulders. His face was unshaven. If I had to guess, the facial hair appeared to be a day or so long. He was dressed in a fine dark-gray polished shirt that molded to his muscular frame. His blue jeans hung low on his trim hips. I am not talking low, like a gangster, but low at the waist. He was very stylish. Turn around I want to see your ass the voice in my head demanded. His hair was unruly and stylish too, black, thick waves, mixed with strands of gray. Damn, could I have fallen for the man of my dreams?

“Err… actually…” It took a moment for me to find my voice, and I think my mouth had plopped open in astonishment.

If this guy is over thirty-three then I’m a monkey’s aunt. I extended my hand to his still in a daze, as we shook. When our sweaty palms touched, I felt a strange current go through me. It was notably hot as crap in his office, couldn’t he afford air-conditioning? He stirred every female impulse that my body was capable of feeling. I withdrew my hand hastily. I could feel my lashes, blinking rapidly, matching my accelerated heart rate. I imagined this is what shock treatment would feel like; a bit stoned and tongue tied. I could not think straight. My brain was melting… other parts of me were on fire too. Soon, I would be nothing, but a puddle of water for someone to mop away.

An image of one of Mr. Maximillion’s blondes entered the office. She was wearing an itsy bitsy, naughty maid’s uniform and black spikes, dangling a mop in her hand. I quickly shuddered the thought away.

“I am not sure why I am here… err, I mean… I want to be on your show to find a husband,” I nervously gasped. I would have rather been on his lap right about now, seducing him. Dang, I was thinking like a woman of the night down on Sunset and Vine. One that was willing to give him a freebie.