Chapter 12 - Last minute touches

“Oh man, I’m sorry again Paris! I’m just messing up everything. I didn’t mean to accuse you of lying, I promise. Hey, lemme do something nice for you. I know you gotta go. I even respect someone wanting to get a good night’s sleep before work. Why don’t I have my driver take you home? That way you don’t have to bother with walking or getting a Lyft to the train station and then bother with the long ride. I won’t even go with you, and I promise my driver won’t share where he takes you. Please? Please let me do this for you?”

I’m still in shock from the fact that I just gave my real phone number out to a nerdy billionaire. One who finds me attractive. As a woman. When it hits me that Art is simply staring at me, waiting for my answer I mentally kick myself and get back into the task at hand, “Yes, that would be great Art. Thank you! But one condition… can you walk me out?”

Art relaxes into an almost comical relieved smile, as if I just made his entire night by asking for his attention on the walk to his car. As if playing the role of some prince in a movie he puffs up his chest and holds out his arm for me. Smiling wider, I dip into a curtsy, plucking at my dress as if it could be pulled from my thighs. We both end up giggling as he walks me through the crowd and out into the cold.

I can’t imagine having people work for me. I certainly can’t imagine having people work for me that are as attentive as Art’s people are. I didn’t see him make any move or tell anybody that he was leaving, yet once we exit the club there is a car waiting for us right at the curb. For a moment I wonder if Art is just economically reasonable as his car seems to be a Lincoln Continental. Which if I remember correctly, they stopped making about five years back. But as we step toward the car, I immediately see that this isn’t any normal Lincoln.

The rear door opening is immediately impressive as it does it all on its own. Adding to the show is the fact that the door is rear hinged, making it like those classic Continentals with the suicide doors. And as Art holds out his hand and helps me step into the back seat, I can see that there isn’t a single thing standard about this interior. It’s not only completely closed off from the front, the dividing glass is a massive television. The roof at first looks like it’s all glass as I can look up and see the buildings and stars above us, but when I realize it’s cloudy out, I recognize that the roof of the car is a screen projecting the IDEAL sky view of where we’re at, buildings and all.

I settle into the deep plush leather seat and can feel the deep pile carpet under my heels. I’ve never been in a high-end luxury vehicle before, but this has to be close to what a Rolls Royse feels like. Art drags me back to the present by taking my hand in his and bringing it up to his lips for a kiss. It would be a sweet romantic gesture if he looked like Bradley Cooper and this was some kind of movie. As is, I still smile up at him appreciating the gesture. With a tap to the roof Art steps back and the door closes on its own. I hear a quiet yet rumbling voice through the speakers ask where he’s taking me as I settle back into the seat and feel my body beginning to truly relax.

It only takes the driver about thirty minutes to get me home while Rhea and Grace take closer to an hour to make their way to the train and then take it to our apartment. While I’d really like to get out of these clothes, and more importantly this damned faja, I stay dressed as I am so that I can let Ms. Birdie have a closer look at me.

When they walk in, they immediately start peppering me with questions. Yes, I was scared when the guy tried to **** me out. No, I didn’t get his number. No, I didn’t get four numbers. Yes, the nerdy guy walked me out to his car. No, I can’t feel when they grab my ass, and I can’t feel when they grab my tits either. And probably most importantly, yes, I believe I can do this in the office and have Mr. Orpheus and other guys in the office flirt and play around with me.

When they come back to the fact that I didn’t get four numbers and start to try and make up for it I simply smile and set out my burner phone with the two numbers in it. “Here are the numbers for Terry and Curtis. Like I said, I didn’t get Holden’s number and frankly I wouldn’t want it after he offered to take me into the bathroom so I could blow him.”

I slip my real phone out and turn it on, letting them see the text from Art, “But here’s why I stopped and figured you guys would agree my three numbers are worth four. This is Art’s number. I’m not surprised you didn’t recognize him because I didn’t either, at first. But he’s not just some loner nerd hitting on the hot girl. He’s smart and wealthy, working for Pfizer. And I mean wealthy wealthy. Like three coma wealthy. And I didn’t have to ask for his number… he asked for MINE!”

Rhea seems appropriately impressed so I know I’ve passed her little test. Grace, on the other hand, recognizes the problem as I did at the club. “Wait, you gave him your real number? What were you thinking?”

I hold my hands up, “Whoa! First, I wasn’t thinking. I was still blown away that he’d be asking for my number. He’s worried about stalkers but he’s wanting my number and then texting me his. Second, it’s not a big deal. If he looks up the phone number, it’s registered to P J Beaufort. I never put my full name to it, just the initials. I’ll pull the greeting off the voice mail so that it’s just the standard ‘leave your name and number at the beep’ generic robot message, and he won’t ever suspect a thing. Plus, really… is he going to call me? I bet he’s already forgotten about…”

Right then my phone starts ringing. The caller ID reads ‘Art’.

FUCK. I couldn’t even send him to voicemail as he’d hear my greeting. Jamie’s greeting.

Holding my finger up to Rhea and Grace I answer the call, “Hello, Art? Are you okay?”

I listen to his answer and laugh, letting my shoulders relax from their tensed-up position. We end up chatting for about twenty minutes before I can politely end the call. When I finally hang up and see both Rhea and Grace staring at me expectantly, I roll my eyes and admit, “Okay, yeah, he might be a problem.”

The night ends with Rhea agreeing that I passed her test with flying colors. She even looks over my office wardrobe and says it will work fine. When she walks out, she tells me to report to her office at eight am sharp, Monday morning. And to be ready to work my first full day.

Over the remaining days Grace peppers me with little bits of advice. Most of it is playing into the stereotype bimbo secretary and feels ridiculous, but she promises that Mr. Orpheus’ secretaries actually do these things. Things like taking time each day to file my nails and re-apply their polish. Like checking my makeup at least every fifteen minutes, especially when I’m at my desk. Like getting some long-lasting chewing gum. Like making eye contact with Mr. Orpheus and then immediately looking demurely away, maybe even with a little giggling and playing with my hair.

On Friday we head in to pick up the custom made faja Columbianas and both Grace and I are pleasantly surprised at the improvement they provide. First, they’re easier to get into. They’re still not EASY to get into, but easier is better. Second, the curves they provide are more natural. They’re not any bigger or smaller than the off the shelf version, but they just blend more eye-catchingly between thighs and hips, hips and ass, ass and waist, waist and bust. And third, while it wasn’t something built into them, the store provided a solution to the problem of me not feeling people groping my breasts or ass. Evidently, I wasn’t the first person with this concern.

The first half of the solution was a little patch of jelly like bumps that would attach to the inside of the breast forms. They laid right over my nipples, and when in place they transmitted just about any motion of the breasts to my nipples. I was more than a little skeptical that I could feel the difference, but when we got home and tried it out it worked amazingly well. In fact, my reaction of a girly like squeal when Grace cupped and held my big fake breasts, was what she’d qualify as ‘Ideal’. It was the strangest combination of pain and pleasure.

The second half of the solution was like the first, but evidently my ass isn’t as sensitive as my nipples. So instead of having a small series of jelly like bumps, we covered the inside of the ass with little plastic pieces. It was almost like artificial turf that was an eighth of an inch in height. With an adhesive strip in place above and below the plastic pieces, they were held up against the skin of my rear all the time. Like the nipple pads, they worked very well. At all times I now had the sensation of a large rear behind me. And when it was slapped, grabbed, or even lightly patted, the little plastic spikes directed that pressure into my own rear. It didn’t hurt per say, but it wasn’t nice either and took some adjusting to not make a sour face whenever the sensation came upon me.

There were two drawbacks to these solutions. The first was that the ass enhancement was effective at all pressure back there. Including sitting down. I initially thought I’d get used to the feeling, but that strange tingling sensation stayed as the little plastic pieces tried to mold and fit. Grace didn’t think this was a problem as it actually changed the way I sat down, making me more feminine in her assessment. The other drawback was the jelly bumps on the breast forms were an all or nothing solution. To properly attach them to the breast forms and make sure they didn’t make the breast forms slide around on my chest we both had to permanently glue them to the forms, and we had to use a daily adhesive for the breast forms to stick to my chest. It’s not like we could afford to buy replacement breast forms and once I got into them in the morning, I couldn’t take them off for a moment of relief until I got home.

By Sunday night though, both Grace and I figured we were as close to ready as we could be. Everything else would be played on the fly, with me reacting to Mr. Orpheus. I didn’t get a lot of sleep that night. In the morning Grace offered to help me get ready. I deferred, however, telling her I needed the confidence of doing it myself. I did allow her to check my work and with her approval felt good about being able to fall into my Paris role.

I hadn’t given it much thought before, but with Grace heading into work at her normal crack of dawn time, I was going to be riding the train into the office alone. Later, we might match our starting times as I’d evidently have to be in early to prep Mr. Orpheus’ office, but today I was on Ms. Birdie’s timetable.

I’m sure on the outside, in my tight wrap style high waisted navy blue skirt, my tight long sleeved white blouse, my black stockings held up by a lacy garter belt with matching panties and bra, wearing my three-inch open toe heels, my simple jewelry and tortoise shell cat eyeglasses, and my perfectly made up face, I looked cool as a cucumber. My smile never went away, I giggled and laughed as the gentleman sitting next to me chatted about music and the weather, and I exuded the sexy confident happy secretary that Paris Beaufort was.

On the inside? On the inside I was wishing I’d had an edible or something to keep my nerves down. I felt like everybody was staring at me accusingly. The men were mentally undressing me, the women were burning me at the stake. Everyone who sat next to me felt like they were sitting too close. Everyone sitting behind me seemed to constantly be leaning forward, while everyone in front of me was constantly looking over their shoulders. Somewhere deep in my mind I knew none of this was true, but my heart thudding loudly in my ears was disagreeing emphatically.

When I finally got off the L at the Washington Wells station I had to stand at the railing and just take some deep breaths to keep from passing out. This was real now. I was going to meet the man today who would be sexually assaulting soon. There was no backing out of this.

When I finally felt under control I went down to the ground level and made my way to 200 West Madison and waited patiently for the elevator. Once on I tapped the ‘31’ button and rode up to the administrative floor of K Edison Global. Once there I made sure to take the pose that Grace had me practice over and over and over and over. Stand up straight. Arch my back to both push my breasts out and push my ass out. Look where the horizon would be and then tilt my head ever so slightly up. And of course… smile!

With my smile as my shield, I make my way to the HR department. It’s a lot busier than when I was first here and spoke with Ms. Birdie, making me slide and shuffle out of people’s way. A lot of quiet ‘excuse me’ and ‘pardon me’ and ‘oops, sorry’ were whispered until I got to the director’s office and then stopped dead in my tracks.

It was her.

The curvy blonde bombshell from Stocks and Blondes when Grace was telling me about Mr. Orpheus’ status and the style guidelines at K Edison Global. The one whom I thought was Mr. Orpheus’ secretary since she looked just like how I had to act. The one who had me hard in an instant back then. The one who was making me try to get hard right now.