A Couple Shades of Taylor - a spitefic

Ch.2

I don’t know why I’m feeling like I drank all night.  Every inhale makes my head want to explode.  The pressure is intense.  Maybe it’s just stress.  I don’t want to call Marisa or my parents until later.  My dad’s going to be so let down.

I pick a deep red tie to go with my dark grey suit and knot it.  It’s probably fine.  I don’t want to look at myself right now.  Half hour left before I need to leave.  Well, that’s just a bit more time to go over the file again.  If I get this job, I’ll owe Mike everything

So this guy is twenty-five.  His photo’s not much different than a glamor shot.  Is that mascara?  He’d be a good looking guy anyway, the chiseled sort the ladies lust after.  But I really think he’s got mascara on.  Well, whatever floats his boat.

The next page just gives information about the business.  The guy’s clueless.  He shows up and looks over some expense reports.  His dad really does run everything behind the scenes.  This Grey kid sounds more and more like the boy in school whose parents raise a stink he didn’t get all A’s just for existing.  I doubt he has any idea his dad’s got any part of the company.

Layout of his condo, stuff on his helicopter..

The last section is the most interesting.  The guy’s a kinkster.  Whips and chains, has a whole room of the stuff.  Again, whatever floats his boat, but I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the idea of him parading his latest partner around while security detail is there.  That would be me, if I have the job.  Last couple guys report seeing it a lot.  Yeah, I don’t know many guys who want to see their bosses naked and pile-driving someone in handcuffs.

Well, it can’t hurt to get there early.  So I head on out and blast some Bon Jovi on speakers of my older Civic, trying to distract myself from the uncomfortable feeling I should be heading to the base.  I still can’t believe I was discharged.  This is a weird dream, right?  I sigh.  Yeah, I didn’t think so.

I find a parking space, glance over the file again, hide it under the passenger seat, and head on up.  

The elevator has a weird smell, but I make myself ignore what it could be.  Outside the unit door hangs some funky artwork.  I guess he’s not worried anyone will come along and steal it.  It reminds me of some pictures a bunch of base buddies and I chuckled at that a former president, the younger George Bush, painted of himself in the tub and shower.  I hope, for his sake, those pictures never leak to the general public.  I think this Grey guy might have done these.

Well, here goes nothing.  I press the little buzzer, shaped like a little mound, and I refuse to believe it would be a part of the female anatomy.  

An attractive woman, no older than me, opens the door.  Her long hair is pulled back into a bun.  Her high-waisted grey skirt shows off her figure well.  I close my mouth and swallow

“Hi, I’m Mr. Jason Taylor, here for an interview with Mr. Grey.”

The woman raises an eyebrow and smiles.  “I’m Gayle Elizabeth Jones, but I’m called Mrs. Jones around here.  I’m Mr. Grey’s house keeper.  Come on in.”  She steps aside lets me inside.

The room around me is very institutional.  Stark white with more bad artwork.  I’ve been in hospital rooms that have been more inviting.  I guess the guy is trying to channel minimalism.

“Mr. Taylor, I’ve been instructed to have you wait in the living room and to tell you nothing else.”

This is weird.  I follow her to another room.  My eyes dart between her ass and the sterile environment.  Is her employer tapping her too?