The Indecent Proposal of Mrs. Cortez Read online

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2018 Scarlett J Rose

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-553-1

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: JC Chute

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my Readers, for without you, there would be no books!

  I hope you enjoy this one!

  Special thanks to the staff at Evernight Publishing.

  THE INDECENT PROPOSAL OF MRS. CORTEZ

  Romance on the Go ®

  Scarlett J Rose

  Copyright © 2018

  Chapter One

  The noise of the office droned on around me. My co-workers, little worker bees, buzzed about doing this and that to keep the cogs of the great business machine running. Deadlines were to be met, files filed, meetings held, and minutes taken.

  All through the buzzing of conversations, ringing of desk phones, clacking of keys on computers and the soft ding of the elevators disgorging more worker bees, I kept my head down and worked my little ‘bee’-hind off. I had a job to do, and at the end of the week, a pay check to collect. Most would go to my mother. She’d developed Multiple Sclerosis, and had been placed into a nursing home when it became apparent she couldn’t care for herself with ease anymore. Reluctantly, I went to work to support us both. I wanted to care for Mom, who had taken such good care of me during my childhood and tumultuous teens.

  We had to survive financially. My sperm-donor asshole of a father had taken everything in the divorce, back when I was in my pre-teens. He would have gotten me too, if Mom’s lawyer hadn’t asked me what I wanted. I would have happily run back to Mom if he’d gotten custody.

  With my mother being a single parent and me being an only child, money was super tight. Even as an adult, my clothes were from thrift shops, carefully mended by my hand when they became threadbare. My black, fake leather Mary-Janes were scuffed, the offending marks covered by a Sharpie’s magic touch, and my makeup was the kind you’d find in the clearance bin at your local dollar-saver type store.

  I was a wizard at bargain hunting, when my hectic worker-bee-schedule allowed it. Again, bargain bin and clearance were my favourite words, especially when it came to food. Steak and lobster were definitely off the menu.

  My position in the company was simply a corporate drone––yes, another bee reference, but hey, they keep the flowers blooming, so I think they’re cool. The more eloquent and official title I held was ‘Junior Assistant.’. In other words, Coffee Bitch.

  Already, I’d been working there for over a year. I knew how to clear the paper jams in the copier machine, change the toner, make coffee for almost everyone on the floor. When the plants started to wilt I watered them, I could change the water cooler tank with minimal grunting and stress on my little body … heck, I even knew who to call when the office supplies closet was getting low.

  I was one greasy little cog in the big corporate machine.

  “Linda, can you please make sure these files are input into the system, and the originals get to Distribution before five o’clock?” A loud thump startled me from my mini-daydream as Mrs Davis dropped a thick pile of files on my desk.

  “Ah, yes. Of course, Mrs Davis,” I stuttered. I watched as she walked away, forgetting to tell her my name wasn’t Linda, it was Lydia.

  L.Y.D.I.A. Lydia. I mean, how hard was that? She’s known me for over a year and ever since I was hired, she’s never got it right. At first it was Libby, then Leonie, then Laura, now Linda… well, at least she was getting closer.

  I sighed, eyeing the pile of paperwork with a death stare, hoping it might just spontaneously combust and I’d not have to deal with it. As it was, I’d never be able to get it done by five, not with everything else that was due. God forbid it didn’t get finished on time, else the Apocalypse might happen.

  The soft ding of the elevators at one end of the room sounded and as soon as the occupants stepped out, the mood changed. Soft whispers drifted through the suddenly quiet, yet extremely busy, office. I chanced a look up and saw the owners of the company, Enrique and Donna Cortez, moving through the aisles, leaning in at each cubicle and chatting with the workers.

  The super power couple that everyone in the office wanted to meet. If they could, employees would lick their boots, kiss their asses, and be thankful to breathe the same air. The king and queen bees of the hive. These were the honey makers. The ones you wanted to remember your name at the Christmas party, even if you didn’t remember anything from the actual party.

  They were nice people. I’d only met Mrs Cortez in passing, but she’d had a genuine and ready smile for everyone she’d passed by that day. And she was stunning: front-cover model worthy, and no airbrushing required. So was her husband, who’d been on the cover of some GQ Magazine wannabe before, at least twice. Even now, I could sense the other women in the office glancing at him, and devouring him with their jealous eyes.

  I kept my head down and continued to work on the data input that was next atop my list of ‘accomplish before the Apocalypse or else’ pile. Someone stopped at my desk. The rich but subtle scent of expensive perfume drifted over my nose. I looked up into the hazel eyes of Donna Cortez.

  “Good morning, Mrs Cortez,” I said with a genuine smile. I didn’t want to be a faker, not like the other worker bees.

  “Good morning, Lydia.” OMG. She knows my name? She paused a moment, almost as if she was trying to figure out what to say next. “Do you have a moment?”

  Oh, shit. Those words. The usual precursor to, “We have to let you go.” I swear I could feel the blood drain from my face, and you could hear a pin drop in the office.

  My heart rate spiked in zero-point-two seconds. My body began to tremble lightly, and I nodded and with a suddenly dry mouth and thick tongue replied, “Of course.” I stood up and ran my clammy hands down the front of my thrift-shop office wear, grabbing my purse from my storage drawer as I stepped out from my desk.

  Mrs Cortez smiled warmly, and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Lydia … it’s not what you think.” I nodded, still nervous as hell. She walked right by my side to the elevator. As soon as the door closed on us, she pressed the button for the lobby, then turned and faced me.

  “I’d like to take you out to lunch. I’ve noticed you never eat during the day, and you always work through that hour when everyone else has gone for lunch elsewhere.”

  “I…” I had no explanation, no real reason. “I usually have so much work to do, Mrs Cortez. I don’t have the time to eat.”

  She nodded as the elevator moved down. “Our financial records also state that most of your paycheck goes to Sunnyvale Nursing home. How are you surviving on what is left?”

  I turned and looked to her, feeling shock and a little bit of indignation. “I’m sorry, but with respect, Mrs Cortez, is that really your business?” I asked her as the elevator doors opened and we stepped out.

  “It is if I find out one of my valued employees is struggling to make ends meet,” she said kindly.

  “Come. I have a proposition for you, but we need to discuss this in private.” She guided me to the front doors where we exited and were ushered gently into a waiting chauffeured c
ar.

  “Home please, Stan,” she said to the driver as soon as we were settled. I sat on the plush leather seat in silence all the way to their beautiful home. a luxury penthouse apartment overlooking the bay.

  Chapter Two

  Lunch was already set out for us: a spread of good food––nothing gourmet, but simple home-style cooking, like my mother would have made when we had the money to eat well, which was not often.

  Two servings of grilled chicken breast with a garden salad sat on the table, waiting for us to devour it. Mrs Cortez gestured for me to take a seat and sat across from me.

  “So, tell me a little about yourself, Lydia. I know you’re one of our hardest workers, but you are ill-used as a junior executive assistant. It’s one step up from an intern, with only a little pay. Why have you not gone for any of the other positions as they became available?” Mrs Cortez asked. She pulled the linen napkin from the silver ring holder and placed it over her lap. I followed suit, finding the touch of the linen soft against my fingers, not overly starched like some high-class restaurants.

  “Well, there’s not much to tell. I just feel there are other, more qualified people working there that deserve the positions, especially as they have all been working for you and Mr Cortez longer than I have. It hardly seems fair.”

  “If I was going to promote someone on fairness and merit above all, Lydia, you would have been on the fast-track program to an executive position months ago.” Mrs Cortez smiled as one of her house staff arrived and poured two glasses of white wine. She plucked the glass up from the table with delicate fingers and sipped her wine. “You have proven yourself to be an excellent worker.” She placed the glass down beside her plate and cut into the chicken. I followed suit, the smell of it making my stomach grumble at not being fed properly. Mrs Cortez smiled at the noise my body was making.

  “Eat, then we will go and have a chat.”

  I nodded, trying to be as dainty as I could as I ate my lunch with my boss. Soon, all that was left were the drippings of sauce and vinaigrette from my delicious meal. I hadn’t eaten so well since Christmas at the nursing home with Mom.

  Mrs Cortez stood, and guided me through the beautiful apartment to a living room where plush leather black sofas awaited us. She sat down on one, and I nervously settled in on the other. “Now,” Mrs Cortez said with a smile. “I have a proposition for you, and yes, it is unorthodox, and somewhat indecent.” She sighed and looked at me with nothing but an open and honest look on her face.

  “I want you to become my husband’s lover, and I would like to watch you and him together, in bed.”

  “What?!” I got to my feet. “You want me to be… and you want to watch? You’re kidding, right? This has to be some kind of sick joke.” I stood up and started pacing, running my fingers through my hair. “No, this just isn’t… I can’t even…” I stopped pacing and looked at her. She was serious.

  “You’re serious… aren’t you?” She nodded.

  “I am, Lydia.” She stood up, and I backed away. “You are perfect. He has even said how beautiful you are. He’s attracted to you… if I may speak frankly, we both are.”

  “I… just. Wait! Did you say you are both attracted to me?” I shook my head. “I, just… I can’t… this is too much to take on right now.” I left the living room and headed straight for the front door. Mrs Cortez called out to me to wait, but I couldn’t think straight, considering what I’d just heard … what she’d just asked me to do.

  I ran to the elevator. Luckily, the car was still on the penthouse floor. I rode it down to the lobby, wringing my hands as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.

  My mind was in a daze as I walked back home. It took me hours to get from the rich side of the city to the near-slum where I lived. As I walked up the crumbling and dangerous concrete steps to my apartment, there was a shadowy figure standing next to my door. I reached for my mace: this neighbourhood was really not safe, but it was all I could afford after paying the nursing home where Mom lived. As I reached down, I realised I had left something behind…

  “You left your purse behind.” The voice of Mr Cortez reached me as he stepped out into the flickering light of the fluorescent tube above us.

  “Th-thank you,” I said, reaching for it. Mr Cortez smiled, making him just that little bit more panty-meltingly handsome, as he handed my purse over. I looked down into the dark depths of my battered old purse, trying not to look directly at the man whose wife had asked me to become her husband’s lover.

  “This place isn’t safe for you, Lydia,” he said, his voice soft, smooth and decadent like dark chocolate with salted caramel pieces scattered within.

  “It’s fine,” I said, retrieving my key. “Thank you for returning my purse.” I attempted to slide the key into the lock, but my hands were shaking so much. I gasped when I felt the warmth of Mr Cortez’s hands slip over mine, guiding the trembling key into the lock. If that wasn’t innuendo, then I didn’t know what was.

  “Donna was serious about you becoming my lover. There’s much more to it than you know. Please, consider this. If you do agree, we will help you financially. You’ll become part of our family.” He leaned in close to me, and I could smell the almost erotic scent of his cologne. “We take care of our family, in all ways.” He lifted a hand and tucked an errant strand of my hair behind my ear. I shivered at the touch, and it got worse when he leaned down and gently brushed his lips against the side of my neck in a barely-there kiss.

  “Please, consider it,” he whispered in my ear. I unlocked the door and barrelled in, shutting the door a little harder than I needed to, my heart pounding hard in my chest, my panties wet and my pussy humming with desire.

  It had been a long time between bedpartners. I swear, my cobwebs had cobwebs down there. Breathing hard, I walked through my dingy apartment, dropping my bag on the floor by the threadbare sofa that had been my bed until Mom went into the home.

  I kicked off my scruffy heels and padded on stockinged feet to my bedroom. My body hummed with a need for sexual release. I went to my bedside table, opened the drawer, and pulled out the most expensive thing I owned: my vibrator.

  I stripped out of my work clothes and lay naked on my bed, my long hair free of the bun I wore to the office. I fanned a finger through the slickness between my pussy lips, thoughts unbidden of Enrique Cortez hovering over me. Strong muscles rippled under his naturally tanned skin as his dark eyes devoured my body, before he swooped down and began to kiss me in secret places that only he knew of. Places that set my juices flowing and my body writhe in desirous need. I reached over to the bedside table and grabbed my vibrator. I clicked the switch and slowly moved it over my body, running the trembling latex sexual toy over my nipples until they were tight and aching for a hot mouth to cover them. I licked my index finger and thumb and took the nipple in between them, slowly twisting and trying to mimic a mouth.

  I knew it would be nothing like the real thing. I moaned softly as I let my vibrator wander through the power of my hand down to my tight little clit, my free hand pulling back the hood to expose the nub for my vibrator to torture with explicit pleasures that could not compare to the real Mr Cortez. I whimpered as it moved over my sex, the wetness of my pussy ensuring an easy glide for my expensive little toy, and pleasure that built until I could do nothing but press the damned thing hard against my clit, lock my knees together and writhe out my orgasm, moaning, whimpering and finally screaming into the pillow on my bed until I felt the vibrations slowly dying out with the batteries.

  In my post-orgasmic haze, I realised I had moaned out a name as I climaxed.

  That name?

  Enrique.

  Chapter Three

  I got up and showered, giving my trusty, but now flat, vibrator a good clean with soap and hot water, ready for the next use. When that would be, I didn’t know. Batteries were an expense I didn’t usually account for, so I often went without. When I was clean and dry, having used the two minutes I usually
got of hot water on cleaning, I wrapped myself up in my old-but serviceable robe and walked out to the kitchen-slash-dining-slash-living room of my tiny apartment. Technically, the place only had three rooms. One bed, one bath, and an ‘everything else’ room. There was a communal laundry for our complex, but it wasn’t the kind of place you used if you wanted to keep your clothes. I’d learned the hard way, having had my laundry stolen one day.

  I looked to the door where I noticed the letters I’d accidentally kicked away when I’d rushed inside. One was from the landlord. The other, from Mom’s nursing home. I opened the nursing home letter first, sinking down onto the sofa as I read it.

  “Dear Miss George:

  Please be advised that Sunnyvale Nursing and Retirement Home has been purchased by Retire-Corp. The facility will no longer be under the former administration, and monthly fees will increase. The updated residency contract is enclosed. Please sign this contract and return, along with a $75.00 administration fee, and three (3) months’ advance payment for residency fees within one (1) week. This will ensure your mother has a place with Sunnyvale. If the contract is not signed, and subsequent fees are not paid, the resident will be removed from the facility and you will be required to make alternate arrangements for their care.

  Regards,

  Andrew Lane, Administration officer, Retire-Corp.”

  I felt a huge lump in my throat. I didn’t have that kind of money. I looked over the contract: they wanted more money for less service. I felt hot, angry tears slide down my cheeks. I thought furiously for a moment on how the heck I’d be able to afford to keep Mom in a care facility that looked like it no longer ‘cared’. I wiped my eyes free of tears, still coming up blank on a solution before I opened the other letter.