Taking One For The Team

"God, how many times did we do it last night?" he asked himself as he turned his head and only then realized that he was alone in the bed.

"Good morning, Mr. Owens," a voice that was slightly familiar said from the direction of the large windows on the far wall.

"That wasn't Eliza ," was his first thought as he brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the light of the morning sun.

Two further realizations hit him a heartbeat later, the second one twice as disturbing as the first.

"Fuck, that's Jacqueline Foster-Brown," he said to himself, just as he realized that he was laying there stark naked.

Grabbing a pillow from the empty side of the bed, Charlie quickly covered his exposed cock, knowing that there had been no way that the administrative assistant hadn't seen it. Strangely enough, though, she hadn't reacted to his condition, or even his presence in her employer's bed as anything out of the ordinary.

"I took the liberty of ordering you some breakfast; it's out on the table in the receiving room," she said as she walked across the room in the other direction, giving him the chance to pull one of the sheets around him. "I wasn't sure what you might like, so I ordered a small variety, some of which should be to your liking."

"Thank you," Charlie managed to say as he looked around the room for his clothes, then realized they weren't where they'd been dropped the night before.

"I also took the liberty of sending your suit down to be dry-cleaned," she added as she neared the doorway. "You'll find it hanging in the closet."

"What time is it?" Charlie asked, realizing that with all that had been done it had to be mid-morning at least.

"It's half past eleven," Jacqueline said without checking her watch, obviously anticipating his question.

His first thought was that he was so, so late for work, but then he realized that this was one day that no one was going to complain. His next thought was, where was Eliza? That too seemed to have been anticipated by the grey-haired woman.

"Mrs. Orzeskowa felt it better to let you sleep in, so to speak, rather than wake you before she left for her meeting with Mr. Harrison," Jacqueline offered. "She asked me to thank you in her stead for a very enjoyable evening."

"She already had the meeting with Mr. Harrison?" Charlie asked, not remembering exactly what time that was supposed to be.

"The agreement was signed more than an hour ago," the well dressed woman said, thinking that was his main concern. "By now, Mrs. Orzeskowa is well on her way to LaGuardia to take the Eastern shuttle back to Boston. I just stayed behind to wrap up a few loose ends."

"I guess that's that then," Charlie said out loud to himself, thinking that was all he was, after all -- a loose end.

This time, Jacqueline made no comment, but left him to shower and dress.

-=-=-=

"Good afternoon, Charlie," Brenda said as he stepped through the double glass doors, "and don't you look fabulous today."

"Hi Brenda," Charlie said as he stepped up to the desk, wondering if, since she seemed to know everything that went on around here, she knew why he was so dressed up.

"I guess you're wondering why I'm wearing a suit today," Charlie said.

"Well, actually," Brenda said in a low, conspiratorial tone, "I already know."

"Oh," Charlie simply said, then asked her in an equally low voice if anyone else knew.

"Not yet," Brenda whispered, "but I'm sure by the end of the day most people will."

"Great," Charlie said under his breath.

"Mr. Harrison said he wanted to see you in his office whenever you got in," Brenda said, her tone of voice rising to a more normal level.

"Then I guess I'd better get right over there," Charlie replied.

Unlike yesterday, Paula actually made an effort to be friendly when Charlie approached her desk. He wondered if that was because she still didn't know why her boss had been so conciliatory towards him the day before and was just hedging her bets, or because, like Brenda, she knew something Charlie would have preferred that she didn't.

"You can go right in, Charlie," Paula said, flashing him an uncharacteristic smile.

Stepping into the now familiar office, Charlie saw the senior partner standing on a small step-ladder, returning a research book to its place on his bookshelf. He called over his shoulder for Charlie to take a seat, and then spent what seemed like a very long minute looking for another volume before stepping down and taking a seat at his desk.

"Well, Charlie," he began, "I should start off by saying that this firm owes you a world of thanks. As I'm sure you know, Mrs. Orzeskowa was in here earlier and she signed all the relevant paperwork."

"I'm glad to hear that sir," Charlie said, trying to act at least a little surprised by the news.

"So," Mr. Harrison said as he leaned back in his high leather chair, "tell me how it went last night."

"Excuse me?" Charlie asked.

"How did it go last night?" he repeated. "Don't leave anything out. I want to hear all the details."

Charlie thought about it for a moment, wondering how much the partner already knew. Charlie was fairly certain that all the people the firm paid to make sure the night was a success probably also reported back as to how their individual parts had played out. That would've included the driver and the people at the restaurant, but not, well, probably not, the people at the hotel. A high class establishment like that needed to enjoy a certain measure of confidentiality about their guests. With that in mind, he tailored his story to what might have already been reported back to Mr. Harrison.

"That's it?" the senior partner said as Charlie concluded his tale with the statement that after he had walked Mrs. Orzeskowa back to her hotel, he had taken the subway to his brother's apartment, where he had spent the night.

Charlie nodded his head as he answered in the affirmative.

"Nothing else happened?" Mr. Harrison asked again.

"Not that I can remember," Charlie lied, asking himself at the same time why he was doing so, since it was now obvious that the whole thing had meant little to the woman whose bed he had shared last night. "Oh, and I still have a good amount of the spending money left over so, if you can tell me who I should turn it over to, I'll -- "

"Oh, that," Mr. Harrison said, dismissing it with a wave of a hand. "You can just keep whatever's left. Think of it as a bonus for a job well done."

Charlie wondered if he should say thanks but decided not to, thinking that he wouldn't be able to say so without it sounding sarcastic.

"And nothing else happened," Mr. Harrison repeated in a way that Charlie took as speaking more to himself than to him. "That makes this strange indeed."

Charlie wasn't sure what he was talking about, but as the older man had said it, he had picked up a large, official looking envelope on his desk. From where he was sitting, Charlie could see his name neatly typed across the front of it.

The envelope still in his hand, Mr. Harrison abruptly changed the subject and asked Charlie if he ever heard of the Malcolm Tyler memorial scholarship.

Charlie said that he had; it was a scholarship, named after the late founding partner, that the firm occasionally awarded to gifted students to allow them to attend law school. What he didn't mention was that the whole thing was considered a load of crock, because whenever the scholarship was awarded the deserving student more times than not turned out to be someone's relative.

"Well, evidently, Mrs. Orzeskowa has heard of it too," Mr. Harrison said, "and just before she signed the contracts, she asked, if we hadn't already awarded the scholarship this year, didn't we think that it would be a very nice gesture if we did so to a deserving young man in our office, who might otherwise never have the opportunity to attend law school."

It took a very long moment for that to sink in, a very long moment indeed.

"So congratulations, Charlie," Mr. Harrison said as he stood up and handled him the envelope across his desk.

Charlie was too stunned to say anything but a weak thank you. Mr. Harrison said that after lunch they would get a few pictures taken for publicity purposes; this sort of thing always looked good for a company's image.

Charlie again thanked him, this time more strongly, then got up to leave. Just before he closed the door behind him, he heard Mr. Harrison's last comment on the matter.

"Damn strange," he said, "damn strange indeed."

END

(c) Ann Douglas 2012