Ash - the Sandstone Affair Part 1 Read online

  Sure enough, there’s only one light in the office on the 6th floor of the building holding Sandstone’s offices. It’s Mark’s. I blitz through the lobby past security, the memory of the former security guard causing my wrist to ache, and hit the elevator for the sixth floor. The nameplate informs me the Law Offices of Allen and Martinez are on floor 5, but their windows were dark. I’m sure Kenneth and Blake are out having a cocktail, toasting to the end of my future. I practically jump through the elevator door when it opens and find myself in the front hallway of Sandstone.

  I enter quietly and turn down the hall to his office. Opening the door to his outer office, I see a light coming through the crack of the door to his personal office. The secretary’s chair is empty, her desk neatly organized with manila folders of deals and financial sheets. The quiet methodical tapping of the keyboard drifts through the silent office, and I pause for a second.

  I should go. I’m a wreck. I can’t let him see me like this. Mark is the one person in this whole company I want to respect me, and truthfully, I’ve always wanted him to be interested in me for a little more than work.

  I pace in his outer office, listening to him working on his computer. A framed picture of Mark, Blake and their father hangs on the wall. They’re posing next to a large swordfish, on the deck of a white yacht, the leather seats visible in the background. The rich bastard was supposed to help me, but instead, he pushed me down, stabbed me in the back and left me bleeding on all over his tidy account register.

  I storm forward, pushing open the door.

  His untied tie hangs around his neck, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His sandy-brown hair and muscular chest give me a moment’s pause.

  “Julia.” He looks up slowly as he sees me enter his office. “Are you okay?”

  “Do you think I’m okay, Mark?”

  “No,” he says somberly. “I’m sure you’re not. I’m sure it’s been a rough day.”

  “A rough day? Is that what you call it? A rough day? Your firm closed down my office! Your lawyer humiliated me in front of my whole staff! You’ve taken away everything I ever had and will ever have. Yes, Mark, I’ve had a fucking rough day!”

  “To be fair, Julia,” Mark says with his signature sense of accuracy and control. “Ken Allen is not my lawyer. He’s Blake’s.”

  “Lynx was your account. The magazine was in your hands. Protecting it was your responsibility.”

  “Why don’t you sit down,” he replies rising from his chair and walking around the desk. I can see my words have stung him. He’s not making eye contact. “There’s a lot here that you don’t understand.”

  “Of course I don’t understand, Mark. I don’t understand why I’ve just lost my life’s work.” In my anger, the jabs turn mean and petty. “But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? Because this isn’t your life’s work, is it? No, it’s your Daddy’s life work. It was passed down to you and Blake to carry on the Stone dynasty. You’ve had everything given to you your entire life. All you’ve ever had to do was make Daddy happy.”

  “That’s enough, Julia! Sit down.”

  I know I’ve gone too far, but I can’t stop now.

  “No! You sit down. I’m tired of taking orders from Sandstone executives. This is your fault, Mark. Yours!”

  Mark opens his arms to try to catch or guide me into a chair, but I propel myself at him, hitting him in the chest with my fists. I feel my hands hit the solid muscle of his body, and I strike at him again and again. He catches my arms and pulls me close to him, close enough to catch his strong masculine scent of smoky cinnamon and leather. With his red, angry face inches away from me, he spits as he spews his defense in my face.

  “Dammit, why do you have to be so stubborn, Julia? You think this helps? You think refusing to listen to anybody else but yourself is going to get your position back? Let me tell you something. Your ‘boobs of steel’ act where you play the tough broad breaking the glass ceiling with her bare hands isn’t what made you a success in this business. You’ve just been getting by with it, and now it’s pushed you right out the door. ”

  I struggle against his arms, his words piercing holes into me.

  “If anyone is to blame here, it’s you, Julia. I told you to stop going after Ladies World. I begged you to let your feud with Valerie go. I sent you memos and messages and warnings that we would always take the side of the big magazine over the upstart small one. But you wouldn’t listen. You had to pursue it. You had to fight. You had to win. Julia, you walked into something way over your head, and you refused to listen to any advice!”

  Overcome with emotion, my wrists still bound in his hands, I bring my foot up and kick him squarely in the shin.

  “Bastard!” I scream at him and kick him a second time as he grimaces in pain.

  His eyes turn to ice as he towers above me, locking me in his stare. I hear my heartbeat throbbing in my ears, wondering if I’d gone too far, wondering if he was right and I had just lost my only hope of figuring this mess out because I was too stubborn, too emotional, pushing away the only ally I’ve had since the buyout in a fit of rage. A silent flash passes between our eyes, and he grabs my shoulders with strong hands, holding me in place. The thought of escape flees my mind as he leans down and crashes his lips into mine.

  I open my mouth to him, crushing my lips up against his for a moment, his rough tongue searching inside me, opening me in a way I never expected. How many times had I fantasized about the feel of those lips on mine? We find harmony for a second, and then my brain kicks back in. I bite his lip, and he jumps back.

  He glares at me. Wrapping me up in his strong arms, he kisses me a second time. My body alternates between struggling and inviting. I slap at his back and arms, but then my lips follow his, pulling him closer and closer into me as all strength to resist dissipates into where our tongues entwine. He reaches down and pushes the papers off his desk, backing me into it. Still holding and kissing me, his hand shoots to my breast. My hand lifts to hit him once more but weakens into grabbing at his shirt. Then I start shaking him back and forth.

  “I needed a fighter! I needed someone as strong as I was! I needed someone with balls to stand up for me!” I cough up mountains of anger and frustration on him as he continues to hold and press against me, kissing any part of me that isn’t fighting back. He leans in my ear.

  “I know exactly what you need,” he says and turns me quickly, bending me over the desk. His hand holding my back and his kiss still warm on my lips, he folds me like paper. I feel the pressure of his body behind me. He lifts my skirt and pushes it up on my back, pushing me harder against the desk. “This is what you need.”

  “Mark…” I say as I stretch my arms forward to grab the front of his desk. His briefcase falls with a crash as I feel him pushing against me again.

  “This is what you need,” he leans over whispering, his hot breath in my ear, his body pressing against me as he pulls down my panties and reaches between my trembling legs. The wetness of my desire is unmistakable. Still in my ear, he says, “This is what you want.”

  “Yes,” I whisper softly, almost hoping he doesn’t hear me, but I feel his fingers probing me finding their way inside.

  “Is this what you want?” he asks again. I hear his zipper going down with one hand as the weight of him still firmly presses me against the hard wood. His hips are already starting a motion against me. I am lost to the moment.

  “Yes!” I scream. “God help me, yes!”

  He enters me quickly, his cock splitting my opening and pushing its way through my body. My head drops down on the desk as his rough thrusts begin pushing deep into me, smacking me with his power, his strength. My narrow long-neglected passage comes alive around his shaft, gripping and pulsing as he thrusts over and over. I can’t tell if he’s taking me or punishing me or just loving me but the rough sensations sweeps me along the surge of his lust.

  Grabbing my hips, he thrusts into me like a man possessed, each thrus
t pushing my breath out in loud busts as he growls through gritted teeth.

  The buildup of energy, the sensation of my clit being pushed and rubbed by his thrusts against the hard desk, his cock pounding me again and again to the rhythm of his control - filling my body and soul - is too much. My back arches and I buck underneath him. I clamp my mouth shut, unwilling to allow him to hear the pleasure I’m getting from his merciless cock, but the spasms of my body surge against his shaft. He slams into me with several halting hard jerks then gurgles loudly as his semen floods my raw insides.

  Mark pauses long enough to catch his breath, then withdraws, leaving me sore, filled and stunned. The moment passes in silence with only our ragged breaths providing a clue to our presence. He pats me on the rear gently and pushes a Kleenex box toward me as I hear his zipper go back up. Propelling myself up on weak arms, I return to an upright position. He looks out the window as I lean down to pull my panties back in place.

  I stand before his desk like a paddled schoolgirl. The glorious feelings of afterglow fill me with such peace and ground me into the reality of the moment. I am content just to stare at him and feel his phantom presence in my core. Finally, he looks up and speaks in a clear, crisp detached tone.

  “I…um…I…” I can’t talk. I don’t know how to respond, and the endorphin rush in my head is making any decision impossible.

  “Listen to me Julia. There are things at stake here that you don’t understand. I don’t even understand all of it yet. I can’t promise you that I’ll be able to help you, but I’ll promise to try. What I need from you is trust. You can’t just operate like a lone wolf if you want me to help you.” He continued through his panting. “I will look into the files to see what Blake has planned for Lynx, and if there ‘s anything that can be done about it.”

  Stunned, speechless, I turn to walk toward the door. With each step, my raw and stretched body reminds me of what just took place. I’m amazed that I can walk at all.

  “And Julia,” Mark calls sternly from his desk.

  “Yes?” I turn and force myself to look at his face, hoping my body’s desire and gratitude doesn’t gush into the room.

  “I did fight for you. Otherwise we would’ve had this conversation six months ago.”

  I look at his eyes, creased with lines of fatigue. For the first time, I notice a streak of grey in his hair that I had never seen before.

  “One more thing. Don’t try to contact me here again, if I’m to help you, we can’t be seen together. I can’t tell you more than that for now, but the answers will come soon. Understand?”

  “Yes, Mark.” I say softly, as if an odd spell has changed my entire demeanor. He smiles reassuringly then turns to pick up his work off the floor.

  Chapter 3

  It’s noon and I’m still sitting at the kitchen table which is covered in paperwork. Old mail, notes, and the documents Kenneth Allen gave me the day I was fired all sit in front of my in one intimidating lump. Normally I can focus and get things done, but I’m so distracted by my feelings about Mark and what we did that I can’t really think at all. Did that really happen? I shift positions in my chair and the soreness winds throughout my lower body reminding me that Mark Stone fucking me over his office desk was all too real, indeed.

  How on earth did I even get in that position? Did I want it? Did I need it? Most importantly, no matter what I think about my wants and needs, what does Mark think about me? I go into his office screaming like a madwoman and end up gripping the edge of his desk begging him to take me. I needed his help and respect, and now I’m not sure I have either.

  That’s not really fair though. I mean, that kind of dance takes two. How unfair is it of him to take advantage of my clearly unhinged state and toss me over the desk? Why wasn’t he looking out for my company in the first place? I’m mad at Mark, and I’m mad at me. We somehow managed to take a bad situation and make it worse. Anger isn’t a bad thing; it’s fuel and it propels me to do something with the stack of crap in front of me besides stare at it.

  Grabbing a cup of strong coffee, I move out of my haze and sort the mail from the rest of the pile. Nothing too interesting: a few bills, some sale flyers and a copy of Inc. Magazine for business owners. Guess I have to cancel my subscription to that. Then I see one of the bills is marked “Glenvale Cancer Treatment Center”. That’s not good. I rip the envelope open to confront one the many facts of my situation I had not wanted to face.

  An outrageous sum for chemotherapy and care for the past two weeks is due by Friday. I have this payment and maybe two or three more, then I’m out of money. Dad wasn’t responding to anything they were doing for him at Mercy General and his Medicare cap was getting close. They wanted to put him on “comfort care” and let the cancer run its course. Mark helped me find Glenvale. It’s an experimental cancer treatment center that offers drug trials and in-patient treatment but isn’t covered under insurance. So, I’ve been footing the bill. The scary part is, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up without a job.

  The phone rings.

  “Julia Sharp,” I answer with my usual business voice. Just because I’m unemployed doesn’t mean I have to sound like a pauper, particularly to the scheduler from the Sunrise Yoga.

  “Julia, it’s Janice. I’m at the yoga place.”

  “I can’t come to yoga right now, Janice. I’ve got things on my mind, if you haven’t noticed.” My tone with her is crisp and snide. I guess I can’t blame her for continuing to work at Lynx, but it would have been a comforting gesture if my good friend would’ve stood up for me and left.

  “I don’t care about yoga. It’s the only safe place to call you from.”

  “What?”

  “Kenneth All-Slime and Blake the Snake are in the office all the time. I can’t call you from there, and I’m kind of afraid to use my cell. Everyone is really tense.”

  “Well, that’s what you get when you decide to stay in the gutter with the rats,” I say without compassion. Does she really think I should feel sorry for her? It’s my life that’s a mess.

  Janice gives me an annoyed sigh. “I just wanted to let you know I got it out of the office before they found it. When you’re ready for it, it’s secure.”

  “You’ve got what?”

  “The story, of course. That’s what all this is about isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what it’s about, to tell you the truth. But keep the story safe. And, thanks Janice.”

  A hot bath, glass of Merlot, and some nice music are the best medicine I can afford right now. While some folks use those things to relax, I’m using them just to keep myself going. I’ve got to find a way to get my head around what’s happening. I admit I’ve had my eye on Mark Stone for some time, imagining what a joint venture with him would be like in the boardroom and in the bedroom. But right now I’m as far from the boardroom as I could possibly get, and while I’ve certainly been on the receiving end of his attention, it’s not like he’s inviting me to the bedroom.

  The wine takes the edge off, and I realize he’s right. I am afraid to ask for help, and I don’t like giving in. I do put on an act and try to bully people into my way. It’s the only way I know to get ahead in the publishing game. There’s no room for the weak. Valerie James is just as ruthless and cutthroat as I am, she just does it with a smile. Somehow that’s worse.

  Finally relaxed, I mull my options. I’ve got a lawyer looking for a loophole in the original Sandstone Ventures contract, but he’s already said it looks airtight. I do get a chance to file a rejoinder, but I don’t even know what grounds I could file under. I have Mark’s mysterious plan, which I can’t even fathom – let alone count on. Finally, I have the Wall Street article Janice managed to save from Blake. I don’t know what to do with any of these but there has to be a way. The phone jars me out of my focused state.

  “Julia Sharp,” I say, hoping it’s not Janice again calling me from the laundromat or Burger King.

  “It’s Mark,” he says wit
h that deep beautiful voice. I can see him in my mind’s eye and my body begins tingling in response to the very sound of him.

  “What do you want?” I say far too rudely for my own good.

  “Meet me at the fourth level of the parking deck at Sanders and seventh street around nine o’clock tonight. Come alone.”

  “Do you want me to wear a cloak and carry a dagger?” I respond sarcastically. Mark just hangs up the phone leaving my attempt at humor just hanging in the air like a bitter pill. Part of me thinks I should nip this in the bud right now and stand him up. That will back him off. Yet another part of me, that resides noticeably lower in my body, wants to meet him and see what he can do.

  I arrive about ten minutes to nine, and I’m the only car parked on this level. Mark pulls up in an Escalade at nine on the dot. He’s such a careful and exacting man. He gets out of the driver’s seat, opens the passenger side back door, and walks around to the driver’s side, getting in the back. I look around, and climb in the back.