Fifty Shades of Lies

his reply. She turned her eyes towards me and flashed me a fake smile. Jessica jumped up and called for the elevator.

“Good afternoon ladies,” the black woman waved to the blondes, as she departed through the sliding doors.

“Mr. Maximillion will see you now, Miss Ridame,” Blond Number Two said.

I stood up, feeling rather shakily, collecting my thoughts and my little Chanel. One might think I was seeing the dentist. I left the water on the side table and made my way through the partially open door.

“Miss Ridame?” the latest blonde asked.

“Yes,” I croaked, clearing my throat, then turned toward her. “Yes,” there, that sounded more confident.

“Please, knock three times then enter.” She smiles kindly.

“But, it’s open,” I whispered. What’s with all the theatrics? I thought. I felt as if I was being initiated into some private club, or worst yet an occult.

I knocked three times, as she had ordered, then slowly pushed open the door. My ankle twisted and I stumbled through, tripping over my own feet, as usual, and fell headlong onto the office floor—landing on carpet. Thank God, it was carpeted. Shag red blazing carpet. For a minute, I thought I fell into the lake of fire. My knees were sure to be carpet burned. I felt my cheeks ignite to a shade of crimson too.

“Ouch.” I squealed.

“What. Are you okay?” His voice penetrated every cell in my body.

Here I am, down here, making my intro. I was on my hands and knees in the doorway to Mr. Maximillion’s office, when gentle hands wrapped around my waist, helping to pull me up. I was so embarrassed. Damn, my clumsiness. I had to brace myself to glance up. Holy shit fire, he was so fucking gorgeous. I limberly brought myself to my knees. Oh Lord, I was perfectly aligned with his crotch. Putting me in the position, if I knew him better, to give him what Bleu-Rae suggested—a blowjob. I could just pray… that he unzips his pants so I can take a small peek inside at the goods.

“Miss Ridame…” he extended a long-fingered hand to me. In one quick movement I stood up in a daze, mentally pinching myself. “I am Steele Maximillion. Are you hurt? Would you like to sit?” He fanned his hand through the air toward the sofa.

Like a cliche from a movie, our eyes met first. Time stood still. My heart nearly stopped beating. His face alighted with a twinkle in his sexy gray eyes. He was so young and attractive. Devastatingly, handsome. Tall, chiseled, with lean expansive shoulders. His face was unshaven. If I had to guess, the facial hair appeared to be a day or so long. He was dressed in a fine dark-gray polished shirt that molded to his muscular frame. His blue jeans hung low on his trim hips. I am not talking low, like a gangster, but low at the waist. He was very stylish. Turn around I want to see your ass the voice in my head demanded. His hair was unruly and stylish too, black, thick waves, mixed with strands of gray. Damn, could I have fallen for the man of my dreams?

“Err… actually…” It took a moment for me to find my voice, and I think my mouth had plopped open in astonishment.

If this guy is over thirty-three then I’m a monkey’s aunt. I extended my hand to his still in a daze, as we shook. When our sweaty palms touched, I felt a strange current go through me. It was notably hot as crap in his office, couldn’t he afford air-conditioning? He stirred every female impulse that my body was capable of feeling. I withdrew my hand hastily. I could feel my lashes, blinking rapidly, matching my accelerated heart rate. I imagined this is what shock treatment would feel like; a bit stoned and tongue tied. I could not think straight. My brain was melting… other parts of me were on fire too. Soon, I would be nothing, but a puddle of water for someone to mop away.

An image of one of Mr. Maximillion’s blondes entered the office. She was wearing an itsy bitsy, naughty maid’s uniform and black spikes, dangling a mop in her hand. I quickly shuddered the thought away.

“I am not sure why I am here… err, I mean… I want to be on your show to find a husband,” I nervously gasped. I would have rather been on his lap right about now, seducing him. Dang, I was thinking like a woman of the night down on Sunset and Vine. One that was willing to give him a freebie.

“Are you sure about that…?” His voice was warm, possibly amused with my answer, but it was difficult to tell from his impassive expression. My squeamish behavior; was it that noticeable? He looked mildly interested, but above all so powerful and in control.

“Oh yes. Very sure,” I lied. Oh Lord I lied, again. It was my first vocal lie ever in my entire life. I never even said a white lie. If I had ever been face to face with a reason to lie I would either walk away, which is rude, but better than lying, or I would tell the truth… which made me come across to most people as if I had no filter.

“Bleu-Rae Ridame, what an interesting name. I bet you can’t wait to change it.” He chuckled. As he walked deeper into the office space… I followed.

“Yes, a name change would be great.” I sighed timidly, wondering what was so interesting about my name? I guessed he was referring to my last name. Well, in this case, Bleu’s name would be a great place to start.

“Would you like to sit down?” He waved me towards the red leather buttoned U-shaped couch.

“Sure,” I replied.

The room was vast with an enormous modern black lacquer desk in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything else was white except on the wall by the door, there’s was a collage of small sculptures; fifty odd shapes of plaster, arranged in a triangle… they were exquisite, a series of mundane, forgotten objects. At my closer observation I noticed each piece was highly phallic, resembling female and male body parts. Displayed together, they were breathtaking. The combination was one fabulous piece of art. Expensive—I was sure of it. I stopped and stared. Mr. Maximillion followed my eyes with his.

“It was created by a local artist. Jennifer… I found her a husband two season’s ago.” He said when he caught my eyes.

“They’re lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary,” I murmured, distracted, by him and by the art as I took a seat. I sank deep into the folds of the billowy sofa, feeling very unstable, and awkward. He stood hovering over me like a dark angel.

“Yes, Miss Ridame,” he replied softly, referring to the sculptures. “Very lovely, indeed.” I flushed uncomfortably, knowing very well he was no longer referring to the paintings, but me. “Are you comfortable,” he smiled.

“Not really,” I said just above a whisper, resigning to the fact that I could not lie.

“I am sorry to hear that, please, take a moment to get comfortable.” His tone was sincere. He took a seat opposite me in one of the white loungers. I shifted my weight upward, sitting on the edge of the sofa and squared my shoulders. This gave me a sense of control. If I was going to “ace” this interview; it had to be done with some dignity. He adjusted his long legs, he seemed very uncomfortable as he crossed one knee over the other, then cocked his head to one side and regarded me intently. Then he uncrossed his legs and sat with them wide apart, spread eagle to be precise. He tried crossing them again, but to no prevail spreading them into the shape of a V. My eyes inadvertently kept flashing on the oversized package that he was struggling with between his thighs. Who could blame me? It looked like the size of a very large cucumber.

I had to focus on something else, maybe his strong Greek nose—

“So what is it that you do—when you are not looking for a husband?” He smiled genuinely. His thumb rested under his chin and his index finger tapped against the bridge of is nose. For a sec, I thought it grew too, to epic lengths. God, what was in the water they gave me?

“I’m studying modeling. I attend Barbizon School of Modeling. It is supposed to be the best. I, also, sell organic produce on the side. I am very green oriented.” I knotted my fingers, and bit my lip, wondering if he approved. His organic man fruit seemed to be straining in his pants.

“I see… that’s a great start. Many stay at home mom’s are into that stuff,” he said simply. I thought that I saw a ghost of a smile in his expression, but I was not sure. Little did he know; I had no intentions of becoming a mother anytime soon.

“I have no intentions of becoming a mom anytime, in the near future.” I recklessly blurted out my thoughts. Crap, I yelled inwardly at my lack of subtlety.

He glared at me oddly, and a dissatisfied fixed stare lingered in his eyes. I could not hold his—perhaps,