Callie clicked on a lamp and checked her watch. Midnight and she was still wide awake. She'd been kept captive in her own basement for four days now and still had trouble believing it. Rolling over onto her back, she stared unseeing at the ceiling and thought back over the events of the last few days. Every morning Jack awakened her for exercise and a well-balanced breakfast, followed by writing assignments. Somehow she had come to enjoy the tasks, remembering how much the mental stretch of writing had meant to her in younger years. And satisfyingly, she found she was better at it now with the addition of life experience to her voice. The words on the page were derived more from reality and less from fantasy than anything she'd written in college.
The evenings had been spent discussing books, movies, philosophy, religion, or anything that happened to catch their interest in the local newspaper. More than once, she'd caught herself thinking that this was how she had always hoped her marriage would be - a couple sharing their thoughts and even more importantly, their time together. Granted, it took a man with a gun who locked her in her own house to achieve that goal, but still she found some crazy sense of contentment in her captivity. The hours had flown by each day and she was surprised at how well rested and energetic she felt upon waking.
She'd gotten so used to seeing Jack in his masks that it no longer startled her, although she had a growing curiosity to know his face. He was so kind to her and obviously interested in her well being, not to mention the compliments he paid her on her appearance, her writing, her wit. She was convinced now that Steve had nothing to do with her confinement; but was still stymied as to why Jack had chosen her unless he was truly a mentally disturbed stalker. He just did not seem at all psychotic, agitated, or even disagreeable. In all his interaction with her, he was nothing less than gentle and solicitous. Callie was no fool, she'd heard of Stockholm Syndrome before, but still she felt drawn in by his sincerity. It was only the memory of the gun he'd shown her that first night that kept her slightly on guard.
Funny that she could disappear from her regular routine and no one had noticed. She knew her kids would call on the weekend but also knew they wouldn't be startled if they got only the answering machine. She was sure that Jack already had a plan on how to handle it though if they did attempt to contact her. All in all, considering her meals were being provided without a single pot or dish to wash, she was starting to treat this whole thing like a vacation. Hell, maybe she should try to talk Jack into giving her a massage! She giggled at the idea and then shivered at the thought of his large confident hands sliding over her skin. This evening as they'd been talking, he'd reached across the table to push back a strand of dark hair that had fallen across her face. That slight soft touch of his fingertips had rendered her speechless for a moment. There was such tenderness in the gesture, and she was positive she wasn't imagining it. She finally drifted off to sleep, the cheek he'd touched cradled in the downy pillow.
In Toronto, another woman lay sleepless but for a far different reason. Kelly's vacation was turning out to be anything but. That afternoon she'd finally had some time alone to call the customer service number for Steve's Mastercard account. Punching in the numbers, the automated system's metallic voice had informed her that "your credit limit is two thousand dollars; your available credit is one thousand forty dollars."
Two thousand dollars! She was expecting ten times that amount. What the fuck was going on here? She'd done the research on Steve thoroughly before applying for the job. She knew the company was worth millions and he was the head of it, so it just didn't make sense. Taking a chance, she'd decided to call the head of the finance department back at the office, that sour old bitch should have an explanation.
"Miss Francis, this is Kelly in Toronto with Mr. O'Donnell. There seems to be a problem with his corporate credit card. I'm sure you can straighten it out though." She forced herself to put as much sweetness into her voice as possible.
"What seems to be the problem?" came back the crisp reply.
"Well, he wanted to take a group of prospective clients out to an expensive dinner show but his limit doesn't seem to be large enough to handle it. I don't think he has a personal card with him either."
"That's because Mr. O'Donnell has no personal card to my knowledge. His limit was preset at $2000 when his father-in-law gave him the job. Mr. Alexander structured the credit accounts himself and only Mrs. O'Donnell is authorized to make changes."
"Mrs. O'Donnell? What does she have to do with it?"
"Callie O'Donnell became the owner of the company upon Mr. Alexander's death. She chose not to take an active role in company management and leaves it to her husband. However, she is the CEO and her husband would need her approval for any changes beyond the scope of his authority. I'm surprised you didn't know that, Miss Gilbert." The condescension in her tone was unmistakable.
"Thank you, Miss Francis," she answered through gritted teeth before slamming down the phone. "Callie? His wife's name is Callie? No wonder he hired me; our names are close enough to cover a slip of the tongue easily enough. Geeeeze.'
She glanced over at Steve's sleeping form and grimaced. God, she couldn't wait to get out of here. It looked like she'd made a big mistake on this job and it was time to cut her losses and get out with whatever she could grab. As she plotted, the disgusting old crotch-hound snorted and rolled over to fling one arm out and grope her breast, pinching her nipple.
"Whassa matter, can't sleep?" he mumbled.
"Awww, I'm sorry, sugar, did I wake you?"
"Yeah, you did, so now you'll have to take care of this!" He flung back the covers, revealing an unimpressive hard-on.
"Oh, no, no, no," she thought. "Maybe I can just jack him off."
She rolled over next to him and began stroking his cock with a practiced hand. "How does that feel, baby?" she whispered seductively.
"Not nearly as good as your pussy, babe. Or even half as good as I bet your tight little ass would feel."
