1)
I ran my fingers across the soft and snug elastic, gently fingering the flowery lace detail. I stared into the full-length mirror. I looked good in black, and the frills of leafy detail fluttered teasingly at the top of my thighs. What a waste I thought, as I writhed around in my lingerie, lamps down low. Only thirty-five. All of my girlfriends were quite jealous of my lot, which was, on paper, a happy one. I lived on a newly built private estate in the suburbs, styled with large, white paneled, detached houses surrounded by porches and neat manicured lawns. Someone came every other week and gardened our street, that was part of the deal we got for neighborhood membership. My little palace sat at the end of the cul-de-sac, symmetrical and tastefully lit. Inside, worn, and rustic wood had been imported to visually warm each floor, whilst physical warmth rose from the under-floor heating system below. Deep faux fur rugs sprawled across them, and I'd spent many hours lying on them, staring blankly up at the brass shabby-chic chandeliers that hung stiffly from the new white glossy ceilings. Our furnishings were a coach-house show room; everything else was stone cold marble.
It wasn't just my house they envied; it was absolutely everything. I'd always looked after myself, despite the odd cigarette or drink. I wasn't a tower at five foot six, but I wore heels well and could still fit a snug size ten at my age. I had always had long, thick hair, but wore it in a loose pony most days so as not to damage it. I could scrub up well and had a good sense of dress for my shape. I didn't put as much effort in as others; I wasn't able to recreate the highly filtered, hugely made-up faces of the starlets of social media these days, but why would I want to? Men seemed to find it easy enough to approach me, and always looked disappointed once they spotted the wedding band I'd eventually move my hand to reveal. Hey, a little attention kept me from giving up completely.
Children were the only missing piece of the pretty picture, but something kept me, and Oscar I guess, from going that far. I stayed on my contraception, and we never discussed it. Not that I could have conceived anyway, you need to at least make love in order to do that, and for the last few years, we'd passed in hallways and bedrooms like ghosts.
Our tenth wedding anniversary had been the first time we'd invited people here, a year ago. I had married Oscar aged twenty-four, and he was twenty-two. The girls had made faces at his age, but 'love was love' I had stoically pounded each time they mocked his youth or inexperience. He fell for me first, because I was naughty, bold, outrageous, and very assertive. In those days, it was common knowledge, and I went on a few dates with men who had heard I could drink them under the table, or that I would go for the odd skinny dip if the mood struck. It was fun, and I was fun. He'd met me in passing a few times around our town, which was a much smaller place back then, but we knew some similar people and had often exchanged a "hi" at parties, bars or jogging round the park. I'd then finally struck up a one-to-one conversation with him when I'd decided to go shopping one Saturday at the computer store he worked at. He was a department manager at the time, and knew a lot about laptops, so I had picked his brains, ordered in a nice computer, and written my phone number on the receipt. I subsequently got a text that evening and had giggled with my girlfriends. It had said,
"I'm guessing this is Andi, the awesomely sexy girl who purchased the HP Pavilion dv6700t?"
"He remembered what laptop you bought?" Sophie, my oldest friend had sniggered.
"Well, I did write my number on his copy of the order receipt. I guess he had to process it. And maybe I wasn't the only Andi he served that day that both bought a laptop and left him their phone number!" I'd defended.
Sarah had laughed. "I really don't think he's got them queuing up babe" she said.
"Well, I think he's quite cute. For a bit of casual fun, anyway!"
We did have casual fun back then, and I had kept him at arm's length for a while. After a few months, he found himself out of a flat due to renovations on the rental property, and he'd asked me, really sweetly, if he could stay. It was fun, really, having my fuckbuddy around most days, and we started to bond over other things too. A love of cooking, TV shows, and he started to meet more of my friends as they dropped by. Before I knew it, we appeared to be co-habiting and had met each other's parents. We had a fish tank and shared a car. He'd begun by paying half rent on my place, but soon his home office collection grew, as did my wardrobe, and once he got promoted to store manager, then regional manager, we upsized. I guess he thought it best to lock it down, so we married in a small church in a nearby village surrounded by our friends and family. Everybody said how beautiful I looked. The pictures don't hang up here just yet.
Now he is an executive you should see our home offices. They're both in line with the rest of the house we purchased a just over a year ago. The house he purchased over a year ago, while I sat in our old flat, drank wine alone, cried, and texted Sarah back with "I'm fine, babe, how are you"
My office was one of the only carpeted rooms in the house, and it looked over the rainy little rear garden. My little pale grey cocoon, grey both inside and out. I worked from home sometimes when there weren't clients to meet at our PR firm. That had really been the majority of the time lately since Lucien had taken over. We'd been going through a little downturn of business, and Jasper the previous manager had left us in the lurch. Lucien was extremely nice to us though, and when I did go into the office, I always found a huge tray of pastries and the new coffee machine would be bubbling away. Ergo dynamic office chairs in bright wacky colors started to spring up here and there, and soon we had a clean efficient work environment, no new clients as of yet though. It was quiet these days, aside from the free jazz Lucien sometimes put on in the kitchen, and although the money was okay, we were often a bore, listless workforce.
That cloudy Sunday evening, as I tried on old lingerie that I had finally unpacked from the vacuum bags under the bed, I padded in and out of the office, sending out work emails. I shimmied off the black lace shorts and placed them in one of my already overstuffed drawers and rummaged back in the vacuum bag. I fished out a pair of panties, in a deep plum silk, and stretched them in front of my face. I gasped as I remembered them, or, more specifically, the last time I'd worn them; St Valentine's Day, four years ago. A cream silk ribbon wove in and out of the gusset, tying up the open seam from right at the front, to, well, right at the back. I blushed, thinking about their obvious design; I would have forgotten about these, were it not for my sudden urge to organize the rest of my clothes. I slipped them on; almost getting my toes caught in the fussy ribbon tied hole in the gusset and wiggled them onto my hips. They still fit beautifully. I couldn't help but giggle at myself for even owning them. I sat on the side of the bed and peeked at myself in the mirror. I dared to open my legs slightly, and the ribbon strained, flashing soft pink me though the gaps. When would I ever need crotchless panties again?
I heard a ping from the office and wondered who might have actually responded to one of my last-minute Sunday evening emails, intended to be at the top of my colleague's inboxes first thing in the morning. I threw a short dressing robe over myself and scurried down the hallway into my office. That's when the email had come from Lucien.
"Bonsoir everybody."
Oh gosh, I don't know why but I could hear his deep rumbling voice when I read emails from him, and his thick Parisian accent, which made everything sound haughty and expensive.
"I have booked a big trip for us all, and instead of working in the super boring office next week as we have nobody coming to see us, we will go to the nice resort at the Red Forest place. So, come to work on Monday with your suitcases for one night's stay only, and we will be going for the spa, pool, tennis and then meetings about how we can create a really good team. Obviously, the majority of you know each other for many years now, but I do not get the chance to know many of you so well just yet. So, this will be really good opportunity to find out what everyone is really like! So, see you all there in the morning,
Lucien B."
I stared blankly at the screen. We're going on a team building trip? A residential one nonetheless! Horror coursed through me. I'd gradually cut down my interaction with my colleagues over the last few years, quite successfully, and now Lucien wants us to go and spend a night at a leisure resort? I rose from the plush swiveling chair and paced. I started at the tall shelf of books on the other side of the room. I guessed this might be my chance to finally read some of these, I've had them stockpiling for a couple of years now. That was my solution! I could get paid to sit under a tree, or in the café, and read. Attend the meetings, put forward some tame suggestions about software updates, mind maps and personality tests, keep to myself, enjoy the free food and gym, then slip off early on the Tuesday. Perhaps get some of the redecorating done in the downstairs cloakroom that I wanted to do.
I sat back down at the computer and decided to do a bit of stalking on my new boss. His picture was good, in fact on one particular search result it was more than good. He wore thick-rimmed spectacles, which poked out from beneath his glossy black unruly fringe, and his dark brown eyes sparkled behind them. A slightly open, pale blue shirt framed his tanned collarbones. How had I never noticed how hot Lucien was? His lips were sensual, but firm as he smirked at the camera, showing dimples in his stubbly cheeks. I shifted in my chair, my temperature suddenly rising a little. I clicked on the link to see what it was about. "Workforce happiness in France is at a national high." I giggled. If we could get high at Façade LTD, we'd all be a lot happier.
There was a link to a video website channel called "LucienBissetMondeProfessionel." I followed it and there were several videos to choose from! I scanned quickly and picked one of him wearing sunglasses and an even more open shirt. Good lord, he appeared to be on a yacht! A beautiful sun-drenched boat, off of a coast somewhere. I took a breath and pressed play. He began to drawl in French, I couldn't understand a word, but the obnoxious smile playing around his lips told me that this was another "work" project for him. I wonder what lucky colleagues got to go on this trip. It looked like Cannes, from what I remember of Cannes, and I imagined that PR firms might have many clients there. Maybe I should move there? The sunlight on his dark chest highlighted the soft salty moisture on his skin, and I practically salivated.
The office door swung open, and I jumped. It was Oscar, of course.
