A mouthy, conceited young businesswoman meets her ticklish demise in the rear seat of her chauffeur's car. M/F
- I -
On the corner of a busy intersection, Henry found himself slumped over the steering wheel of his black sedan, gazing up at an office building. It was an imposing structure, with polished aluminum and mirrored glass panels stretching toward the clouds. A modern engineering marvel, it towered over everyone at street level, appearing as a physical manifestation of vertical career trajectory and near-endless business aspirations. But, the same could be said about dozens of similar buildings that littered the downtown core and blocked the sky from view.
The drone of rush hour traffic grew steadily louder. Hordes of pedestrians ambled by; a sea downturned heads staring at their devices. How they managed to maneuver through the crowd without colliding with another human being was remarkable, Henry thought, shortly before rolling up his window in an effort to silence the grating sounds of the city.
After several years as a chauffeur, he'd grown accustomed to the noise - and clientele - but, it never became any easier. It didn't matter who he picked up; male or female, young or old, it was all the same. Interchangeable people wearing tailored suits, briefcases in hand, wearing polished leather dress shoes or high heels. Everyone had somewhere to go, and little time to spare. Finding someone who could slow down and have a chat was a rarity, it seemed, and he'd accepted that he was looked upon as a service to be used. The days were long, navigating congested streets and avoiding jaywalkers who darted out in front of moving vehicles without a second thought. Not to mention ongoing roadwork at multiple points throughout the city, bringing traffic to a standstill for longer than he thought possible.
His hand drifted toward the car's stereo controls, incrementally twisting the tuning knob, but mile-high towers of steel and concrete hindered the satellite signal, leaving nothing but harsh static; white noise that sounded eerily similar to the cityscape on the other side of his window. This, coupled with passing vehicles and shuffling bodies on the crowded sidewalk, ensured Henry was able to focus on little else.
Reaching in his shirt pocket to retrieve a small comb, Henry ran it through his neatly parted, coal-black hair, then returned it to the pocket while switching off the radio for good. He'd finally accepted the ambient background chatter of countless passersby on their way home, envious that his day hadn't also come to an end. But, he had one last client to pick up, and evidently punctuality was not her top concern. Withdrawing a pen from the coils of his well-worn notebook, Henry scrawled his estimated time of arrival and indicated the client's tardiness in the margin. It was a proven method of keeping on track, ensuring each pick-up and drop-off was prompt, while also jotting any notes regarding specific client needs.
One late pick-up would ordinarily throw off his entire schedule, affecting not only his other clients but his wallet as well - being penalized for someone else's error was not something he tolerated when it came time to collect his weekly paycheque - but in this case, it wasn't as much of an issue. After six o'clock he was technically on his own time, meaning the stress of adhering to a strict itinerary was off his mind, enabling him to wind down after another day of time constraints. After driving this final client to her home, he'd be headed to his own, and that pleasant thought did something to brighten his mood, if only slightly.
Yet as time ticked on his impatience grew, and he double-checked his driver's log to ensure he'd arrived at the correct location. He'd visited this section of town before - it was a frequent stop - but this wasn't his typical route, and was therefore unfamiliar with today's client list. The most recent message in the log indicated this was exactly where he needed to be, so he closed his eyes and resigned himself to waiting a little longer.
***
A rapid knock on the tinted glass window woke him with a start. A glance toward the clock on the dashboard indicated it was nearly six-thirty, and it appeared his wayward client had finally surfaced.
A brunette was standing to the immediate right of his car, shoulders squared as she squinted her hazel eyes in his direction. She was quite tall, though he imagined her imposing height was aided by a pair of high heels. Her olive skin was aglow with the light of the setting sun, bathed in splendid hues of pink and orange, amplified by countless mirror-like panes of glass from surrounding office buildings. Her arms were folded, a look of irritation on her thin face as she withdrew a small leather handbag from under her arm, using it to rap on the glass once more. As their eyes met, she tilted her head slightly and began tapping a foot impatiently against the concrete sidewalk. She appeared younger than his usual clients, likely twenty-five, give or take a few years.
"Door," came her muffled voice from the passenger side of the vehicle.
She was wearing formal business attire, dressed neatly in black, and although this elegant choice of clothing was commonplace, she pulled it off better than most. The multitude of gold rings decorating her slender fingers glittered in the sunlight as she adjusted the bold, black-framed glasses resting on her nose, while a matching gold necklace lay flat against her collarbone, leading his eye to her plunging neckline and ample cleavage.
"Door," she repeated sternly after clearing her throat.
Once his eyes had refocused somewhere slightly more appropriate, Henry couldn't help but wonder what she did for a living. One could assume she was a lawyer, or at the very least, a paralegal. Alternatively, she might be an assistant of sorts, though her stunning silhouette and stern facial expression led him to believe she held a position of power and wasn't confined to a reception desk on a daily basis.
The blazer she wore over her white dress shirt was perfectly tailored, hugging her curves while accentuating her lean, athletic figure. It was paired with a knee-length pencil skirt; high-waisted and flattering. Altogether it was a polished, professional appearance. She projected a look of superiority, from her clothing and jewelry to her body language, effortlessly exuding confidence without moving a muscle.
"Ahem,"
She cleared her throat yet again, plainly attempting to grab his attention. With a furrowed brow she tilted her head to the side while motioning with her eyes toward the rear passenger door handle.
"Would you care to unlock the car, or shall I begin walking home?" she asked, loudly enough to be heard over the traffic whizzing by. "I wouldn't mind, you know, it's a lovely evening. It's just that these pumps aren't the most comfortable things to wear, and I have quite a ways to go."
She looked down at her feet, then back at Henry, a wry grin appearing on her face.
"Ah, yes. Of course, of course. I'm so s-sorry, ma'am," came his eventual reply, stumbling over words as she pulled him from quiet rumination.
Henry's hand fumbled to locate the button to unlock all four doors, first pushing the window locks, receiving nothing but an audible 'click' and a glower from his aggravated client. Upon finding the correct button, he opened his door into traffic - regretfully so, as choice words were spoken by passing motorists informing him of his intelligence level - in an attempt to make his way to her side of the car to open the door.
"No, my dear. Stay where you're at," she spat, holding up a hand and halting his advance. "I'm capable of letting myself in. And the last thing I need is to fill out paperwork tomorrow morning regarding the untimely demise of my chauffeur."
Upon opening the door she looked him in the eye once again, then said, "Please, get in before you hurt yourself,"
