Behind the Green Curtain Read online

  Behind the Green Curtain

  Riley LaShea

  Behind the Green Curtain

  Copyright 2013 Riley LaShea

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form, without written permission of the author.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Note From Author

  Chapter 1

  Halston & Company was like any office of its kind. The people at the top made all the money, while the work fell through the floors to pile on those at the bottom. It was an indisputable fact of life that insinuated itself into Caton’s cubicle one random Tuesday morning in September when her supervisor appeared at her shoulder with the jolting abruptness of a Jack-in-the-box.

  “Could you make copies of this?” the woman barked with more irritation than authority, as if she too had just been interrupted by the work of someone else.

  “Yeah, sure,” Caton replied, swiveling her chair in time to have a heavier-than-it-looked file dropped into her lap. Grunting as her supervisor walked off without a hint of thanks, Caton pushed up from the faux leather desk chair and headed for the copy room.

  As far as she could tell from the snarky comments and water-cooler complaints that made up the background noise of the office, she was a minority of one, but she couldn’t care less what she did each day as long as the checks kept coming, and she wasn’t about to complain. She had lied to get the job, rounding down her education after the dozenth interviewer called her overqualified when she possessed minimal qualifications at best. A fancy degree and zero job experience qualified her for absolutely nothing, apparently, and if she had one regret in life it was that no one had asked, “You’re getting a doctorate in Philosophy?” and then slapped sense into her when she responded “Yes” with the misplaced pride of youth.

  The copy room door was barely ajar, but mind about as present as it was on any given workday, Caton failed to heed the warning, walking in on an event in progress that was completely inappropriate, but hardly unexpected. A mostly-closed door at Halston & Company was the equivalent of a sock on the doorknob of a college dorm room, and it wasn’t the first time she had walked in on a similar scene in her eight months on the Halston & Company staff. The owner and CEO, Jack Halston, was a predator, a well-known and disregarded fact. Since the copy room was generally empty and provided the only privacy on the first floor, where entry-level fresh meat was kept on ice, it was one of his favorite hunting spots.

  “I’m sorry,” Caton uttered. That she had seen it, not that she had interrupted. “I’ll come back.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Jack responded, removing only the hand from beneath the front hem of the transcriptionist’s skirt, leaving the one blatantly on her ass. “The more the merrier.”

  As was their customary dance, Caton leveled her eyes at him in a way she hoped conveyed how much that wasn’t going to happen and Jack grinned as if he thought himself the cleverest man on the planet.

  “I should get back to work,” the transcriptionist said uncomfortably, stepping out of Jack’s groping hand and pushing her skirt back down her thighs.

  “I didn’t realize you’d stopped.” Caton couldn’t help herself as the woman walked by, and the transcriptionist paused long enough to give her a heated glare before continuing from the room.

  “Looks like it’s just the two of us,” Jack said. “Come on in.”

  Making a deliberate show of pushing the door fully open, Caton walked to the copier, and Jack backed off, though not far enough for comfort. Placing the first stack of papers in the feed tray, Caton could feel his eyes on her. It took a distinct lack of imagination to know what he was thinking.

  “You know...” Jack took a step closer, as if there was space to spare between them. “We still have room on the seventh floor, and I still think you should apply up there.”

  His hand running down the back of her arm, Caton shrugged it off. “I don’t think I have the skills you look for up there, Sir,” she responded, willing the gears in the copier to turn faster.

  “Oh, I bet you do.” Jack took another step until Caton could feel him just shy of brushing against her. It was the creep equivalent of a four-year-old holding his finger a half-inch from someone’s face and saying ‘I’m not touching you. I’m not touching you,’ and she stopped herself just short of telling Jack as much as his eyes moved over her face. “I think you have all kinds of talents you’re not telling anyone about.”

  Watching the number on the copier count down, Caton’s finger hovered over the stop button, but she knew well that stopping the job mid-print would only result in a paper jam somewhere in the recesses of the machine. The last thing she wanted was to be bent over and preoccupied in Jack’s presence.

  “I know you do some of Jenna’s work when she gets overwhelmed,” Jack switched tactics.

  Amusement overtaking her exasperation, Caton laughed. That was putting it mildly. In the six months since Jenna was promoted to Jack’s personal assistant-cum-courtesan, Caton had done everything that crossed Jenna’s desk, except for Jack, which was one part of her job Jenna was welcome to keep for herself.

  “You shouldn’t let all that talent go to waste,” Jack added, sliding another step into her as the last sheet of paper shot into the catch tray.

  Having to lean into him to fetch the copies, Caton took the move elbow-first and harder than necessary, gratified at the puff of air that expelled from Jack as she retrieved them. “I’m happy where I am,” she declared, gathering the rest of the stack and heading for the door.

  When Jack caught her arm, Caton’s gaze turned deadly, and, releasing her at once, Jack put both hands in the air as if he was the victim of an unfair accusation.

  “It’s nice that you like your job.” He brandished his laser-white teeth. Everyone thought Jack so charming. No one more so than Jack. “But that is a career-stalling attitude. You never get anywhere by being content with what you don’t have. You’ve got everything you need to make it on the executive floor. You shouldn’t be afraid of success.”

  Amazing. He almost made it sound like career advice.

  “I’m not afraid of success,” Caton replied. “I’m afraid of heights.”

  The sound of Jack’s laughter
crawling over her as she left the copy room, she wanted to keep walking, past her cubicle and out the front door. Or to call a lawyer. Jack really needed that kind of intervention. The eyes of her coworkers casting away a pair at a time as she took her walk of shame back to her desk, though, she knew no one in the office would back her up.

  Power bought loyalty. That’s why Jack had both.

  Chapter 2

  Eyes locked on the plate before her, Caton didn’t realize she had stopped seeing it until fingertips digging into the muscle at her shoulder stirred her back into awareness. Groaning appreciatively, she leaned into the touch, and it continued long enough to loosen the tension, before Laura dropped her hand to return to her dessert.

  “You should quit,” she declared, taking a bite.

  “I can’t quit,” Caton responded, picking at the pie on her own plate, unable to stir up the desire to eat it. Pushing it away, she leaned back and stared across the room at Laura’s bookshelf, wondering how anyone managed to align books with such precision. “Not until I find something else.”

  “Why does he keep coming after you?” Laura asked with palpable frustration, before sending a sidelong smile Caton’s way. “I mean, aside from the obvious?”

  “Because I keep saying no, I think,” Caton returned.

  “You can’t be the only woman there who has said no to him,” Laura insisted.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Caton uttered. Thinking back on past encounters with Jack, she tried to remember the number of times she had seen him without a handful of office worker. They were rare to say the least. “I think he also thinks I’m younger than I am.” She got that a lot, though she wasn’t sure if it was due to her youthful appearance or her lack of real world accomplishment. “He probably has fantasies about deflowering a late-life virgin or something.”

  Head turning slowly, Laura licked her lip, smirk revealing her particular amusement at that notion. “Yeah, you’re not that,” she said.

  “No, I’m not.” Caton managed a laugh at Jack’s expense as Laura leaned closer, mouth opening against Caton’s just long enough to tease her with the taste of chocolate.

  Watching Laura return to eating, Caton shifted in her chair, hand sliding up the wool fabric against Laura’s thigh. “Is everything set for the weekend?”

  “Mm hm,” Laura responded, scraping chocolate off her fork as she pulled it from between her lips. “Now, we just have to be there at an ungodly hour Saturday morning to set up.”

  “Do you want some help?”

  “Sure,” Laura returned hesitantly. “You can help set up. You can bring us all breakfast. Then, you can come back here and sleep.”

  Eyes narrowing, Caton watched Laura fork the final bite into her mouth. “I know I’m no expert,” she uttered, slightly jilted. “But I’m sure I can talk to a few kids.”

  “No.” Laura shook her head. “It’s too much.”

  “You do it all the time.”

  “I don’t have to medicate afterwards,” Laura softly countered, turning to maneuver her leg between Caton’s, casually intertwining them, hands braced on either side of Caton’s chair as she leaned closer. “Face it, your heart bleeds too easily to spend a day listening to other people’s problems.”

  “You think I’m weak,” Caton replied without real fight, wanting to defend herself with some little-known truth, far too aware Laura was already stating the truth.

  “It’s not weakness,” Laura responded. “Besides, there are some areas in which you are...” Laura shook her head, gaze trailing down Caton’s throat as she searched for the word. “Mighty.”

  “Mighty?” Even knowing it was praise as diversion, a grin tilted Caton’s lips as she closed her hands around Laura’s hips to draw her closer. “I’ve heard that about me.”

  “It’s true,” Laura breathlessly replied, arms snaking over Caton’s shoulders.

  On her feet in an instant, Caton pulled Laura up with her, and, leaning in to place a fleeting kiss against her lips, Laura dropped her hand into Caton’s and tugged her toward the bedroom.

  Chapter 3

  Spotlights cast the grandeur of the Halston residence against the black backdrop of night as Jack’s car curved around the driveway and came to a stop on the gray cobblestone. All other lights were off, even the porch light, Jack noted, as he climbed out of the driver’s seat and glanced toward the sky, trying to predict the chance of rain.

  It would take only a few extra minutes to put the car in the garage, but, at the late hour, those minutes were precious, and he needed as much sleep as he could finagle out of the few hours left before morning. Every time they met, he swore Jenna discovered a new talent, each more tiring than the last. Usually by this point, Jack would be on the verge of boredom, would see the end of the affair in sight, but as long as Jenna kept up her level of enthusiasm, he could only picture a long-term position for her.

  Angling awkwardly so as not to block the glow of the spotlight, he managed to get his key into the lock and let himself in. Toeing the door closed, he entered the key code for the alarm and was halfway out of his coat when a shadow fell over him. Arms bound by the fabric, he whirled around, barely able to make out the familiar form in the living room doorway. “Jesus Christ, Amelia,” he muttered, pulling the coat free and yanking the door of the coat closet open.

  “Did you forget something?” her clipped voice returned from the darkness, and Jack shook his head. If there was anything he hated more than being waited up on, it was his wife’s female mindfucks.

  Glancing past the closet door, he watched Amelia cross her arms over her long silk robe. To any other man, he knew she would be a sight to behold, furious but no less fuck-worthy, but no other man had been forced to behold her for as many years as he had.

  “Was I supposed to pick up toilet paper or something?” he joked, refusing to let her ruin his rather satisfied mood, no matter how many dark porches and idiotic questions she threw at him.

  “The benefit,” Amelia stated.

  “That was tonight?” He didn’t even feign concern. “I forgot.” He hadn’t.

  “I called you seven times. I left messages on your assistant’s voice mail.”

  “We were busy,” Jack returned, unable to keep the smile off his face. Not that he put forth a lot of effort.

  “Oh, I’m sure you were,” Amelia responded.

  “What did you tell everyone?”

  “I told them you were busy,” Amelia answered. “Working.”

  “Good.” Jack closed the door of the coat closet, removing the only barrier between them that was tangible. “So, how did it go?”

  Scoffing, Amelia moved for the stairs, and he sidestepped into her path, bringing her up short, feeling an undeniable sense of enjoyment as her furious gaze rose to his. “What do you want me to say?”

  “How about you’re sorry?” Amelia suggested.

  “I’m sorry.” Jack said the words, but couldn’t remember the last time he actually meant them.

  When Amelia made another attempt to get around him, he grasped her arms with just enough force to keep her in place. Sincere or not, apology wasn’t going to be the last thing she heard from him.

  “What now?” he asked with a shrug. “I apologized.”

  “I spent three months putting this together for you,” Amelia returned, eyes filling with traces of old fire Jack hadn’t seen in some time. “These are your parents, your friends, your associates. I don’t appreciate working on something for you that you can’t even be bothered to attend.”

  “What else do you have to do?” Jack questioned, catching Amelia again as she tried to walk off. “You spend all day in this house with Sole to tend to your every waking need. I spend all day at the office to pay for it. And you’re bitching about a little benefit?”

  “You delegate work to a hundred people,” Amelia shot back. “I can’t delegate being your wife. When I do what you ask me to, I do it. Me. Every plan, every detail, every meeting. I don’t want to do
it, but I do. I know it’s hard for you to believe, Jack, but I do have things I would rather be doing with my time.”

  “What are you saying?” he mocked. “You need an assistant?”

  Sighing and deflating before him, Amelia seemed to come to the realization she cared as little about the conversation as he did. “What I am saying,” she stated without inflection, “is that when I plan a benefit with your parents and your friends, the least you can do is show up. And when you don’t show up, the least you can do is sound sincere when you apologize.” Pulling out of his touch, she at last made it past him to the stairs. “You smell like cheap hotel soap,” she added. “Don’t come to my bed.”

  “Come on now,” Jack called up after her. “You know this soap’s not cheap.”

  Watching her ascend to the upper floors, he was rewarded a minute later with the muffled slam of their bedroom door, and followed its echo. It was almost endearing when Amelia thought she could tell him what to do.

  Chapter 4

  As far as conversations went, the one he’d had with Amelia carried about as much weight as an argument with a cat, but Jack couldn’t let it go. Over the past few months, he had let go of a lot - late-night tiffs, early-morning cold shoulders, over-the-phone discussions about things that didn’t need discussing. Amelia was going through a rebellious stage, it seemed, and it was starting to show.

  The first call he had gotten that morning was from his mother, informing him that Amelia had been less than gracious the night before, answering questions tersely and refusing to smile, even when a smile was the appropriate expression. Righteousness evident in every word, his mother had her own ideas about how to get Amelia back in line, but Jack knew his wife. He knew exactly how far he could and couldn’t push Amelia to get what he wanted from her. His mother was demanding a shove where a nudge would prove more effective, and he wasn’t about to destroy a system that had always worked well for him to appease her.

  Lifting his eyes to the door, Jack knew there was a simple solution to his current dilemma.