BENEATH THE BOSS (Short billionaire mafia stories)

Episode6

The next day Katherine found herself back at work at Chuckles Comedy Club, forcing herself to concentrate on the day to day business of making people laugh, even as her own demeanor and composure seemed to lose all semblance of its usual good humor. One moment she basked in the sweet memory of Xavier’s kisses and tender caresses; her heart pounding as she imagined herself back in his arms, thrilling her with his every touch as the music of the night surged wild around him. “I’ve never met anyone quite like him,” she reasoned, biting her lip as a surge of unbidden erotic sparks ran wild throughout her entire being. This marked the fifth time that day alone, in fact, that yet another pesky surge of unbidden erotic sparks ran wild throughout her entire being—blast it! “Of course, I know just how to cool myself off,” she mused, leaning back in the cushions of the comfy swivel chair that fronted her desk in the Chuckles back office.

“I’ll just think of that one time my best friend accused my exciting, oh so sexy, new suitor of having mafia ties. That’ll cool a gal’s libido in jig time!” After arriving home from her (mostly) magical night at Club Groove, Katherine had seriously considered calling the place to cancel her date with the club’s owner. Somehow, though, she just couldn’t coax herself to bring an end to the feeling that permeated her body and soul; the intoxication, the natural high that only he seemed inspire within her. “Being involved in the club scene for as long as I have, I happen to consider myself an excellent judge of character. And there is no way that this man is a—oh, I can’t even say it,” she completed on a sigh, adding as she shook her head from side to side, “You know what, as much as I adore Cecily, I should really take everything she says with a grain of salt. Make that a pound or a pillar of salt, maybe even as much salt as I have to pile on my grandma’s mashed potatoes before they are remotely close to palatable.

And that, dear friends, is a whole lot of salt!” Her friend, she had to remind herself, had a love for the dramatic that translated well to her chosen career as an actress and model—but not so well to everyday life, at least in some cases. “She’s just seen The Godfather Trilogy and Married to the Mob one too many times, maybe we did one too many marathons of The Sopranos back in the day,” she reasoned. “Or, maybe she’s just jealous that the best looking gent in the club last night preferred me over her—for once.” She grinned in spite of herself at the very thought, but only briefly. “I just don’t believe that this could be true,” she reasoned. “Could it?” Her troubled meditation was disrupted by the sound of a resounding knock on the club’s back door, one that brought her to her feet as she rushed to answer the summons. “This is usually the time of day that the mail arrives,” she reasoned. “And, today at least, it also happens to be an excellent time for me to get my mind off of the royal mess that is my personal life and actually get some work done.”

With this in mind she opened the door to welcome Clyde, the postman who soon filled her hands with that day’s special deliveries. Soon she found herself back at her desk and sorting through her usual daily round of audition tapes and DVDs from local and national comics, magazines and newsletters pertaining to the comedy industry, and, of course, bills and invoices directly pertaining to the running of a club. Unearthed beneath this pile of expected mail came something most unexpected, a sleek ivory white package wrapped in a lace lined lavender ribbon and marked with a calligraphy pen. “Ambrose Department Store,” she read the return address as a curious tingle raced up the length of her spine, one that seemed to represent a curious mixture of excitement and trepidation. Still she ripped open the elegantly appointed package, revealing as she did a stunning evening gown that almost seemed custom made to showcase her generous curves.

A lavish dress of pure and silky tulle, its lavender hue and lace embroidered applique pattern rendered the garment a work of art. One that she unfolded immediately and ran through her hands with the greatest of admiration. “Beautiful,” she breathed, holding the unfurled gown up to her body and twirling free like a careless school girl. Finally returning to her seat with an uncharacteristic giggle, she took a second look at the package that lay open at the center of her desk, seeing for the first time a piece of crème colored stationery that lay folded at the bottom. Secured with a stamp that bore the image of a scarlet red rose, the sealed letter also was ripped open with little regard to its formal presentation, revealing as it did an official letterhead that also bore the image of the rose, along with an inscribed logo underneath that read, “Ambrose Industries Inc., Clearview, Florida.” “See, Cecily,” she spoke inwardly in her mind. “You were so wrong. Their logo reads Ambrose Industries, incorporated, even! Not Ambrose Mob Family. Ha!” Finally her gaze wandered to the neat handwritten letter emblazoned just below the logo.

One whose long flowing strokes adorned and embellished its luminous surface. “Dearest Katherine,” the missive read. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you since last we met, and I keep willing the week before us to fly past in the span of a heartbeat, so that we can meet again and I can take you out for our first formal dinner.” “As I myself do not have much of a taste in women’s clothes, I have asked our personal shopper at Ambrose Department Store to select our loveliest gown for the occasion of our date. If it is not to your liking, then please come and visit our store, where you now have an open and prepaid account. I am sure that we would have something you do like—and if not, I could contact one of our in house fashion designers to whip up something for you in time for our date.” “OK, hold up just a minute here,” Kat dropped the letter full on the table below her, clutching her head between her hands as she considered these last words.

“You whip up a Dagwood style submarine sandwich for a random midnight snack, not a high fashion, haute couture gown. Wait a minute, did I just repeat myself? Do high fashion and haute couture not mean the exact same thing, or nearly so? Oh never mind, this dude is just unreal.” Retrieving the letter from its place on her desk, Kat proceeded to peruse the last few lines of her fresh delivered letter. “Whenever you try on the dress, sweet Kat, imagine my hands all over you,” the note read. “And with that, my beauty, I bid you farewell—or, so I prefer to say, see you soon. With greatest affection, Xavier.” Once again setting the letter aside, Kat collapsed back into the cushions of her seat and stretched languidly; more than living up to her feline namesake as she sprawled and purred in a state of heat.

In her mind’s eye she pictured herself back on the floor at Club Groove, dancing nice and slow with her stunning companion. Then she went deeper into the fantasy, imagining their bodies entwined in another setting and context. “Oh dear,” she blinked, righting herself in her chair as she cleared her throat loudly. “So it’s been altogether too long since I, um, dated. And oh Lordy does it ever show.” Yet as she set aside her ebullient gift package and forced herself to focus instead on her freshly delivered audition tapes, she knew that she could not blame her fevered, newly aroused state on the singular, and, for her, not terribly unfamiliar, state of “going without” for too long. “He is doing this to me,” she admitted. “It’s him.”