Behind the Green Curtain by Riley Lashea

news.
    “When you come in Monday, you’ll be
upstairs.”
    “Oh, okay,” Caton responded,
glancing away, feeling the panic of not knowing rear up. “Why?”
    With a shrug that indicated she had
no idea what had happened on the floor below, Sole walked to the bar to start
dicing. “Amelia needs your help with some project.” She glanced up just long
enough to toss Caton a smile. “Congratulations. Sounds like you’ve been
promoted.”
    The situation was not without
irony, Caton acknowledged, as she’d made her way to her car. Refusal to play
the games at Halston & Company had led her to her current career placement,
and, somehow, she had still managed to fuck her way to the upper floors.
    ~ ~ ~
    With a change in position came a
necessary change in attire. That was Caton’s internal excuse for ditching the
casual wear and the conservative clothing choices she wore largely to keep Jack
at bay for something more presentable and flattering. She knew she had overdone
both when she walked through the kitchen door and Sole did a double-take, her
brief glance turning into a lingering gaze that made Caton shift in place.
    “Good morning,” Sole smiled.
    “Good morning,” Caton replied,
uneasily. “Do you know where she wants me?”
    Smirk flashing over Sole’s lips,
Caton wished she had chosen any other phrasing. “She’ll be down for you,” Sole
assured her. “Just relax.” As if that was possible. “Do you want some coffee?”
    Managing no more than a nod, Caton
walked to the bar and steadied herself on the edge, trying to ignore the
erratic excitement and gnawing trepidation threatening to combine into hysteria
inside of her. Glancing over her shoulder as Sole poured the steaming liquid,
she watched her back, both anticipating and fearing Amelia’s entrance, not sure
she could endure too sudden an appearance. Hearing the thud of the mug hitting
the bar, she turned back, picking up the offering Sole pushed toward her and
watching the coffee slosh dangerously close to the rim before returning it to
the flat surface in an effort to prevent second degree burns.
    “What are you afraid she’s going to
do to you?” Sole questioned.
    Eyes flashing upward, Caton forced
a laugh that was meant to sound casual, but came out more demented than
anything. “Nothing,” she croaked. “I’m not afraid.”
    “You shouldn’t be,” Sole countered
gently. “You know, Amelia’s really not who she seems.”
    Caton was fairly certain she knew
that better than just about anyone, but it was easier to pick up her coffee and
sip mindlessly than let her mind wander down that track. “No?” she tossed out
absently.
    “When I came to this country,” Sole
continued. “I spoke hardly any English. Amelia made sure I still got this job.
She made it so I could move into the guesthouse, so I would have more money to
send home. She even got me an English tutor, and every day she would take time
to talk to me so I could practice. She’s kinder than she wants people to know.”
    Amelia was definitely not the
public portrait she painted, Caton silently agreed, coming in straight from a
workout to fuck her in the middle of a dusty basement. Leaving her utterly
undone without any remorse wasn’t exactly what Caton would call kind, though.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she uttered.
    The sound at her back drawing her
attention instantly, she watched Amelia walk in with her usual self-assured
perfection. If the Amelia from Friday was a hot mess, Monday-morning-Amelia was
a perfectly-coifed aristocrat, in a pencil skirt and tailored blouse,
unbuttoned just enough to divert Caton’s attention. It was hard to believe the
two were one in the same, and Caton wondered if the event of the previous week
had actually taken place at all.
    “Good morning,” Amelia greeted, and
the instantaneous reaction of Caton’s body assured her it had. Apparently, she
couldn’t even hear Amelia’s voice without feeling those hands on her,
abnormally