Under the Desk (Billionaire Affair) by Emma France

 
    Under the Desk
     
    At a regular job, I already would have quit. Daily verbal abuse, harsh insults, being talked down to every day, it all adds up. But my job is important. Maybe not in the grand scheme of things - I'm not saving the rain forest or helping feed orphans - but importance is relative, and in the fast paced world of business, I was a necessary cog. An invisible cog to most, but a necessary one. My name is Bayli Kraft, and this is my story of dreams coming true.
    It all began a couple weeks ago, while I was sitting at my desk. As I was typing away, like usual, my boss, Jeffery Franks, interrupts me. "Hey Bay," he calls out from inside his office, through the closed door between us. He liked to call me Bay, but not in an endearing way. Rather, he did it because he was usually too lazy or occupied to bother with a second syllable. "Can you get in here for a sec?" I hollered back a 'yes, sir' and minimized the spreadsheet I was working on. Any excuse to get away from my desk was welcome, even if it was to entertain fools.
    I stepped through the tall oak door and into Mr. Franks' office. It was a large corner office, with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the beautiful vistas of California's San Francisco Bay Area behind it. His desk sat facing the opposite direction, as he wasn't much interested in taking in a view when he could be making money looking at paperwork instead.
    Without bothering to greet me, or even look up at me, he began. "I've got an appointment coming tomorrow. He doesn't have anything scheduled yet, and I don't know when or if he'll make one. We're sort of flying by the seat of our pants on this one, so keep my schedule clear."
    I nodded, even though he wasn't looking at me. "Anything I should know, or put down? For my own reference?" I asked him, curious.
    "He's got money. A lot of money. And I want it. Don't put that down,” he sighs, “but that's the gist of it. Just make sure when he shows up tomorrow he gets in to see me without any hassle or fuss. His name is William Schallert. Back to work, now, Bay." Mr. Franks' eyes maintained focus pointed down at his financial reports. Immediately he puts up a hand and waves it to beckon me out. I turn and leave, closing the door behind me. Stepping over to my desk, I pull out the chair and take a seat. It's unusual for Mr. Franks to take any visitors throughout the day, unless it's a board member. Even then, it usually takes more than one, and they have to have "a damn good reason", as he puts it.
    I write 'W. Schallert' on a sticky note and place it against my monitor. When I first started working, I worried that my bubbly, curvy writing would be out of place in the business world. After seeing how the men in the office hand-write things, though, I realized it wasn't going to be much of an issue. And I understood why we moved to computers over paper and pen.
    Something about Mr. Franks' meeting seems curious to me, even though it's also crystal clear - this is a financial meeting. But with how close knit our community is, I would have heard the name Schallert before if he were as big a name as my boss is acting like he is. My face contorts with thought. Maybe... Maybe he isn't in our line of work , I think to myself. What could Mr. Franks be hiding, and what could Mr. W. Schallert be offering him?
    I give up. I'm just a secretary, after all. No point in over-thinking the going-ons above my pay grade. Opening my project back up with a sigh, I get back to work.
    A few hours pass before I see or hear any sign of Mr. Franks. As the minutes drag on, the repetitive ticking of the second hand on the clock above me fades into a blur. A few minutes past six o'clock, the door behind me opens and Mr. Franks steps out, jacket over his shoulders. He's a handsome man; I'll give him that. Standing about 5' 10", with a wide smile and decently broad shoulders, very short trimmed brown hair, and smooth tan skin.
    I can't deny, when I started working as his