Page 18 of Santa's Baby

TIFFANY

The corridors behind the stores are an industrial labyrinth. Back entrances, with pallets upon pallets of Christmas stock being delivered, and staff coming and going. Reuben tips his head to acknowledge anyone passing, but I keep my eyes away from theirs. I must stand out like a sore thumb, and my shield of confidence seems to have vanished into nowhere. It’s weird. I feel too likemeinsideme.

A few storeys up and we’re out of industrial turf. Reuben’s office is on the top floor of the complex and has the kind of vibe I’d expect from the CEO of a place like this. His desk is massive, and his monitors are so big they look cinematic, but I’m way more interested in the montage of pictures he has up on his wall. Framed shots of him doing charity work. Presenting cheques, or awards, or helping out at events. There’s a gorgeous photo of him surrounded by a crowd of pre-schoolers raising their fists in the air. They look so proud of themselves, and he looks so proud of them.

I get another fucking sick jab, right on the underside of my belly.The softest part.

Reuben always seems to work with families… single parents and young kids…

The silver fox Santa clears his throat to get my attention. He’s by a closet in the corner, half out of his costume. My eyes can’t help but rove as he buttons up a fresh shirt. Crazy, really. He’s seen every single inch of my body from the neck down – both inside and out, but until yesterday I’d never seen his face, and he hadn’t seen mine, at least not in the flesh.

He puts on a light grey suit jacket which complements his dark eyes beyond belief, and gestures me to take a seat as he steps behind his desk. I plonk my butt down on the chair and spin it from side to side like a naughty kid. I hate corporate bullshit. I’d never make it through a single week in an office job, I swear. Feels like I’m here for an interview, not a forbidden conversation, so fuck that shit.

Creamgirl takes over me. I flash him the eye as I loosen my coat.

“Are we on safer turf now? No hidden cameras we have to worry about, or spies out to strike? No boogeymen lurking in the corners?”

Reuben leans forward, elbows on his desk.

“Don’t be a smartass, Tiffany. You have no idea what goes on behind the scenes, and you wouldn’t want to.”

I laugh. “You so sure about that? I can’t lie, I kinda have a thing about the founders. You may have noticed. The more terrifying, the better.”

“And you may have noticed you’re always hooded,” he says. “There’s a reason for that.”

He may appear calm on the surface, but my attitude is pissing him off. I can feel his energy without needing to see it, which figures. It’s always been part of my job.

“Don’t worry, Santa. Your dirty secrets are safe with me,baby.”

I pretend zip my mouth shut.

Creamgirl’s walls are scaling high, and my bravado is grating me – so fuck knows how it’s grating Reuben with no dick action involved. In a way I wish my entertainer mode would fuck off and leave me alone for a while, but I’d feel kinda floppy without it.

Vulnerable.

Scared.

Reuben doesn’t speak, and neither do I. He stares at me, and I stare back, with Creamgirl’s smirk still coy on my lips, playing the horny hooker. I figure he’ll break first and launch into convo, but his eyes don’t waver, and he sits deadly calm, as though he has all the time in the world.

It’s weird. Really fucking weird.

I feel more exposed with his eyes on my face than I do in a hood with my asshole stretched open. The way it makes my heart race is ridiculous.

I swing in my chair, finally breaking the lock of our eyes to point over to one of the pictures on the wall.

“You seem like a nice guy.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d never have expected you to be one of the founders if I hadn’t bounced my butt on your lap. I wouldn’t have put you down as one. Never. Not in a million years.”

“Really? And why is that?”

I shrug. “Just wouldn’t. Helping homeless families one minute, then spraying piss all over bound, bruised tits the next. Kinda weird combination.”

I lock eyes again to see if my words have hit, but he’s still as composed as ever.

“I really can’t see how those two interests are related. Everything we do at The Agency is completely consensual and well rewarded. Entertainers can tap out at a moment’s notice, as you know.” He pauses. “We’re not devil worshipping savages,Tiffany. We’re a collection of men who like hardcore sex, and hence set up The Agency to facilitate it.”