Cake Love: All Things Payne
Read Cake Love: All Things Payne Online
Authors: Elizabeth Lynx
By Elizabeth Lynx
Copyright 2015 Elizabeth Lynx
Published by Elizabeth Lynx
Editing by Silvia’s Reading Corner & Marla Esposito
Cover Photo by egorr & hennyka & George.M. & Voyagerix
Cover Design by Elizabeth Lynx
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to situations, locations, persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
License Notes
Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.
My reasoning behind Cake Love order…
Rules of Payne 2: Electric Boogaloo
Chapter 2 - THE After Effects ...
Chapter 7 - THE Holiday Party ...
Chapter 8 - THE Zipper Incident ...
Chapter 9 - THE Payneful Reminder ...
Chapter 11 - THE Assistant ...
Chapter 12 - THE Phone Call ...
Chapter 18 - THE Confrontation ...
Chapter 22 - THE Payne Perspective ...
Chapter 23 - THE Sleepover ...
Chapter 24 - THE Big Movie ...
Chapter 25 - THE Disagreement ...
Chapter 29 - THE Drunk Dial ...
For that I flip to the movie extras. The commentary or deleted scenes or actor interviews. I’m the type of person who likes to know everything about the stuff I love.
Therefore, when I decided to put Cake Love in order I put The Payne In The Blog last. Even though it starts when Henrik and Morgana meet, I felt that it was just the extra stuff to their story. The ‘behind the scenes’ if you will of Rules of Payne. Feel free to read it any order you choose, but I hope you understand my reasoning behind the order to this collection.
Thank you and enjoy Cake Love…
Morgana's Problem: Her Boss
"My boss is a good man."
Staring at my reflection trying desperately to believe what is coming out of my mouth I zero in on my eyes, the gateway to the soul. Perhaps there is also a side entrance I can take so my mind believes this.
"He is good at his job."
This is true. I notice the golden flecks perk up in my iris as I state this truth. Hmm. Perhaps if I wear sunglasses while talking to clients about to meet him they won't notice the lies coming out of my mouth when they ask about Mr. Henrik Payne, aka VP Payne-in-my-ass.
I'll try one more.
"I don't want to sleep with him."
The golden flecks disappear from my hazel eyes as the lie dulls the sparkle. It's too obvious when I am telling the truth and when I am not. As I think of his crystal blue eyes breaking me with their stare or how his thick muscles strain under the tailored cotton of his shirt, it's hard to pretend I am not utterly attracted to the man.
After fixing the flyaway strands of my red tresses, I shut my compact mirror and throw it back in my purse hidden in the bottom drawer of my dark brown desk. He's about to walk in any moment. I look up at the slick modern clock over his large wood grained door, 8:29 with the second hand on the 11.
And five...four...three...two...one.
I hear a swish and look over to see his tan shoes scraping the gray carpeted floor as he briskly walks toward me. Mr. Payne's phone cemented to his left hand while his right holds the brown briefcase containing the usual: laptop, manila folder with the Denton file, and one pack of Extra spearmint gum.
His tall firm body encased in a slim navy suit stops at my desk. A pair of arctic blue eyes lift and focuses on me for the standard brief second, causing my heart to flip flop and breath to hitch, before returning their attention back to his Samsung Galaxy S5 as he swivels to go into his office. Mr. Payne leaves his door ajar indicating his need for morning coffee. Much like the Pavlovian condition, I hop to my feet as the several months as his assistant has created this learned response.
I head down the hall past walls of glass overlooking large Chicago skyscrapers and a sea of dark wood cubicles and into a doorway in the middle of a white wall that is our office kitchen.
"Mornin' sucka." My banter directed at the only person in the room, Grace, the receptionist, a waifish girl that would have given early 90’s Kate Moss a run for her money. I like her despite her unhealthy obsession with Mr. Payne. Geez, I am one to talk.
She is young, fresh out of college, and I, at the ripe old age of thirty, try my best to seem cool with hip talk – very outdated hip talk. Fortunately for me Grace is a voracious bibliophile. I think I am more knowledgeable on current trends then she.
"Good morning Morgana. How is the Payne this morning?" She is cradling her yellow flowered teacup as if it is the only source of heat in this building.
I walk over to the coffee pot nestled on the faux gray marble counter next to the stainless steel sink and proceed to prepare Mr. Payne's coffee just as he prefers—black, like his heart. Turning back around to face Grace who is seated at the small round generic table I watch as she fights with a loose tendril of her dark hair that keeps escaping from her restrictive bun. As I lean back onto the counter, bringing the warm green mug to my lips, I take a sip. Then another. After that, another.
"Oh you know the same as usual. No 'Good morning Ms. Drake' or 'Hello plebe', just a door left open so I can play fetch." I raise the coffee to illustrate my point and then bring it back to my lips for another gulp.
She sighs and her emerald eyes veer off to the corner of the ceiling while nodding.
"He is fetching."
Is society bringing back the word fetching? I'll have to Google it and then cross-reference Twitter about the matter.
"Yes, well I better get back or he might be forced to use my name to find me." I fake horror and almost spill the half full cup of black crap all over my blue silk blouse. It was a purchase at full retail price which is very rare for me, but it is stunning and the cut fits my body perfectly. This is an unusual department store find. When I stumble upon something so perfect, stinginess be damned. Plus, it goes perfectly with my brown pencil skirt.
I grab a napkin off the counter, wipe my red lipstick stain from the rim and refill the cup. I wave bye to Grace as she continues her warm tea hugs. As I ease closer to Mr. Payne-in-the-ass’s office, I hear talking. His voice echoes through the hall and it does not escape my attention that this particular corridor, which is very close to the bathrooms, is empty. Anytime his office door is open, people -- up to and including the President of the company -- steer clear of his radar.
I steady my shoulders and brace myself before entering the war room, aka Mr. Payne-in-the-ass’s office. Double checking my gear: large fake smile...check; coffee full, black and seemingly undrunk...check; no stains on clothing...check. All seems to be in order as I walk across the threshold.
He is seated with his chair back facing me. I see his reflection in the wall of windows and notice his eyes fixated on the buildings jutting up from Michigan Avenue. Even just his reflection is causing my heart to race and my panties to dampen. I hate that he does this to me. No matter how angry I am with him, one look at his gorgeous eyes or sexy smirk and I am reduced to a puddle. Damn you hormones!
He is on a phone call so I silently place his cup on his desk hoping to get out unnoticed.
"Yes, that is what I said. If he expects to be given a discount because he went to school with Mr. Mimir then he needs to be reminded this is the twenty-first century. Money is..."
I am about half-way across the room when I hear, “Ms. Drake, please sit.”
Balling my fists at my side I shut my eyes and breathe. Deep cleansing breaths that yoga guru's swear by are doing nothing for me at this moment except making me light headed.
"You got this Morgana!"
I hear my brain whisper to me.
"Not now Brain. I have to talk to my boss."
My Brain stares and then rolls her squiggly eyes at me.
"Just trying to help Morgana. You seem to need a lot of that lately."
My brain is right. You see Mr. Henrik Payne, VP of Sales and Marketing at Mimir, the third largest online retailer, and I have a past. Our past may be brief, with the almost four months having known him, but it is filled to the brim with ups and downs. Let me list you in chronological order the 'main' events:
1. There was the time he got drunk at the holiday party a week after I was hired and passed out trying to go down on me.
2. When he fingered me a few weeks later, bringing me to the point of orgasm and then walking away like an asshole.
3. Also, he got me fired; well put on leave with no pay, because the head of HR walked in on us about to get it on.
4. I got another job to help pay the bills, and when he attended a meeting at my new job he had sex with me on the conference table. Can you guess what happened? Yeah, I got fired. Notice a pattern yet?
5. Last but not least, we admitted we had feelings for one another. Everything was great; I got my job back at Mimir and then the cold shoulder. That's right, no romantic love behind closed doors or even a quickie in the closet, just total utter you-don't-exist-Ms.Drake from him since.
He is good at acting like nothing happened and that I am nothing to him. This would be fine as his assistant if we haven’t had SEX. But, I'm not bitter. Stop looking at me like that!
I admit I let all this happen. You could say I am partly to blame too. For any other man I would have put a stop to this toying of my emotions -- and vagina-- long ago. But with Mr. Payne I just can't help myself. He must have some hypnotic like powers that he wields at me with his eyes and hands and penis.
So, now I do my best to remind him every day of what happened. A short skirt that happens to reveal my thigh highs or a low cut blouse that may or may not cause my boobs to fall out. Don't you just hate it when that happens?
"What are you doing Morgana?"
My Brain has folded her squiggly arms and is glaring at me.
"I'm winking at the reader to show I am joking."
Brain shakes her head at me.
"Oh Morgana, you look like a cow having an epileptic seizure."
Just before I turn I get myself ready for the attack. My hands come up to my blouse collar to unfasten one, two...and three buttons for good measure. Reaching in my bra I plump up the ladies and shimmy the blouse for perfect viewing. There, now I am ready.
I turn slowly on my jungle print heels and as seductively as I can I glide over to the chair across from his desk and lower myself.
Mr. Payne does not look up from the cell phone that now lay on his sleek wood grained desk. He taps and swipes at it as he reaches over without looking and tries desperately to open his side drawer. As much as the man pulls and shakes the drawer, his dark brown hair getting a good tousle in the process, it will not budge. I wait for his mumble of curses as my cue to walk over to help. This is a high maintenance drawer. It needs two people to help it along.
Once we tug in unison it opens to reveal a few pens and copious amounts of gum. He grabs a piece and before I know it the drawer is shut and his mouth is chewing in a very sexy manner. Yes, it is possible to chew gum sexily. Take those very manly cowboys that are in movies, they usually are chewing on something, and don't you just want to rip their clothes off when they do?
I finally settle back into my seat without a word from Mr. Payne. He's not the “thanks for the help” or “acknowledge your existence" type of person. Unless you have a keyboard and a screen that lights up attached to your body, you are nothing to him.
"Ms. Drake..."
He pauses as his eyes settle on my cleavage. I am wearing a black lace bra today and I know a tiny bit is peeping out for his acknowledgment. He likes my bright color lingerie the best, but black makes me feel sexy so this is what he gets today. And by likes I mean it pisses him off that I taunt him in this manner. His jaw ticks as he flicks his eyes up to mine. I make a point to adjust my glasses knowing it's becoming a little too much for him.
He clears his throat and leans back in his black leather chair, glaring at me.
"We are having some issues with our overseas distributors in Europe, specifically Great Britain. There have been some weather related issues causing problems in shipping. But more importantly there are new laws regarding international corporations and taxes that will cause issues for us there. So, plan on working some late nights over the next few weeks. That is all."
And with that I am waved off like a servant in a nineteenth century country manor home. It would be nice if just once he asked if this is going to cause me problems or take an interest in how this might affect me. He did shove his fingers in my vagina once, well twice actually, oh and his dick, but who's keeping score. You would think he'd make an attempt at social pleasantries with me.
This is the reason for my subtle 'annoyances' that are meant only for him. It's not so much what he did to me, because if I am going to be honest the man knows exactly what he’s doing when it comes to sex. It's how he treats me after. A woman can only take so much I-want-you/This-is-a-mistake for so long before she goes off the deep end.
"Yes Mr. Payne, is that all?" I ask with a sticky sweet smile plastered to my face.
His knuckles are turning white due to the fist he's making and, oh look, his shoulders are tensing up. Does this make me disturbed that I get pleasure in his pain? Probably.
"I. Just. Said. That. Is. All! Have you suddenly gone deaf Ms. Drake?" He is gritting his teeth and sitting up to glare at me. Oh, I must have really hit a nerve today for him to straighten his posture.
"Now, Mr. Payne, what if I had actually gone deaf, wouldn't you feel real bad right about now?" I pout at him and stand to leave. Just as I turn I catch a tiny curl at the corner of his mouth before he lowers his head back to the mobile wonder.
Once I am back to my desk, just outside his door and catty-corner to the bathrooms (I make myself scarce when Ken Brooks, CFO, has his eleven o'clock bathroom break. There is no further explanation needed), I flop onto my chair.
After many client phone calls, calendar adjustments, and sorting through The Payne's emails, I look at the clock on the wall and notice an hour has passed. While most of my day consists of doing the typical assistant work: filing, fetching, and correspondence, Mr. Payne does include me with his ideas and decision making.
I’m not so naïve that I don’t understand this is quite rare for an assistant, especially to an executive of a billion dollar company. As much as I complain about the man, he is an exceptional boss.
I am usually awestruck by how he manages to get clients to easily part with their money as if by doing so they are carrying out a great service for humankind. I can’t help but laugh a little after his meetings with them like they are contributing to the cure for cancer and not just making a deal with a large corporation to make them richer.
I give my body a little stretch and hear a whistle off in the distance. Turning my head I see Evaleen Bechmann, Head of HR, striding toward my desk. Her long blonde ponytail swaying out to the sides of her modelesque frame, her deep blue eyes zeroing in on her intended target, me. Evaleen’s crisp, formless brown pant suit does nothing to disguise her lean but perky body. Every time I see her I wonder why she isn't on the cover of Vogue or walking down a catwalk in New York. Why HR?
