Happy Friday! It’s time for another installment in Frisky Friday Flash Fiction. You know the drill. I provide a picture and the first lines of a 300 word story. I’ll post the remainder next week.
Let’s look back at the previous story.
I don’t normally interview applicants, but this one intrigued me. Never have I met anyone willing to beg to work for me.
“Why do you want to work for me, Miss Baxter?”
“Mr. St. Cyr, I need this job. I’m new in town and could use the money.”
“I don’t do charity.” At least I haven’t done Charity in years. Unfortunately, she’s no longer with us.
“I’m not looking for any.”
I notice the fading bruises on her arm. She tugs at her sleeve. “I also don’t provide shelter.”
Her full lips tremble. “Please. I don’t know where else to find what you’re offering.”
I walk around the desk and get a better look at her appearance. The tight skirt and high heels prove she can follow directions. The blouse buttoned to her neck, however, screams she’s hiding something.
Maybe she’ll scream for me.
“If I give you what you desire, what will you give me in return?”
“You seek protection. I’ll give it to you. I’ll meet all your needs.”
Julie finally smiles. “What do you want?”
“Loyalty. Obedience. Companionship.”
“Done,” she says without hesitation.
I reach behind me, grab the contract, and hand it to her. “Read it carefully. You must promise your undying faithfulness to me. You shall remain by my side and take care of all my needs.”
Her eyes scan the multi-page document. Her eyebrows knit together. “This isn’t normal,” Julie remarks.
Of course, it’s not. It wasn’t when I signed it a century ago. “Your expectations of normalcy, I’m afraid, are naïve.”
“If you want protection and freedom from worry, you’ll sign it.” I place a pen before her.
Julie picks up the writing instrument. “Maybe I should have a lawyer look at it.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Sign or leave.”
And now for this week’s story:
The counter bounced with the last rumble. Three seconds later, lightning lit up the room. Her hands snaked around my waist and her breath heated the space between my shoulder blades.
“I find thunderstorms sexy. Don’t you?” she asked.