Reputation

As always:

Thanks to rf-fast for the editing work. Your insights are what takes this story from mindless drivel to readable.

Happy Reading!

*****

Reputation:

Reputation: an act or a series of acts that defines the perception of yourself in others.

Now that is not Webster's definition but one of my own, as at the moment I do not have a dictionary in front of me. The results could be positive or negative and the effects are long lasting. The acts could come from years, months, or weeks of habitual redundancy, or in my case, a single, solitary moment in time. And for me, my reputation in the office in which I work is that of a depraved soul. But still, that doesn't explain why I am gagged with a shroud over my head while being tied down to a chair. And the very reason I do not have a dictionary in front of me.

I was late. It was my first day at Windham Securities, a firm that deals with investments for the most wealthy of individuals. Some wanted stock advice, some wanted retirement assistance, and some only wanted use of our accounting services, but all were prestigious. I was doing my best to make up for the time lost, running as fast as I could in my navy blue suit and fake oxford shoes. As it turns out, running is not the greatest of actions to do when you have poor quality shoes and two left feet. Passing by the bushes that lined the cement walkway I was on, I saw the finish line. I also saw Janet Crosby. She had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and was wearing a red executive business suit that screamed power. She was my soon to be coworker and she was being kind enough to hold open the door for me. As I got close, I smiled at her. I also tripped. With the speed in which I was going, my action was more like a dive, a head first aerial assault onto the aforementioned Janet Crosby. When the dust settled, I was lying on top of the poor woman with my right hand unceremoniously enjoying the feel of her left breast. With several eyewitnesses viewing the event, my ineptitude at running became sexual harassment.

I was embarrassed but determined as I explained myself to the human resources director, thankful there was a security camera in the lobby to show my side of the tale.

"Troy Miller," Mark Driscoll, the head of Human Resources started. "I understand that this was an accident but I also cannot ignore the results of what happened. You are admonished from this instance, but if you slip up just once more, the company will be forced to let you go. You are now on probation for six months."

My job was saved but not my reputation. Gossip spread across the office like wildfire and I was henceforth known as the Depraved Demon of Windham Securities. No matter how polite or nice I was, hell I even spent forty dollars on cookies a colleague was selling for their kid, it was always assumed I was just playing an angle. Some feared me, some wouldn't speak to me even if we were working on the same project, but most just looked at me with abject disgust. I just couldn't shake my reputation.

Despite the drawbacks, I was determined to make my mark in the financial world. I followed the market, dissected trends, meticulously analyzed companies and prospects. If a stock would allow even a penny of growth, I jumped at it. I was also great at reading my clients. For instance, I had two small business clients say, "I want my company to be environmentally conscious." One said it and meant it. The other meant, 'I want my company to 'appear' to be environmentally conscious.' I knew what was required simply by the client's body language. I worked late every evening, pouring over the portfolios of what few clients I had to ensure their futures were secure.

It was another late night at the office and just like the others, I was alone. I finished a retirement plan for a client, one that would provide enough equity so he and his wife could live until they were a hundred and fifty and still be financially comfortable, grabbed my briefcase, and made my way to what is always my last stop before vacating the building; the restroom. When I reached the door, I realized my shoe was untied, so I did what anyone would do; I knelt down and took hold of the laces.

A creak of a door and the sound of two footfalls had me looking up at a woman who I have never seen before. She was gorgeous, but not in a supermodel or curvaceous type of way. Those never interested me. Her face appeared soft, her hair, black in color, cascaded down to her lower back, and she dressed in a navy blue blouse, a black skirt, with a black overcoat. The fabric was of obvious high quality and not something off the rack at a department store. Everything about her screamed innocent and wealthy... all except her dark brown eyes, piercing in nature, and they radiated a sense of danger. One glance into them and I knew she could beat me to an inch of my life or further if she so chose. And I couldn't look away. Just one look and I was already infatuated with the woman before me.

"I see what you are doing, Troy!" The voice of Janet came from behind and I turned my head just in time to see her purse arching down toward me. "I can't believe you would have the audacity to look up a client's skirt, you pervert." The force of the blow was enough to flatten me to the ground. What did she have in there, a cinder block?

I struggled to stand, more out of fear from being attacked again. "I was not looking up her skirt. I was tying my shoe when she came out of the bathroom."

Janet shook her head, let out a disgusted huff, and rolled her eyes at me before focusing back on her client. "Allow me to apologize, Triela. Please know that his actions in no way reflect the high standards that Windham Securities is known for and furthermore I will ensure this animal is dismissed first thing in the morning."

"Thank you, Janet, but that isn't necessary." Triela glanced over her shoulder as the two of them headed for the exit and she smirked at me, "I'm sure he has learned his lesson."

"Well I appreciate your forgiving nature." Janet then stopped a few steps short of the elevator. "I just realized I left my keys in the office. Do mind seeing yourself out?"

"Not at all, I'll see you next month."

The elevator doors opened and Triela entered. Janet turned on her heels and headed back to her office. I pushed open the men's room door, not at all looking forward to another human resources interrogation come morning.

I did my business in the restroom and stepped in the hallway. I noted that Janet's office light was still on and debated about heading down there to attempt to diffuse the situation but decided against it. Why bother? It would just invite an argument and allow Janet to insult me more without hearing a word I say. Instead, I went the other direction and pushed the down button on the elevator.

Exiting the building, I inhaled deeply. The cool night air filled my lungs and as it always does, helped dissipate my stress. I gingerly started walking down the walkway, appreciating the few stars I could see through the light pollution the city was emitting.

My attention was diverted from my astronomy hobby by the sound of a gunshot. I paused. It came from our parking lot, the same parking lot that was my destination. A few more paces and I glanced around the building to see a terrible scene. Two very large men had grabbed Triela, one by her feet and the other by her arms, and were trying to force her into a white van. She was struggling with all her might.

"Fuck you, assholes!"

I thought those words were odd as I assumed most people would cry out for help. She wiggled a foot loose and planted her heel in the face of one of her attackers. The brute fell to one knee, blood coming from his cheek where the small heel of her shoe cut into him.

I took that as my opening. I charged the goon that was still holding Triela.

"Dumb Bitch!" The man I was going after took hold of her head and slammed it into the side of the van. He straightened his overcoat as she slumped to the ground. "There, now you can't cause any trouble."

I swung my briefcase - I should thank Janet for implementing the idea for that maneuver - and it crashed down on his back, pushing him against the side of the van. I continued to blindly thrash about, wielding my briefcase with the expert precision as a newborn does with its rattle.

When my strength was exhausted, I opened my eyes to learn the truth about the carnage that I'd done. I expected to see blood everywhere, a corpse on the ground, maybe even Triela preparing to give me a kiss on the cheek for heroically saving her, but no. What I got was two Italian thugs laughing at my poor excuse for fighting techniques.

"What do you call that, The Trying to Swat a Fly attack?"

"Wait, I know, it was the Briefcase Fanning move. He must have thought our van overheated and he was trying to cool it down!"

"What he did was the I'm butting into other people's business so I'm going to get fucked up assault."

As I was being laughed at, I glanced down and saw Triela. Her face was a mess as she already had a large lump from where her head was forced into the side of the van and there was blood coming from her nose. There was a gun right next to her. I knelt down and placed two fingers to her neck, hoping for a pulse.

"Hey, whaddaya think you doin'?"

I breathed a sigh of relief and looked up. The sight of a gun pointed at my head startled me. "I was just checking to see if she was alive."

"She don't concern you no more." The thug on the left said before glancing at his partner. "Whaddaya think we should do with this guy? He was pretty entertaining."

"He deserves the choice for that." The second brute responded before asking me, "Do you want to see it coming or do you want turn around?" He finished by combining a shoulder shrug and making a quick movement with both his hands as if saying 'he didn't care.'

"Uh."

"Sorry guy, but this is goin' to happen." The first goon cocked his gun at me.

I can't believe this is how I'm going to die. I closed my eyes and tensed up, waiting for the end.

Two shots rang out almost simultaneously which were followed by two dilapidated groans and two thuds. Was I dead? Am I having an out of body experience? Because I didn't feel a thing. I didn't see the light, my life didn't flash in front of my eyes, and no dead family members suddenly appeared. My eyes creaked open to see the two thugs with bullets in their heads and me... my hands quickly explored my body and sure enough, I was fine. "Ha, ha!" I screamed with excitement.

And that's when everything went black.

*

I awoke groggy and with a ferocious migraine. I went to rub my head, but found I couldn't as I was tied to the chair I was in. I went to open my eyes but it didn't matter as I had a shroud over my head, and I went to scream but all that came out was the sound Charlie Brown's teacher as I was gagged. What the hell? Despite my secure position in the chair, I struggled for freedom. I probably looked like I was having a seizure.

"Calm down." The voice was stoic and exuded authority and I did stop. "You ain't leavin'." I heard footsteps circling me. "We only brought you back here because Triela deserves to have vengeance on her attackers and after that, we want you to give Salvatore a message. Well, we'll put a note in your body bag."

I really began to struggle now. "I didn't do anything! Let me go!" That's what I said, but it actually came out as "Ah ihin ooh nyhing! Et ee oh!"

"Oh for Christ's sake. Lorenzo, if I wanted to hear him bitch and whine I wouldn't have had you gag him."

"Sorry Boss. Do you want me to fix it?"

"No, don't fix it. I enjoy having this guy interruptin' every thought I fuckin' have because he doesn't understand there's a reason I have him gagged."

There was a few seconds delay. "Of course you should fix it! Jesus Christ. Why the fuck do you think I had you gag him? Fuckin' idiot."

The shroud lifted and the light caused me to turn my head and squint my eyes. Lorenzo attempted to readjust the gag but to no avail.

"This is the best I can do, Boss."

When my eyes adjusted, I found myself in a large office. Everything was made of a wood; a desk, the chairs, bookshelves, and even the floor was a deep mahogany color. The man in front of me was an older, stout man with grey hair and he was wearing a black, tailored suit. He was also wearing a ring that had a large ruby in it. "Fuck. Whatever. Triela, get it over with."

"Gladly." Her voice came from behind and I heard her step forward. She raised the gun in her hand as she faced me. Her head tilted in surprise before her eyes narrowed. She lowered her weapon, "This isn't one of Salvatore's men, Fathah."

The Boss gave out a frustrated huff as he angrily stared at Lorenzo.

"Boss, I swear, when me and Tony got there, this guy was sitting over Triela talking to the other two. They then pulled out their guns and was going to kill her."

"Ey err ohin oh ill ee!" I desperately pleaded.

"What?" The Boss just shook his head as he leaned within an inch of my face.

"Ey err ohin oh ill ee!" I repeated.

The Boss rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air. "This was supposed to be a simple execution, but now," he gave off a disgruntled noise. "Lorenzo, take off his gag."

As the gag was untied, I briefly stretched out my jaw, glancing up at the behemoth of a man behind me. "Thank you."

"I didn't have him untie it so you can give thanks," the Boss was quick to get my attention to what he wanted. "So what the fuck were you sayin'?"

"They were going to kill me."

"And who are you?" The Boss crossed his arms, and stoically eyed me.

"He works for Windham Securities. Janet claimed him to be a pervert." Triela then smiled, "She thought he was trying to look up my skirt."

"He what?" The Boss lunged at me, both hands clutching my neck. "I'm goin' to kill you!"

"Fathah, he didn't. His eyes never left mine." Triela tried to pull her Dad by the shoulders. The Boss glanced back at her. "I swear. He did no such thing. Janet was twenty feet behind us when she made that accusation."

The Boss straightened up, brushing his hands together before he stepped back. "And why would a couple professionals stop what they were doin' and care about your sorry ass?"

"Well..." I started but tailed off.

Triela stared intently at me, "You tried to save me, didn't you?"

I gave a slight nod, which caused a raucous of laughter from everyone in the room. Everyone except Triela.

"Let me get this straight, you, Mr. Coin Counter, tried to fight off two professional hit men?" The Boss slapped his hand against the desk that was behind him and with the other, clutched his stomach. "What did you do, throw a calculator at them?"

"My briefcase." I was barely audible but it was enough to be heard which caused an even greater bout of laughter. I'm glad I can be here for their amusement. My head lowered and my eyes seemed to bore holes into the Oriental rug on the floor. I had a fleeting thought that I now wish I had been shot. This was humiliating.

"So Boss, do you still want me to whack him?"

"Untie him, Lorenzo."

It was Triela that answered, and her words made the room stand still. It was eerie and I knew the next words spoken would decide my fate.

Triela had her arms crossed, glaring down Lorenzo. Lorenzo stared at his Boss, who was tapping his fingers in a slow cadence, one after the other on the desk. He glanced at Triela before refocusing on Lorenzo. He then gave an order with only a slight nod.

I felt the knife in my back and let out a gasp of scared anticipation. A quick movement upward severed the ropes that bind me and, despite my previous notion of wanting to die, I took a few quick breaths grateful to be alive. I was grateful to Triela. Why had she put herself at risk for me? Her father certainly would have executed me without a second thought.

"C'mon, I'm takin' you home." Triela immediately went toward the door.

"Take Lorenzo with you."

"I don't need him, Fathah. If anything happens, I'll just give this guy a briefcase."

That garnered a small chuckle from Lorenzo but the Boss was anything but amused. "Triela." It was all he spoke but it spoke volumes.

She turned back with a smile, "I'll be fine Fathah. Trust me."

The Boss let out a sigh, "Fine."

Triela gave a head motion urging me to follow, "C'mon, you."

I stepped out of the entanglement of ropes and entered the hallway behind her. Not a word was aired as we walked through the expansive estate. After what seemed to be a longer route than the Boston marathon, we entered the garage. There were high-end cars everywhere, BMW's, a Mercedes, a Lamborghini, a Ferrari; I was genuinely surprised I didn't see the Batmobile. Triela walked over to and proceeded to get into a red... Toyota Camry.

As I slid into the passenger seat, Triela simply said, "What's your address?"

"I live in a high rise apartment building; 15720 Aubrey Lane."

Triela typed the information in the GPS and pulled out from the driveway. I couldn't stop gazing at her. So many questions and I didn't have the nerve to ask a single one. Whom am I kidding? I just wanted to etch her beauty into my memory. Her eyes kept glancing at me in her peripheral vision. I still couldn't look away. She knew I was staring and it didn't deter her one bit. She was in control.

We pulled up to my apartment building and Triela put the gear into park. I opened the door and put one foot onto the sidewalk before I faced her once again. I had to at least give my gratitude. "Thank you for not having me killed."

Triela's head was straight forward, eyes still on the road. "You look at me funny."

I wasn't expecting those words. Not from her. She always gave me the impression that she had everything worked out, no surprises as if it all had been calculated and the results were already predetermined by her. I didn't know what to say. "Sorry."

Triela finally turned her head toward me. She gave me her little smirk as she pulled the key from the ignition and then got out of the car. I was still half in and half out when she came around to my side. "So which one's yours?"

"Um, 412." I was barely vocal as I stood, unsure of what to think.

I opened the entrance door for Triela and she made her way to the elevator. The only sound from either of us was the small clacking her small heels made on the lobby tile. She stood away from me in the elevator and when the chime sounded stating we were on the fourth floor, she went straight for my door. Once again, I opened it for her and she gracefully strode a couple steps inside.

"How quaint."

Was that a compliment to a simple one-bedroom apartment with very few furnishings? I was nervous at how to respond to this woman knowing full well if I upset her in the slightest I may never be seen from again. "Thanks."

As soon as the door latched, Triela was on me. I tensed up before realizing she was just kissing me. I let myself relax and slithered my tongue into her mouth. I felt her smile when I did so and I became more daring. I wrapped my arms around her, one hand to her back and the other lightly cupping her ass.

The kiss was incredible. It was sensual. It gave me goose bumps. I picked her up, which elicited a small giggle before her lips reconnected with mine. I wasn't in a rush as I carried her into my bedroom, her toes barely scraping the carpet as I did so. The kiss was exciting enough.

Triela's hands went to my top shirt button and made short work of it before moving onto the next one. Soon, my shirt fell to the floor and she worked on my belt. She was quick in all her movements to get me undressed. Was this how she was used to having sex?

In her lifestyle, I'm sure the men she meets are brutish and uncaring. I wanted to be different. Besides, I was with the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, let alone had sex with; I wanted this to last. I wanted to be memorable.