Thread: You're Not the Boss of Me (AnnaBeth Belle & Whisper Twice)

Virginia 'No, you may not call me Ginny' Byrum was watching Miles, but she was also giving her attention to his cigarette. The ash was getting dangerously close to falling and that just wouldn't do. Not that she was going to clean it up or that Miles couldn't replace anything the ash ruined a hundred times over, but because it was a sign he was distracted and not in the moment. There were times when that was okay. Running a company like Carnegie Casting adequately was a formidable task. Running it like a champion thoroughbred on the track was a superhuman feat that few were capable of and Miles Sterling was one of them. Believing him to be pondering something important, Virginia simply lifted the ashtray on its stand and set it under his hand so that any ash would fall into it. Miles' office was as perfect for him and his clients as she could make it. With the memories of the Korean War getting softer with time, and the nostalgic shine of WWII seeming incredibly romantic and a sign of true American spirit, she had his medals and ribbons and rank and whatever all that glittery stuff men in uniform wore as jewelry made into a display with a few pictures showing a younger Miles at sea commanding his ship, or meeting with the great admirals and statesmen of the day. In one Senator Wagner, that powerhouse politician of over twenty years, was shaking Miles' hand as a pretty girl that wasn't Virginia mimed pinning new rank on his uniform. Miles the patriot, the veteran, the leader was established for anyone in his office to note. Off to the side, almost banished were some heads of animals taken on safari and a truly tasteless mounted Sailfish that Virginia secretly loathed. It was important for his image with other men but if it ever went even slightly out of style Virginia had a fantasy of having some workers slide it out of the window and she would watch as it fell to the concrete far below. Maybe it would spear that bitch Ellen. Smiling at the thought, perfectly deep matte red lipsticked lips kept closed to avoid getting any on her teeth, Virginia finished her survey of Miles' office and found everything just so. Very modern and up to date, like the multiple phones sitting on his desk or her latest model IBM typewriter on her desk just outside his office. It was always, always, one model newer than Miles' junior secretary, the one who handled the tedious stuff that Virginia knew the girl was capable of. Everything large, and certainly all access to her boss, went through Virginia and anyone who tried to circumvent the process didn't do it twice. She'd once sweetly told a senior VP that if he tried to walk past her desk to see Miles without an appointment again she'd polish her heels with his blood. He made appointments from that point on. Access to Miles was about spending his time for maximum profit and maximum impact. The company had lots of money but only one Miles Sterling and only so many hours in a day. Guarding those hours was her job. Controlling Miles was her pleasure. Standing up, Virginia showed to be a sleekly tall woman for the 50s, much taller than the models they used in ads. Her hips nicely flared out just enough to fill her skirt and give her backside a delightful twitch when she walked and then her full breasts combined with her trim waist - no bulky foundation garments for her! - hinted at an hourglass figure without guite exaggerating it. Pencil skirt in dark grey wool with a cream colored blouse tucked into it, the three-quarters sleeves ending mid-forearm and a wide leather belt to bring the ensemble together. Stockings of course, snugly strapped to a garter belt underneath, and a sturdy bra that shaped her breasts into the feminine ideal. Unlike many women though Virginia was defiant with her hair style, not going for the Italian style craze made popular by Three Coins in a Fountain. Instead she left her blonde hair long, pulled back over the right side of her forehead and given volume by rollers the night before, the rest of it curling in deep slow rolls that drew the eyes from her face down to her breasts or her bottom. Disconcertingly grey eyes, full brows, and a sensual, kissable mouth made Virginia a frequent daydream among the men in the company. Not that she was interested. Who would be when she possessed Miles? Too bad he was married. That no longer quite as pretty girl in the picture had become Mrs. Miles Sterling and would remain so until she died. Living apart was acceptable, divorce wasn't and would put a stain on Miles' image She was off in that want to be New York on the West Coast, Los Angeles, and happy with her sunny and bright lifestyle and the freedom from Miles' social and business schedule. Virginia had hired a firm to hire a detective to check up on her regularly and his reports came across Virginia's desk every two weeks detailing which young cabana boy she was fucking or how much liquor she'd had the night of an opening and the fool she'd made of herself. Virginia would read the reports then put them in the special bin to be burned in the building's incinerator. No need for Miles to worry himself. Walking to his desk, Virginia sat on the corner of it and crossed one leg over the other, pulling the skirt very tight across her hips to do so, and letting one foot in its closed toe heels dangle just so. Leaning back on her hands, she arched her body just a little to pull her breasts and figure into proper definition. Miles, she said in a low, confident voice, finish up and come to me. Bring the whiskey, leave the cigarette.