eyes, the woman was exhausted. A single mom juggling school and two children, she enjoyed her job but trying to make ends meet was exhausting.
“Terri, take your ass home.” The woman burst out laughing. “I’m serious. Your eyes are so red they look like flames. I could roast some smores on them.”
Terri snorted. “Do they really look that bad?”
“Yes. You need sleep, lady.” Yasmine picked through the folders, then tossed one aside. “In fact, tomorrow, come in at nine instead of seven, okay?”
“Oh, thank you so much, girl, I mean, Yasmine!” She laughed.
“No problem!” Yasmine grinned as she waved her goodbye.
“Thanks again, Yasmine. I appreciate it.”
“Get some good rest, spend time with those beautiful kids, and fix a big breakfast for yourself in the morning! See you tomorrow.”
The door closed, and she was left alone. Minutes began to blend together, forming one big blob of gray matter, time lost like static from the television in her mind. She pulled up the music directory on her computer and selected her Old School favorites. The songs took her back to a simpler time in life and helped her relax. ‘Ai No Corrida’ by Quincy Jones started to play. She began to snap her fingers to the beat, swaying in her white leather seat as she settled in for a night of work. She read more documents, studied some files on the computer, typed out a couple of emails. More time passed and before she knew it, her eyes were fluttering. She yawned, but there was still work to be done. I should probably get up and go to the breakroom and make some coffee. I’ll do it in a little bit. Just let me find that one number first…
She sat a bit straighter, then heard a bang out in the hall, followed by shuffling, and another bang. And a dragging sound. She glanced at the clock, noting it was almost 9:00 P.M. Suddenly, there was a soft tap at her door.
“Maintenance. Anybody in there?” said a choppy voice with a thick European accent.
Oh, the cleaning crew…
“Uh, yes, come on in.” The door opened and a man entered wearing a baggy orange jumpsuit and a beat up baseball cap. He carried a mop and a big bucket on wheels. “How are you doing tonight?” she asked.
“I’m fine.” The man went straight for the door behind him, closing and locking it. He stood with his back towards her for a moment, like a tall, broad-shouldered statue. She reached for her envelope opener on her desk, clutching it hard.
“What are you doing?” she asked, as sternly as she could muster.
There was no answer. The man placed his hand on his head, and his hat began to shift from side to side, then slide to the floor. Luscious black locks spilled forth, the sides and nape tapered. Her heart jumped and fluttered when he turned and faced her, his face now in full view.
Dark blue narrowed eyes.
Sinister smirk.
“Damn you, Nixon! You about gave me a heart attack!” She tossed the envelope opener down and clutched her chest. “What the hell are you doing here?” He shuffled towards her, still dragging that damn mop and bucket, then placed them both by a wall and rolled up his sleeves. As he moved, the Jacksons crooned, ‘Show You the Way to Go.’ “Nixon…” Her mouth grew suddenly dry as he glared at her, gripping the jumpsuit zipper that went from the collar down to the crotch. “Please… no… I have to… get this done.”
Her pussy clenched like a damn fist; her body heated like an inferno. Every cell in her being screamed with apprehension.
“I’m the janitor. I don’t know who the fuck Nixon is.”
“Nixon, I don’t have time for your craziness. This case is important. Mike will be back soon and—”
“Be quiet! I came here to clean up a mess… your mess. Get the job done. But first, you’re gonna shine my knob.”
She took a deep breath, then another, and closed her eyes, saying tiny prayers as she heard his zipper being yanked down the garment. When she opened her eyes, she screamed, then locked her legs. He was standing right beside her, his torso exposed, the chest hair so enticing, and a Satyr pendant dangling and catching the light just right. Her eyes travelled down his frame, resting on his black pubic hair.
He dug down deep in the jumpsuit, never taking his gaze off her, as if reaching to take a treat out of a bag to hand