Night Job Read online

  NIGHT JOB

  Part One of WORK AND PLAY

  A.S. Peavey

  Copyright 2016 A.S. Peavey

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted by applicable copyright laws, no portion of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.

  Published by Peavey Publishing

  ASPeavey.com

  Warning: contains explicit descriptions of adult behavior.

  CONTENTS

  Title

  Copyright Page

  Table of Contents

  Night Job

  Other Works by A.S. Peavey

  About the Author

  “There’s another message.”

  Natasha Devereaux held up a hand to quiet her assistant. This was a crucial meeting, Project DC would create an important new product line, so she didn’t have the time for any interruption. She appreciated James’ help most of the time. At any other time, his persistence would be nothing short of laudable. Undoubtedly, there was something crucial that needed her response.

  But it could wait.

  This meeting would define the future of Firmtech, Natasha’s company, if the product succeeded. At the very least it would offer a completely new avenue for revenue. But Natasha knew this project might be so much more. Drumfire, Natasha’s original product and the technology that had launched her company, had been very successful. She’d built her company on a line of information technology programs that, while the public rarely came across them, often served as a backbone for companies with household names.

  Product after product had been launched to improve upon that original technology. Her staff had been very successful with those new products, taking Natasha’s original idea, and moving Drumfire into new sectors, customizing it for the other industries. Occasionally her company launched a product that was, at least nominally, novel. But it still attacked a similar problem.

  But Natasha knew that her company couldn’t survive forever simply by making minor improvements to Drumfire. Firmtech certainly wouldn’t thrive. They would become a shell of their former selves when other technologies superseded theirs, relegating their work to a minor piece of the puzzle.

  Of course, it wasn’t easy to just leap outside of the box and design a product that would reinvent a whole company. Natasha tried. She produced ideas from time to time, though she was never the one who brought those ideas to fruition anymore, handing them off to developers.

  But Natasha’s ideas either broke down before reaching the market (which happened at least half the time with all of their products), or proved to be only mildly successful.

  The closest they had come to a new driving product line had been developed by a startup that Natasha had bought out. But it wasn’t enough. Yes, it had been a wild success when it hit the market. It still sold well. But it wouldn’t be the future of Firmtech. It quickly gained competitors, and another company had soon tackled the same problem from a different more efficient angle. Firmtech’s product still sold, it was still trusted, the investment was still worthwhile. But it wouldn’t build a second backbone for the company. In ten years it would be obsolete.

  Natasha still had employees working on projects to win back that niche, but she doubted they would be successful in the end.

  A month ago, one of her developers came to her with an idea. Dana Cross didn’t even realize just how much she might revolutionize the way people talked to each other. Among other advances, it would essentially reengineer existing cellphone communication so that calls and other communications could be synced simultaneously across multiple platforms, allowing the user to change platforms at a moments notice.

  Cross needed encouragement to understand just how revolutionary her work could be. She had just wanted permission to work on the project part time, in addition to her existing duties.

  But Natasha had understood immediately. This was, if nothing else, why she encouraged her employees to take an hour or two each day, or up to half of one day (the employees often picked Friday afternoon), for a project of their own choosing. This was why she had open office hours twice a week, when any of her employees could come to her with questions, concerns, or ideas.

  Cross still couldn’t believe that she’d been invited up to the boardroom, nor that all Firmtech’s executives were discussing Project DC—named for her initials. And she wasn’t sure how to handle the criticism that her idea was getting. Natasha had to answer some of it for her, and rephrase it and ask more kindly the other half of the time.

  But James didn’t want Natasha to focus just on this meeting. His job was to keep her multi-tasking. “Natasha, it’s a message about Utah.”

  That caught Natasha’s attention. And made her pussy suddenly very wet. This wasn’t a business message—at least not a message relevant to Firmtech. She hoped her reaction wasn’t noticeable, though.

  Normally, Natasha would have instantly responded to a message about ‘Utah.’ Her libido wouldn’t let her delay. But this meeting was more important than that.

  “Later,” she told James. She took a deep breath and turned back to her executive team. “Okay. Makayla, you had a concern.”

  “Yes.”

  Makayla was one of the first people at Firmtech besides Natasha, she was the longest running employee with the company. They had been friends in college when Natasha had the idea for Drumfire. Makayla and a few other classmates had been hired—to be paid if the project made money—to help develop what it. Makayla hadn’t been the strongest programmer, not at the time. But she had believed in Natasha all the way, while many of their other colleagues had scoffed.

  They were still close friends, at least as close a friend as Natasha had when work dominated her life, when she sought her sexual release outside of conventional social channels. That said, Natasha didn’t even know Makayla’s boyfriend. Makayla kept her social life segregated from work just as much as Natasha barely had a social life.

  “I’m worried this might be too revolutionary. I like the idea of Project DC. But won’t companies be slow to join up with it?”

  Natasha turned to Cross. “I think, what Makayla wants to know is, wouldn’t it be better to go slow? Develop a simpler version, with toned down abilities, to get to market first, and then develop the full project.”

  Natasha didn’t like that line of questioning; she thought that both strategies had essentially the same drawbacks of giving a competitor time to reverse engineer their idea. But this was supposed to be an open meeting to hash out ideas, to settle on a direction, to try to work on problems before they could even arise.

  Natasha had brought Cross in front of Firmtech’s department chiefs because she wanted all their input on how to proceed. Luck had allowed Natasha’s original project to score a huge place in a market. Luck, how far ahead of its time it had been, plus, no one had known it was coming; no industry experts could follow every last startup.

  But Project DC, like any program under development at Firmtech, would eventually be leaked, at least in outline, well before it got to market.

  “If we don’t take that approach, then other companies might reverse engineer your idea to get ahead of us,” Makayla added.

  Dana nodded. She took a deep breath. She had every reason to be nervous, even if she had the CEO’s approval. A month ago she had been a small cog in the company. Yes, she had since been promoted to be a development team manager, though she had barely started to put together that team (mostly because Natasha insisted that everyone on the team be veterans committed to the company—she didn’t want leaks). However, everyone el
se in this room, aside from Natasha’s assistant James, was vice-president for something or other.

  “The way I’m seeing this, if we build the full project, it shouldn’t be hard to create subprograms. Actually, I think the project may prove to be modular.”

  Natasha nodded. Then she expanded on Cross’ statement. “Once we’ve developed Project DC, it’ll be easy to develop apps based off it, light versions, just like you want, Makayla. It’ll be the best of both worlds.” Natasha had the same idea, but she didn’t want to push Cross too quickly, or force her to develop something that didn’t mesh with her original idea.

  Natasha looked around the room. She knew her corporate officers. If any of them was even considering replying to that, she would know. And she wanted to hear all their objections today. But everyone seemed to be happy with Cross’ answer.

  “What else?”

  “I’m wondering if we should approach a couple of buyers, or maybe just one, and see about working with them to focus production,” Mark (Mark in Marketing, not Mark in Development) said.

  Natasha didn’t turn to Cross. She knew Cross wouldn’t like the idea, but that was never a good reason to say no. However, Natasha had her own reason. “We have a solid product. Yes, it’s revolutionary. But I don’t want this leaking before it has to. Okay?”

  “I understand your concern, boss. But Makayla’s right. This is revolutionary. It might be hard to sell. There isn’t a niche yet.”

  “It’s noted. But if Dana is right, I think we can worry out the details of marketing later on. Now if you don’t think we can sell the idea at all…”

  “No.”

  “Then, we’ll focus our efforts in-house, for now.”

  Natasha looked around the room; she noticed the other Mark. He had been holding his tongue for most of the meeting—not because he had any specific objections, only a general one. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking, Mark.”

  “Is this the direction we want to take Firmtech?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, we already have a successful product line, don’t we? I still don’t see why we should divert any of our resources from Drumfire. We’ve had our biggest year yet.”

  Yes. And this year Natasha had officially become a billionaire. She didn’t want her company to rest on its laurels, however.

  “Get over yourself Mark.”

  Mark was VP for Development of Drumfire (though the current incarnations of the product shared little more than a name and a general concept with the product Natasha had first developed). He was jealous of his position, as the head for development of Firmtech’s signature product.

  Natasha viewed Makayla’s position as VP for Development of (unofficially) everything else to be more important to the company. Makayla agreed, which is why she’d taken her position instead of Mark’s when given the option. Her products didn’t, yet, earn the company near as much money. But Natasha knew that eventually they would. She was sure Drumfire wouldn’t power the company forever.

  Besides, the position also offered Makayla more interesting challenges.

  “But…”

  “This company isn’t going to get rid of Drumfire, just because we’re diversifying.”

  Mark finally shut up. He was good at his job, but he’d definitely hit the limit of his abilities. He could develop a single project just fine, but he couldn’t see the strategic needs of the company.

  “Natasha,” James interrupted, to make use of the silence. “Sorry to keep bugging you. But they keep sending the same message about Utah. No details, but it seems urgent.”

  Natasha nodded. No one noticed it, not with her complexion, but she flushed, just a little, at the thought of the call. She should have delayed answering, even if the sender thought it was urgent. But the meeting was coming to an end. She wasn’t needed here, not right now—her team might even do better without her in the room.

  “Talk among yourselves. If you can’t come up with any objections, go into a little brainstorming with Dana. Or ask your curiosity questions. And I’m sure Eric wants to ask a few questions and say a few things so Dana will feel guilty whenever she takes any money out of our overflowing development fund.” Her whole team, even Eric, their Chief Financial Officer, laughed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Despite what the message seemed to imply, there was nothing going on, or going wrong, in Utah. There were sales teams in Utah. Firmtech was considering building a Utah office.

  But there were never any emergencies in Utah, at least none that would go directly to Natasha.

  James knew that, and he tended to think the Utah messages had to do with friends, family, or maybe lovers. He wasn’t far wrong. More importantly, he knew they tended to be urgent.

  But Utah didn’t have anything to do with Natasha’s near non-existent social life either. It had a little bit to do with her lovers, though, if not in the usual way.

  Utah was an in joke between Natasha and her—well—her Madam. Actually, Antoinette had chosen it all by herself, and she was the one who got a kick out of sending messages to Natasha about Utah. Antoinette sent a message about Utah when she wanted Natasha to fuck one of the clients of her Agency. Utah was, Antoinette insisted, a joke, because of the juxtaposition of her actual message with the puritan culture of Utah.

  Natasha never laughed at the joke. Her only reaction was to get wet.

  There was another message Antoinette would send. Dallas. But those messages were never urgent, those were just messages letting Natasha know she needed to call to clear up something logistical—probably that she hadn’t picked up her money from the last job. There were many reasons that Natasha had a night job as a high-class call girl, none of them had to do with the money. Even though the amount she could earn in a single hour working for Antoinette was staggering (sometimes in the thousands of dollars), it was still pocket change for her, such a small amount that no one looking at her spending habits would have any reason to think she had another, illicit, job.

  Natasha had over a billion dollars. If Project DC succeeded, she could well become a multi-billionaire. Not that she would have a chance to spend most of her wealth.

  Utah and Dallas were the only two messages Natasha every received from Antoinette, the only communications that were sent to her on a public line, through Firmtech. Both were codes to say that Antoinette wanted to talk.

  Natasha returned to her office. Inside the top drawer she kept a burner phone that was replaced by Antoinette and her Agency once a month, brought by a special courier. She kept it in her purse whenever she was out or at home, but at work she hid it away in her desk.

  On that phone, Natasha could safely call Antoinette. And that was the real request that Antoinette was sending when she told James to tell her something was up either with Utah or Dallas.

  Natasha closed the door to her office, and unlocked the drawer that held that phone. She bit her lip, before deciding how to deal with the call, how she would respond to Antoinette’s request. She rarely received Utah messages. Natasha preferred to call up Antoinette when she wanted a job—when she wanted to get laid by a man who was paying to control her. She liked the loss of control in the bedroom, at least to a degree, but she needed at least some control—at least a safety net.

  Natasha got a Utah message only if the client was desperate for her, if Antoinette wanted to really please a client whose type Natasha fit to a T, or if the money was astoundingly good.

  Natasha usually said no, anyway.

  But Antoinette knew how much Natasha wanted to stay in control before she reached the bed, how readily she would say no, even if she had been thinking about calling Antoinette and asking for a job. So Antoinette rarely sent a Utah message unless she thought she had a chance of recruiting Natasha for the night.

  Natasha stared at the phone for a minute before she worked up the courage to hit dial. She was wet, but she didn’t want her libido driving her.

  “Hello, Olive.” Olive was the name Natasha went by
around the Agency. Only Antoinette and a small handful of the other working girls knew her real name, much less her story. And, certainly, none of the clients knew that she was anything but a normal (or exceptional and high cost) courtesan.

  “Hello, Antoinette.” Natasha knew Antoinette wasn’t her madam’s real first name. But she didn’t have the advantage of knowing what her name really was.

  “Don’t try to sound so annoyed that I’m calling you. Remember, I know all the little signs that someone is aroused. And your voices says you are wet.”

  Natasha was smiling, but when she replied, she tried to hide that smile. The attempt almost certainly failed. “What do you want?”

  “Do you remember a Paul Dowd? You worked with him about a month ago.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, he’s looking for another night with you.”

  “Antoinette…”

  “Four hours. Five thousand total.” And that was just Natasha’s cut. An additional amount would go to Antoinette and the Agency.

  “You know that money won’t win me,” I said. “Can’t you…”

  Antoinette knew Natasha’s objections, and she had a response ready. “I’ve offered him some of the other girls. Really, he’s even been with a few of them since leaving your arms. But he says that none compare to you.”

  Natasha had to sit down. She was suddenly significantly wetter. Of course, Antoinette knew full well what to say to make Natasha horny—or hornier. Compliments were always welcome.

  “But…”

  “Look, I might be able to talk him into another night. But it would work out best if it’s tonight.”

  Antoinette is effective at sales. She was already speaking under the assumption that Natasha was going to accept, and that Natasha just had to settle the details. So Natasha just bought into that assumption.

  “No. Today works. I need a break after everything I’ve done today.”