Alice2015
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2014
- Posts
- 2,625
Olivia Keen strode into the lobby of the Davenport Capital building with an air of comfort and confidence, the heels of her knee high leather boots clicking conspicuously across the stone tiled floor. The uniformed man behind the Security Desk rose from his seat as if it was protocol for greeting a guest, but in all honesty, he was simply wanting a better and more lasting view of the stranger's long, slim legs.
And take in the view he did. Despite being a little lady, there was a lot about Olivia in which men -- and even women -- took great interest. She was just days short of her 32nd birthday, but the youthfulness of her face and tightness of her body left most people guessing her true age -- particularly when she dress the part, as she did now -- at being a full decade or more younger.
She stood 5 foot 6 inches tall, though her current pair of boots pushed her faux-height to over 6 feet. Her 33-22-33 inch figure barely reached 120 pounds; her B-cups, particular displayed as they were now, often caught more attention and appreciation than much more bosomy women.
"I'd like to see Jackson Davenport…" Olivia said once she'd reached the security desk, playfully adding with emphasis, "the third."
"Do you have an appointment, Miss...?" the guard asked with a friendly tone, barely able to keep his eyes off Olivia's minimal yet still enticing curves.
"No," she answered simply. She handed the man a folded slip of paper, telling him, "Please … have this delivered to her office. He'll want to see me."
She turned and walked casually away, looking back to find the man's gaze on her tight ass so well highlighted by the second-skin, faux-leather jumpsuit. She smiled as the Guard realized he'd been caught ogling, informing him, "I'll just be waiting over here."
The man took another moment to appreciate the view as the light beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass put Olivia's delicious shape in silhouette. Finally, he unfolded the note to check it's contents. It made no sense to him: long strings of numbers, maybe account numbers?
"Cooper, come to the desk, please," the Guard spoke into his radio.
A second uniformed man arrived, took the note, and headed for the private elevator that accessed Mister Davenport's floor. Many floors yet only a few seconds later, he stepped out and crossed the foyer to the desk of Gwendolyn Davis, yet another beauty who caused men of all types and ages to trip over their tongues and stroke their cocks when they found a private moment.
"From the guest in the lobby," he told the Executive Assistant.
"No name?" Gwen asked as she unfolded the note and reviewed it. When the Guard shook his head, she inquired with a bit of disappointment, "Nothing?"
After the man only shrugged and explained that he hadn't been manning the desk, Gwen looked at the note's contents more closely. She recognized the numbers as international banking account numbers, but she didn't specifically know them to be any of the accounts with which she personally dealt.
Gwen had been with Trey Davenport or at least his office for over a decade now. She'd started as just another corporate Secretary, to use an antiquated term; after very quickly making herself known to Trey, though, she became one of his four personal assistants and then shortly thereafter his Executive Assistant.
She knew a great deal about the workings of the Corporation, a multi-billion dollar hedge fund that had its fingers in more areas that even Trey's EA could keep straight. But Gwen never kidded herself into thinking that she knew everything about the company, about Trey, about the clients...
...or about their legitimacy in the international banking arena.
Gwen had no reason to believe that Trey -- or Davenport Capital as a whole -- was involved in anything shady. And, truth be told, she'd rather not know if he or it was. But when some mysterious, sexy woman -- yeah, Gwen had checked the feed from the lobby security cameras already -- marches into your boss's building and hands over a list of account numbers before demanding an unscheduled meeting … well … it made one curious, didn't it?
"Thank you," was all Gwen said to the Guard before giving him that familiar expression that said You can leave now. She added, "I'll get this to Mister Davenport."
"Would you like me to tell the visitor that--"
"You'll tell her nothing," Gwen cut in as she stood. She couldn't help but notice how quickly the Guard's eyes fell to her figure, equally fine but fully than the woman downstairs. She said with an authoritative tone, "Go back to your tour of the building. I'll take care of this … and deal with our visitor."
She waited for the man to leave, this time using the stairwell so he could access each of the floors as his security sweep demanded. She went to Trey's door, knocked, and waited three seconds; her boss would either invite her in, tell her to wait, or -- if he was busy with a call -- simply not answer, at which point she would crack the door and look for permission to enter.
Striding up to his deck, Gwen offered out the note, explained its source, then asked, "Shall I remain, or...?"
She suspected that this was a private thing -- for the meantime, anyway -- and that she would be politely asked to go back to her desk or have the visitor sent up or sent away. What ever was asked of her, Gwen would do. For ten years, whatever Jackson Davenport III asked of her, Gwen had done.