Her Billionaire's Erotic Rules (#1 The Interview): Erotica (Erotic Sex Stories) by Anjah Cavalli

Her Billionaire’s Erotic Rules – (#1 The Interview)
     
    Before we entered the conference
room for the interview, Nora Spell, the Executive Assistant, gave me one last
going-over.  She had me turn around slowly, appraising my appearance.  Her
hands stopped me once at mid-turn to brush some lint from my black blazer and
again when my backside was to her.  She ran her hand over my hip, pinching and
pulling, as if to smooth the lines where my lavender silk blouse tucked into
the skirt.  She stepped closer and slid her hand under the blazer, grazing
lightly along my buttocks, again as if smoothing the material.
     
    “We want you to look your absolute
best for Mr. Herron, don’t we?”  I nodded affirmatively.
     
    She smiled.  “Well, I think
Margaret did an excellent job outfitting you.  I’ve worked with Mr. Herron for
five years and I think I have a pretty good idea of what he finds appealing.”
     
    I thanked her again for making the
arrangements and for purchasing the suit.  She held up her hand.
     
    “Nonsense,” she said.  “This all
falls within our wardrobe budget, the same as it would for one of our on-air
personalities.  You’re not wearing pantyhose, correct?”
     
    “No, I’m not,” I smiled.  Nora had
made that requirement quite clear during our first meeting to discuss a special
project for which I was being considered.  I assumed that this directive was
based on some eccentricity of his or Nora’s and I didn’t think of it as
anything unusual.  Corporate dress codes can sometimes be quite esoteric.
     
    “May I see what you are wearing,
please?”  I hesitated, giving her a quizzical look.  “Your stockings, Rachel;
pull up your skirt so I can see.”
     
    I felt awkward, but complied.  I
grasped the skirt and pulled up on the hemline until it reached mid-thigh.  I
looked up at her, as if to say, “High enough?” but she motioned to keep going. 
Finally, she indicated that I could stop once my skin was visible above the
stockings.  My panties of course, were also visible.
     
    “Very nice,” she said,
admiringly.  “I just needed to be certain.  And the lavender panties were a
good choice.”  She lowered my skirt and ran her hands down my hips, smoothing
again.  “Well, are you ready?  It’s time.”
     
     We exited her office and she led
us through the corridor.  I guessed that Nora was in her late thirties.  She
was tall (statuesque, even), thin but not too thin and undeniably attractive. 
She possessed an air of authority that would be intimidating if she weren’t so
pleasant.  The hall was carpeted and absolutely still and I could hear the
whisk of her nylons as she walked.  Halfway down the corridor, she stopped and
knocked on a door.  A voice called out, “Come in.”
     
    She allowed me to enter first,
then followed and closed the door.  A man I recognized as Mr. Herron was seated
at the head of the conference table.  He looked up from a folder and smiled,
rising.  He walked toward us and extended his hand to me.
     
    “T.G. Herron.  Glad to meet you,
Rachel.”  His hand was large, but his handshake was gentle and warm.  I
responded that the pleasure was mine, ending the sentence with “sir.”
     
    “T.G., please,” he corrected. 
“Actually, we’ve met once before.  Do you remember?”
     
    My face flushed in response.  Of
course, I did.  About a month ago, I was in the break room, pouring a cup of
coffee, when I happened to look over my shoulder and saw Mr. Heron waiting for
me to finish.  I was so rattled that I poured coffee all over the counter.  I’d
pondered the reasons for my reaction many times since.  First, I was shocked
that the head of the network would be fetching his coffee himself.   Doesn’t he
have a lackey for that?  Actually, I’d imagined that he’d have some executive
dining area staffed with his own chef and barista to cater to his refreshment
needs.  I mean, the guy is a billionaire media