EroticReverie

Corinna Clementine

"Clementine." My last name is called from his office. 

"Coming" I call out to my boss as I tilt my head at the flower arrangement I was working on. I pluck a lily from the center that was throwing it off , replace it off to the side and then turn on my heels, my knee length dress fluttering around me as my heels click down the hallway towards Bret Bentley's office. 

"Yes sir?" I ask, standing in the doorway to his open office. He lifts a frustrated scowl from his computer screen to me. His eyes immediately drop down to my feet, and rolling back up, till they're on my eyes. 

"If my wife ever comes in this house again while you're here, you call me..immediately." he he says, his tone firm and no-nonsense. I nod once.

"Of course sir." I nod. 

Earlier today, his wife showed up unannounced. His wife, that has been living seperately in her own home for the past six months, or so I hear. I'd only just started working here a few weeks ago as one of the house caretakers as well as a somewhat assistant to him. Before she even asked me who I was, she'd called me every colorful name that you could imagine a woman to call her husbands "mistress". Except, I'm not his mistress. She'd just assumed, and then I'd started crying, because I'm not all that good and confrontation. Apparently the other house staff reported it, while I was hoping to just ignore it. but here I am, reliving the embarrassment of him having just watched the security footage of his main foyer, along with audio of her calling me every fucking insult there was. 

"Are you alright?" he asks with a huff. He's annoyed. Not with me, I know that, but still the angry look on his face that's meant for his "Wife", still makes me feel like I'm the one he's angry at. 

I nod. "Yes sir. I'm sorry. I'll call you next time." 

His brows pinch and his eyes me, his eyes falling down over my buttercup yellow linen dress and my matching open toed heels. His eyes dragging back up over me. He always looked at people this way, studied them, assessed them, it was incredibly intimidating. It was also, admittedly a little hot to have such a good looking man have his eyes on you, for any reason. 

"Are you hungry?" he asks and I blink several times.

"What? Am I...hungry?" I ask, dumbly repeating exactly what he just said.

"Yes Clementine. Are you hungry?" he says, then continues. "I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm starving." he says. 

"oh. I can..I can cook you someth-"

"I don't want you to cook me anything." he says with a huff.

"Oh." I say and then grab the sides of my dress, rubbing my palms over the fabric as they start to sweat. 

"I ...can order you-"

"Clementine." he says with a sigh. "Do you want to go to dinner with me?" 

My eyes pop. 

"Dinner? With you?" I ask, my finger pointing to him.  His brow cocks and I drop my head and clear my throat. 

"Yes Clementine. Would you like to have dinner with me?" he asks again.

"Oh..okay. Sure." I nod and clear my throat again.

"We're going to Rogue" he says and I look down. 

"Oh I...I dont really..Im not dressed for-"

"You're dressed perfectly fine Clementine." he says and I swallow and nod.

"Okay." I say pathetically quiet. 

I only corrected Bret Bently three times when I first started working. That my LAST name is Clementine. My FIRST name is Corinna. But he continued to call me Clementine. I know he calls his male employees by their last names usually, but the maids and other housekeepers , he calls them either Mrs whoever, or by their first name if they've worked here a long time. I don't mind it, and I also didn't want to keep correcting him and risk upsetting him and losing this job. So, I let him call me it, and now, I'm a bit TOO fond of hearing him call me Clementine.

"We'll leave in twenty minutes. After I make a phone call." he says and I nod. 

"okay." I say and turn and walk from his office. Did he just randomly take others that worked for him out to dinner? Or did he just feel bad that his crazy wife made me cry ? That had to be what it was. 

I stop at the vase I was arranging a bit down the hall and I don't MEAN to over hear his conversation, but I do, nearly clear as day. I can tell he's trying to keep his voice down, he's whisper yelling,  or at least he thinks he is. 

"If you ever show up here, if you ever come here and talk to anyone here like that again, don't you fucking forget I can ruin you Jackie. Stay the fuck out of this house............you are NOT my wife...........you stopped being my fucking wife the day you spread your fucking legs for a man that wasn't me.....so no...you're not my fucking wife.....sign the fucking papers Jackie. Or I'll do what I have to do to make sure you end up nice and cozy in a jail cell without a fucking dime to your name." he growls and then there's silence. I hear a soft thud, he must've tossed his cell phone on  the desk. 

I swallow, my gulp seeming so damn loud in the silence. I knew his wife cheated. They were a power couple in Hollywood. Bret Bentley retired as an actor at 26, and went right to being a  director, and he is now, forty two years old. So when his wife Jackie was caught cheating with one of the actors she was working with last year, the world seemed to lose it's mind. England had their kings and queens, and America had Bret and Jackie Bentley. It was almost as if their life WAS a movie...high school sweet hearts, her a few years younger than him...they married out of highschool, were madly in love. The tabloids LOVED the Bentley's. And up until their split, up until Jackie was found cheating, the tabloids never reported negative things about them. But now, that's all that was on the covers.

It was a bunch of sources saying this and that, and people drawing their own conclusions as to WHY Jackie would cheat on Bret when they were so in love. I'd even seen some of the worst tabloids accuse Bret of abusing Jackie physically. I might not know the man on a personal level, but his staff fucking adores him, and he might be a grump, but he's not a woman beater or violent. 

"Clementine" he calls my name, and then I realize it wasnt the first time he called it, I turn and he's right there. 

"Should....should we be going to dinner...in public?" I ask, looking up at him and he looks down at me and cocks an eyebrow. 

"Why not?" he asks. 

I lick my lips nervously, his eyes following the action.

"I...the tabloids?" I say, chewing my lip.

"What if they say something bad about you?" I ask.

He huffs, his lips quirking up. "What else could they possibly say that they havent already?" 

I shrug. 

"Are you ready to go?" he asks and I rub my hands on my dress and look up at him and nod. 

"Great. Let's go." He nods towards the foyer and his hand lifts and I feel the slightest brush of his fingertips on my lower back as I turn. 

I can feel heat everywhere, in my cheeks, and low in my belly as I try to act as if I'm not about to go to dinner with a recently seperated man, who just happens to be one of the biggest directors there is. 

"By the way Clementine." he says as we walk outside, to where a blacked out suv already waits, the driver at the door. 

"Yeah?" I spin slightly, but he's still walking and his tall frame crashes against mine. He grabs ahold of me, his hand on my lower back so I dont stumble backwards. 

"If ANYONE....ever talks to you like that again...you tell me..I don't care who it is." he says, his hand on my waist. 

"Oh...oh-okay" I say, as I look up at him and he looks over my face.

"You tell me. And i'll take care of it." he says and I swallow, my panties feelings the effects those protective statements are having on me.

"I...I will." I say and he nods. 

"Also...." he says and his eyes trail down my dress.

"Yellow is your color." he says.

"Oh." I say nearly speechless. NEARLY. Apparently one syllable words is all I've got right now. 

"It's....it's buttercup." I say as my brain short circuits.

He smiles slightly. "Buttercup. Is your color."