Rachel pulled her socks just below her knees and walked across her room to grab the skirt laying on the back of the chair, but stopped first in front of the mirror, adjusted her bra straps, and flipped her red hair out of her eyes.
“I’m pretty,” she thought to herself, as a smile appeared in the mirror.
“Maybe, my hair is too long; I need to cut it, so it isn’t such a mess to fix in the morning.” She thought while tying it back in a ponytail. “I need to look professional for Mr. Morgan.”
Her eyes moved down her nearly naked body admiring the woman staring back at her who seemed to have some mischievousness hidden in her slight smile. Although it took many years, she accepted that the freckles covering her skin were fun and unique. With her arms above her head tying her hair, she looked at the pale skin on the underside of her arms and just above her breasts. It contrasted against the deep heugh of freckles that covered her face and shoulders. She let her ponytail fall on her back as she ran her hand down her chest and stopped at the pooch of her stomach. She wanted to hate it, but it was kind of cute she thought as she rubbed her belly and playfully poked her finger in her belly button. She turned slightly to the mirror and ran a finger over the bottom curve of her yellow panties as she smacked her ass, laughing, and showing a mouth full of braces.
“One more year for you metal mouth!” She said out loud to her pouty face in the mirror while shaking a finger at herself.
“I’m not hurrying“.
She grabbed her skirt, worked it over her panties making sure the tight fit didn’t show a panty line and zipped the back. Her favorite top, a white spaghetti strapped camisole, waited for her on the chair along with a short business jacket. She quickly put them on and took one last look in the mirror as she bent down to put on her heels. Leaning over she could see down her top to the white bra underneath that was now one size too small. Her breasts strained against the soft fabric, and she saw the slight edge of skin, barely dark, around her nipple peeking out from the cup.
“Areola“, she thought.
She hated that word. It sounded clinical, not sexy, and she felt sexy today. Still looking in the mirror she ran her hand into the opening of her shirt, pulling the cup away to adjust it, and ran her finger over her exposed nipple making it hard just before giving it a quick squeeze losing her thoughts in a fantasy for a moment just before snapping back to reality.
“Now, I’m really going to be late.”
Rachel ran down the stairs, adjusting her clothes, past her older brother, Jonathon, who was eating breakfast standing at the refrigerator. Her mom was probably sitting by the pool in the backyard like most mornings and her dad was already off to work. She waved at Jonathon who mouthed bye through the three muffins stuffed in his mouth and grabbed her purse as she set off down the street towards work.
Mr. Morgan and his wife, Laci, were accountants. They moved here from Illinois about two years ago, just after Rachel’s 16th birthday and opened an office downtown, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. The pandemic hit and all the businesses in their office building left so the owner couldn’t keep up with an empty building; he sold it. The Morgans renovated their guest house into an office and continued the business there. Mr. Morgan asked her dad if he could hire Rachel for general secretary work. She was in the summer before her senior year and didn’t have a car, so this was a perfect job she thought as she crossed the street, passing the few houses before making her way through the gate to the back of the Morgans’ property.
She likes working for Mr. Morgan. His name is Lawrence, but she never uses it even when he insists. He is Mr. Morgan to her. She doesn’t know how old he is; she is terrible at that, but she guessed about 40. He had jet black hair and a beard with small hints of gray that he kept perfectly groomed. He usually wore fitted button up pressed shirts that strained at his shoulders, usually with a pair of jeans and he always smelled good. His cologne stayed in the air and mixed with the smell of coffee in the morning and what Rachel thought was bourbon in the evening. She didn’t drink but she was sure the bottles said bourbon on them.
Going around the main house, she walked in the renovated guest building past Mr. Morgan’s office door to her desk in the corner, sitting down her purse and making her way to the small kitchen to grab a cold coffee drink from the refrigerator. She could hear Mr. Morgan on the phone and saw a cup of cold coffee on the counter where he forgot it.
Although he never asked for her to make his coffee, she never minded doing it. She made a new cup and walked to his door and knocked.
“Come in, Rachel.”
She opened the door and saw a smile when he looked up from his computer at the cup of coffee.
“I told you that you don’t have to make the coffee around here; it makes me feel elitist and wrong.”
“And I told you I don’t mind,” she replied as she leaned over the desk to set it down.
Leaning over, she thought back to her mirror and looking down her top. She paused and glanced up to see Mr. Morgan looking down her shirt. He quickly looked away and spun his chair around to grab some files.
“Scan these for me and file them when you are done. I’m leaving around six to catch my flight to Denver, so I need them in the computer this afternoon.”
“No problem, Mr. Morgan.”
Rachel took the files and walked to her desk.
“Was he really staring down my shirt?” Rachel ran over the thought while starting the scanner. Boys stared at her sometimes but not Mr. Morgan. He wasn’t a boy, and he was married. She liked his attention, but she had to be wrong. It was an accident. She put the thought away and got to work.
She spent most of the morning on the files until she heard Mr. Morgan call for her.
“Rachel,” Mr. Morgan said from his office, “At around 1 go to the house and grab our delivery, please. And no flirting with the delivery boy!”
“I never flirt with the delivery person,” thought Rachel and he always said that, even when Laci was here. Apparently one of the parts of the constant dad jokes is that they must be repeated every day no matter how tired and worn out they became. The delivery services never remember to bring the food to the office, so they just gave up on asking and would walk to the house to get it. Laci had left for Denver this morning, so Rachel was alone when she walked in the back door. Grabbing the card that is always in the first drawer on the left, she made it to the foyer as the bell rang.
Rachel took the food and handed him the card. After swiping, he nodded and said, “Thank you Ms. Morgan. Beautiful home you have here.”
She thanked him and shut the door.
Ms. Morgan
Rachel sat the food down and looked at herself in the foyer mirror. This mirror made her look different, more adult, more serious. More like a Ms. Morgan than little Rachel from down the street. She thought back to Mr. Morgan looking down her shirt and a slight, but not altogether unfamiliar, tingle hit her stomach as she opened her jacket and ran her hands down the silky camisole over her bra and down to her stomach.