Chapter One

 

Shawn examined the picture before her, but not for long. She swiped left, then the next got even shorter shrift. She considered the third before doing the same. Boring. Boring. Boring. This one... pretty but boring. That one? Guh! What huge ears!

So many that wanted to meet her. But really, they just wanted to grope her and fuck her. She probably shouldn't have put that picture of herself in the tight halter top showing off her firm, flat belly with the bed hair. But she looked hot in it!

Shawn loved looking hot. It was all she had, after all. Being hot. And that was a depreciating asset. She was already starting to feel old. Next year she'd be 20! Freaking 20! Not even a teenager anymore! On her way to being old and wrinkled!

Her thumb swept left, left, left, left. She paused now and then with a bored sigh to consider someone further, then swiped again. What would she get if she swiped right? Eager, salivating men with hard cocks wanting to stick her. And then what? And then they'd be back on their phones looking for someone else.

She was naked as she lay on her single bed in the one-room apartment she rented in a moderately run-down low-rise on the east side of Los Angeles. She was propped up against half a dozen pillows, her tanned skin gleaming faintly, perspiration glowing under the soft lights coming from the string of lights adorning the wall behind her head.

Her knees were raised, her feet apart to minimize the heat which would come from pressing any part of her body against any other part. It was another steamy night out and the best she could manage was an open window - which brought the sounds of the freeway and the mall on the other side in, and a small fan sitting on a chair she'd dragged next to the bed.

Her breasts were full and round and felt heavy on her chest, even propped up. Her body was slender and athletic. That didn't come from working at it in a gym like middle-class people, but from running up and down the aisles of a distribution center as a 'picker'.

She heard a banging and then yelling from beyond the door. Her eyes flicked up at it warily. It was a good, strong, steel door with several bolts. She'd also propped a metal brace against the doorknob in case anyone tried to force it in.

She varied her times of leaving and entering as much as she could. The way some of the guys here looked at her when they saw her made her feel like a chicken under the beady eyes of foxes. They wanted her, she knew.

Everyone wanted her.

But for sex. And then what? God knew she didn't enjoy the sex. She wasn't sure if that was her or them. Surely it couldn't be all of them? Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe she was frigid. That was a strange thought as she lay back sweating.

Her hair was like a blanket across her head and on her neck and shoulders. She brushed it up and back over a pillow, cursing softly. I should fucking cut it, she thought. It gets in my way at work, and it's too hot and takes too long to dry.

But it helped make her look hot!

And she needed that, needed to be hot. What else did she have to make her feel the least bit important to anyone?

Her father had disappeared when she was four. God only knew where. Her mother had drunk herself to death when she was twelve. She'd gone into foster homes, then, and been booted out at sixteen. So long, see ya. Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. Up to you now.

So she'd done what she had to; stole. She wasn't very good it and had gotten arrested. That had been scary. There were some crazy, mean, violent bitches in jail! Thankfully she'd been released with a promise to appear at her court hearing. She'd gotten on a bus and found another city to live.

Now she was a picker. Up and down the aisles, the slave of a little, electronic box beeping at her, telling her where to go and how much time she had to get there. Counting down the time until she was late. Being late cost you points. Be late too often it cost you money. Be late even more often and it cost you your job. Run, little picker.

The joke at the DC was they were going to start adding little shocks to it to jolt you and get you to move faster if you were late. She wasn't entirely sure it was even a joke. The people who ran the DC were heartless assholes. She could easily see them doing it if they could.

She swiped Left, Left, Left, Left, amusing herself by holding the phone outright between her legs. That was where they all wanted to go, after all. That was what they all wanted. Bastards.

She sighed and turned down the phone, plugged it in, and then turned off the lights. Tomorrow would come early.

*

It was still hot. Hotter, now that the Sun was up, even this early. She walked quickly, five blocks, her long stride eating up the distance, then stopped at the bus stop. Ten minutes later she climbed on, and all the middle-aged men on their way to work ran their eyes over her tight, low-riding short shorts and tight tank top.

The women did too, but sniffed with disapproval.

Shawn glowered at anyone she caught looking at her, male or female. There were never any seats at her stop. Sometimes she couldn't even get on but had to wait for another bus. This one had lots of space, but that just meant more people could look at her.

She knew they were. It was a boring ride. The industrial landscape outside was ugly. Boys had always looked at her. Now men did too. Because she was getting old.

Women didn't dress like her where they worked. Women dressed like the ones in the bus, in loose, office-wear, not showing anything at all, and certainly not a firm, flat belly and abdomen. Not soft, tanned thighs, not a tight butt with firm round cheeks.

No, the women they saw all day were frumpy and fat and old. Not like Shawn at all. So they furtively drank her in, filling their memory with what her sleek, beautiful young body looked like, and how her hair spilled over her shoulders, and how firm and full her breasts were against the tank top.

She got off, changing buses, then got on another, to be stared at again as it rode further into the burbs, then out of them, then out to the road where the DC squatted. It was an immense structure, the size of thirty football fields.

She followed the crowd in, swiping her ID card under the steely-eyed views of the multiple cameras, and several guards, then headed for her staging area.

It was at least cool inside. She wasn't under any illusion that was for their comfort. If it hadn't been air-conditioned half of them would have fainted in the heat. Hard to process orders if half your staff is unconscious.

She picked up her cart and digital reader and headed out onto the floor, then started another day, hurrying up and down the aisles (never run or you get points deducted) as the small box nagged her about time. The instant she found an item and scanned it another appeared in the box's window and off she was again.

Someday she hoped to take a hammer to the fucking box.

The shelves were fifty or sixty feet high. There were multiple levels of perforated metal flooring. Occasionally she saw a shadowy figure overhead, hurrying past on their own errand, or she saw another below through the thin openings in the floor.

She rounded a corner and almost ran into someone. She squawked in surprise as he grabbed the cart and halted it instantly, almost sending her flipping over the handle.

She looked up indignantly, then smoothed her face. No one was supposed to be in her area! But this guy had a suit, a nice suit, if she was any judge. That meant he was a boss of some kind. A big boss. The regular bosses just wore ordinary clothes.

He had tousled, brown hair and bushy eyebrows. They went with his light, neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He was an attractive man, but he was a man, not a guy. He was probably ten years older than her, and from the looks of his suit; gray with a black tie - absolutely not in her league.

"Sorry," she said, dropping her eyes.

She felt his eyes on her, and felt a strange tightening in her chest. She raised her eyes, caught his, and dropped them again.

He looked at her, but not like a fox, more like... a wolf. Or maybe a tiger!

"Ah, Mister Thorn, here you are."

That was tubby Martin Gowan, who ran the DC. He was in a suit, too, but his didn't fit him anything like the one on the younger, taller man.

His eyes glanced at her and then ignored her. She was simply not important enough to think about.

"The second parallel lines are over here. The automated systems will integrate perfectly."

"All right, let's have a look," Thorn said.

He had a deep voice that seemed to resonate inside Shawn's chest - and lower places. He followed Gowan, giving her a final glance.

Shawn cursed as her box beeped at her for being late, and rushed forward down the aisle.

The rest of the day went normally. Her legs were tired and she was starting to look forward to the end of the shift but dreading the heat and humidity that was still out there. She hurried down one aisle, and up another, headed for her next item.

And there he was, standing in the aisle she had to travel down, looking at her.

Shawn felt that tightness again, along with a sense of anxiety. What did he want!? Had she done something wrong!?

She slowed the cart. There wasn't room to pass him. Then she saw the box she was headed for. He reached into it and took out a package, handing it to her wordlessly.

The item was a red faux-leather choker with a large O-ring in front. It was wrapped in hard plastic and went for $29.99.

She scanned it, and the box beeped.

"Shawn," he said.

She licked her lips nervously.

"Yes, sir."

"Shawn suits you," he said.

He had a deep voice that resonated inside her lower belly!

He looked at her steadily. His eyes flicked down and up once.

"You are way too beautiful to be running up and down the aisles of a distribution center, Shawn," he said.

She licked her lips, confused. He was... hot, but older, and a boss. She wasn't sure how to treat the compliment. A part of her felt flattered, even delighted, that a hot guy - with money - would be interested in her. He probably spent more on his suit than she made in a year. But he was way out of her league! He'd only be interested in one thing!

"Uhm, thanks," she said, dropping her eyes.

Then, startling her, he reached over, his finger under her chin, lifting it up.

"You have beautiful eyes," he said.

She felt a surge of something like breathy delight mixed with a strange shudder of something animal, instinctive.

"I noticed earlier how you dropped your eyes when we met," he said. "I like that in a girl. It shows modesty."

She let out a shallow, hesitant laugh. "I'm not... modest," she said.

"Don't contradict me. I'm the boss," he replied.

She gulped.

His eyes flicked down again.

"Modest doesn't mean... prudish. It doesn't mean wearing granny dresses. You can be modest in a midriff shirt and shorts. Modest is an attitude and an acceptance of position and status."

Shawn was confused again!

"I uhm... I have to... go."

She glanced down at the box but... weirdly, it wasn't yet giving her another article to pick. She frowned at it, wondering if it was broken.

"Do you know who owns this place, Shawn?" he asked.

She raised her eyes again. "The uhm. Bankroft Corporation."

"Do you know who owns them?"

She shook her head.

He smiled.

"Nobody here is going to give you a hard time for delaying your work to speak with me," he said.

He turned away.

"Walk with me."

It wasn't a request, and Shawn nervously followed. They went to the end of the aisle where the railing was. There they looked out over the stream of machinery and wrappers and packagers.

He turned to look at her.

"So tell me, Shawn, what's it like working here?"

She shrugged uncomfortably.

"Okay."

"How could we make it better?"

"Give us more time to find stuff."

He smiled gently. "But you have an excellent on-time record already."

How did he know that!?

"Yeah, well... I sure have to move fast, though."

"Keeps you in shape," he said, eyes flicking briefly down again. "Hardly any fat on you. Except... where it should be."

What did he mean by that, she thought wonderingly. Did he mean her breasts?!

"It's hot outside," he said. "Steamy. What did you do last night, Shawn?"

"Uh... nothing," she said, confused.

"Went home, lay on your bed watching TV? Surfed the internet?"

She shrugged.

"Sweated a lot?"

She shrugged again, looking at him uncertainly.

"No AC in that place," he said.

"How do you know?"

He turned and smiled softly.

"I know where you live. It's in your personnel file."

"Oh. Uh, well, no. It's kind of a dump," she said.

What was he doing looking at her personnel file!?

"So I have a better proposal. A place with a better view and - and air conditioning."

"Uhm..."

"How would you like to have dinner tonight?"

She felt a jolt at the invitation.

"Uh... I uh... w-with you?"

He looked at her steadily and she blushed.

"I mean... I'm not exactly dressed for... anything fancy," she finished lamely.

"Restaurants don't care how people are dressed when they're with me," he replied.

God, he was arrogant! As if! But... what if it was true!?

"I... uh, I dunno," she said.

"I'll wait out front when you get off," he said.

"But..."

He was already walking away, and she looked after him, scowling, but feeling a wild flutter of confusion and indecision. What should she do? He was just some... rich guy who wanted sex! She wasn't a whore!

On the other hand, he was a good looking guy. And beyond that there was something... hot about him, something rugged and strong and confident and... determined. With maybe an edge of darkness which tugged at places low in her belly.

No way she should go out with this guy! On the other hand, he was like, a rich guy, a big boss. The boss of big bosses. It wasn't like he was some kind of serial killer. And a guy like that sure wouldn't expect her to pay for her own meal.

Besides, he might be pissed if she said no.

She was still undecided about how to respond when her box beeped. She turned away from the railing and headed back to her cart to grab the next item for shipment.