The Night Shift

By Rachel Cray

Caroline Conway works for a prestigious international law firm in London, and falls in love with one of the I.T. managers. They can't see much of each other because he works on a permanent night shift. Staying late one evening, she witnesses a scene in the office executive suite which leaves her open to blackmail; sexual favours are demanded of her by a female senior partner - who is a control freak - and her paralegal lackey. How can she escape this situation?
There is a way out, but the path she chooses only leads her into more trouble... with an added danger that she may never see her lover again. She is all alone now. Is there anyone she can turn to for help?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rachel Cray
• Release date: Apr 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311479983

Rachel Cray

Rachel writes erotic romances to two sub-genres: the first she calls "law firm erotic", where her characters are the horny partners and employees of a U.S. law firm, and whose spare-time activities may best be described simply as sex-related. The second sub-genre she calls "village erotic", where the cast are the horny inhabitants of Maybourne, a fictional old market town in the heart of England with a number of olde worlde villages, Tudor buildings, a ruined abbey and other picturesque features in both rural and urban settings.She has worked in several European countries, first as a secretary and then as an executive assistant, before returning to her roots in Surrey, England, and close to London; for many years she was the director of administration at the London office of a large U.S. law firm before leaving to run her own recruitment company. Now in semi-retirement, she devotes most of her spare time to writing erotic romance novellas, drawing on her life's experiences in a variety of fields. She is married with children and grandchildren.

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The Night Shift

by Rachel Cray

Copyright 2012 Rachel Cray

Published by Maryon Westerfield Publishing

Rachel Cray’s home page

Titles by Rachel Cray currently available:

Law Firm Love series:

Interview for Love

Working Overtime

The New Client

Snatched

Dirty Pictures

No Way Out

The Night Shift

Maybourne series:

A Close Match

Village Accounts

Kate's Return

Lucy and Friends series:

Jack and Me... and His Lodger

Needing Her, Needing Him

One Man Too Many

and

A Stranger in My Bed

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons (living or dead), actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission by the author, except for brief quotations for review purposes.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

The Night Shift

by

Rachel Cray

CHAPTER 1

Caroline, I don’t want you to think that we’re taking advantage of your willingness to help everyone in the firm, but we have a problem here tonight and I believe you’re the best person to help us, if you can.

The senior corporate partner had cornered me at 4 p.m. on a Friday afternoon. I knew him well enough to appreciate that he was conveying office code for Stand by for a dirty job that nobody else wants to do.

I know this is short notice, but we need someone to stay late tonight and to help us over the weekend. In addition to the overtime rate, the client has indicated that they’d like to provide some token of their appreciation. And we know that you won’t turn me down, Caroline, because it’s coming close to that time of year when we assess your annual bonus. He didn’t say that, because he knew that it was already in everyone’s mind.

Being a girl, I don’t have balls. But, if I had them, I felt as if he was squeezing them. O.K., Simon, I shrugged. I don’t have any plans for the weekend anyway. So what do you want me to do?

Come into my office and we’ll talk it through.

I followed him; he offered me a chair on his side of the desk, and we went over three piles of documents. He explained each batch.

You’ve worked on documents for this client before, and you’re one of the few people here who can handle them without making any stupid mistakes. I don’t want you to get big-headed about this, but the client did specifically ask for you to help on this one. I wasn’t going to make any guarantees; I told him I’d ask you first. And I’m glad you agreed. Now, you can expect to be given changes to any of these materials during the course of the weekend. I’m sorry, Caroline, but that’s like it is.

I grinned at him. I’m not a mercenary but, at the end of the day, this won’t hurt my bank balance.

I returned to my desk with the papers, and finished off the work currently occupying my attention. Then, at 6 p.m., my overtime clock started ticking on the new work that I’d been given.

All went well for the first couple of hours. I’d made real headway, although I knew that much of what I had processed might have to be redrafted between now and Monday morning.

Just after eight o’clock that evening, trouble hit my PC. It crashed and wouldn’t reboot. I tried another. That wouldn’t work either. I wondered if the whole I.T. system had gone down. Shit! I thought. The whole open-plan office where I worked was now deserted. There were a few staff who regularly worked nights, and they were based in our sister building on the other side of the road. I rang them, and they said they were having problems too. They’d called out the evening I.T. support engineer already, and were waiting for him to appear.

I waited for fifteen minutes, debating with myself whether the problem would be fixed that evening, or whether I should go home and come back in the morning. I decided to wait around for a while, and went for a walk round the top floor, where the senior management worked; I seldom ventured there, but I thought it might be an idea to look at the world of luxury in which the leaders of the firm operated. Who knows, I thought, it might be a motivating experience.

The corridor was quiet; I heard nothing. Then I heard a panting sound, as if someone were having an asthma attack. It came from the office ahead, on the right, where the door was ajar. Perhaps I could offer help; I didn’t have much experience in giving first aid, but I could hit the phone and find someone who knew what to do.

I walked straight into the office without knocking on the door; nobody appeared to be there. Then I looked round the door and saw, leaning against the wall, the senior administrative partner standing with her skirt round her waist, her underwear round her feet. Pushing against her, with his pants down at his knees, was a young paralegal whom I vaguely knew. They both stared at me, startled.

"What the fuck do you want?" screamed the partner.

I’m sorry, I stuttered, and tried to think of an excuse. I was looking for... for –

"Whoever you want, they’re not around. So get the fuck outa here!"

I blushed, and left the room, leaving the door slightly open as I had found it.

Come on, honey, said the partner. Don’t let that young bitch put you off. Get back up there again and screw me.

I decided to stay and listen. After a few minutes I heard them gasping again; my hand had unconsciously reached between my legs and I was touching myself. I was imagining being in the room, watching them as they had sex.

Their noises grew louder and louder; they didn’t seem to care. She was in her mid-forties, I knew, and the guy didn’t look much more than half her age. An overwhelming urge to pleasure myself enveloped me. I leaned against the wall in the corridor and began masturbating as I continued to listen. I was the woman partner, being screwed by that paralegal buck. I didn’t make a sound; I didn’t need to. Those two in the office were doing it all for me. When I heard him groan as he reached his climax, my clit stiffened and I quickly soaked myself in the excitement. If anyone came along the corridor now and saw me, I couldn’t have stopped what I was doing.

I caught my breath as I reached the point of orgasm, squeezing my eyes shut and praying that I wouldn’t be caught by anyone.

As soon as I recovered from this unexpected thrill, I quickly retraced my steps back to the open plan office downstairs where I worked. And when I arrived, there was the most gorgeous guy, standing at my desk; he appeared to be waiting for me.

Hello, he smiled. Are you Caroline Conway?

Yes. He was in his late twenties, I guessed, and I’d seen him around the office from time to time. But I had no idea what role he had in the firm.

I’m Drew. From the I.T. department. He had an Australian accent.

And you’ve come to fix my machine, I hope?

Most of the network problems have been solved, but I just want to run a few checks on your PC. It won’t take long.

Take as long as you like, you divine man, I thought, looking down as he sat in my chair and watched his fingers zip effortlessly round my keyboard.

There, he said, looking at my monitor, functioning again and with the document in place exactly as it was when my machine had failed. It was a system problem. Nearly everyone suffered tonight. I wouldn’t want you to think that you were the only one.

Thanks a lot, Drew. I must say that I was getting worried. I’ve seen you around from time to time, but not as much as some of the other I.T. guys. How come?

I work nights, mostly. It’s easier for me to keep a link with our operations centre on the west coast of the US. And that’s why I haven’t seen a lot of you, either. I gather you’re working the whole of this weekend?

That’s right.

Me too. Several of the IT team are off sick, and I thought I’d offer my services. If anything goes wrong again, give me a ring. He dropped his card on my desk.

Well, thanks again, Drew. And I’ll see you around.

Sure, Caroline. You’re welcome.

I sat down and continued with my work. Shuffling the pages round on my desk, I caught sight of Drew’s business card. I picked it up and looked at it: Andrew Pritchard. Deputy Chief Information Systems Manager (London). I had no idea that he was so senior in the firm’s support hierarchy. Many of them strutted around like they were tin gods; Drew, on the other hand, was unassuming and... well, human. And a man with whom I could easily fall in love.

Normally when we worked late at the office, someone came round and took our order for supper, which was billed to the client for whom we were working and we were given a menu from which we could make our selection. I looked at my watch, and began to wonder why I hadn’t seen this evening’s menu. Surely it couldn’t have been passed round while I was upstairs... pleasuring myself in the executive corridor?

One of the junior associate lawyers was passing by my desk, and I asked him; he and I were working on the same deal tonight and over the weekend. Don’t worry, he assured me. Get across to conference room number four in about an hour. There’s something special laid on for us by the client.

I worked quickly and it soon seemed that I had regained the time I had lost earlier through the problem with the computer system. The associate came to my desk again.

It’s time for supper. Are you coming?

Already? I was surprised when I looked at my watch. It was nine o’clock. I went with him into the conference room where supper had been arranged and, indeed, there was a veritable feast waiting for us. We helped ourselves to whatever we wanted from a long buffet table running down one side of the room, and sat down on at the main conference table that filled the remaining space.

I was talking to one of the secretaries on the other side of the table, whom I knew vaguely, and wasn’t aware of another figure coming to sit beside me.

We meet again, I heard a male voice. I turned; it was Drew, the I.T. manager. I don’t see you for six months, and then suddenly – twice in the same evening. My luck’s changing. He smiled.

I think I shall have to start working nights more frequently, I replied. I’d eat far better quality food here than I’d ever cook for myself.

"You’re drawing the wrong conclusions, I think. This