Friday, August 10, 2018

The Reluctant Bezonian 21-40

The Twitter story goes on! Here are posts 21 through 40, combined for your reading pleasure and ease. Enjoy!

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    "Poor little Sammie. The innocent, naive young girl caught up in things she doesn't know how to handle." Shaking his head, Bryce reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, ignoring her look of disgust. “But you're not innocent at all, are you?"
    Sam jerked her head away from his touch. "What are you doing here, Bryce?"
    "Whatever I want, Samantha, as always."
    "Don't bullshit me. Tell me why you're here."
    "Or what?"
    Sam jerked her knee into his groin, leaning out of the way as Bryce doubled over. "Or that." She stepped past him, finally getting out from behind the desk.
    He glared at her from the floor, pain evident in his eyes. "B*tch!"
    "F*ck you."
    "It was just a test."
    She was nearly to the door when his words made her pause. "What?" She didn't turn around.
    Bryce slowly pulled himself off the floor. "You know my dad, always wanting to push his assets to the limit."
    "Tell your dad--" Sam stopped, unsure. There was no escaping the power this man had over her. "Tell him I aced his test." She walked out the door, leaving Bryce to stumble after her. "And try not wasting my time next time."
    Sam made her way to her vehicle as quickly as she could without drawing suspicions. Tossing her pack in the back of the van, she climbed into the front seat and let her head fall back against the seat. "I hate this."

    Sleep was being coy. It needed to stop avoiding her and get back to bed so she could actually get some rest. Sam groaned and pulled a pillow over her face. When was the last time she got a decent night's sleep?
    Had to have been when she was a kid, before she was practically owned by a conglomerate, when she still thought there was light in each heart, and all you had to do to find it was look just a little closer.
    "Ugh." Sam sat up and shoved the pillow to the side. There was no point in trying anymore. She'd already gotten all the sleep she could. It would have to do, as it always did. She groaned again and shuffled to the bathroom.

    Fresh out of the shower, Sam patted her hair down with a towel. Maybe she should cut it short; cut down on upkeep. Not that she did much to it anyway, her dark curls spurned brushes and were only really tamed by braids and very strong hair ties.
    Lots of hair was easier to put into different hairstyles for disguises, but with short hair wigs were easier. That's a toss up, really. She'd probably keep the long hair a while longer; it's served her well so far.
    Her phone dinged as she was preparing breakfast. Sam glanced at it warily, then groaned. Today was supposed to be her off day. The day after a job always was. The last thing she wanted to do was go into the office and talk to the boss.
    Probably had something to do with what Bryce said about a 'test'. She had failed, and they were going to fire her? At this point though, that wouldn't even be bad news. This horrible situation would end, one way or another.
    After switching out her comfy clothes for something slightly more professional, Sam resigned herself to the familiar confines of her tiny sedan and headed for the office. Small but sufficient, that was her car.

    "Good morning, miss." The receptionist was a mix between a proper butler and somebody's grandpa.
    "Morning, Jones. Eleventh floor?"
    "Indeed, miss."
    "Stay shiny, Jones." Sam grinned despite herself.
    "Of course, miss."
    Sam often had to refrain from asking what a nice guy like him was doing working in a place like this. Did he know how devoid of morals his boss was? But that was often the case with corporate moguls, she supposed.
    The man's gotta make a living somehow, as do we all. Ideally, however, you pick your own way to get that coin. But not when you're practically owned.

    Sam huffed. This always seemed to be the slowest elevator. The door inched open and Sam saw blond.
    "Samantha, darling." Bryce leaned against the receptionist's desk like a model for spoiled brat office wear.
    "Not your darling, Bryce." She brushed past him and addressed the receptionist. "I was summoned?"
    "Ah yes, Miss Webster. Please, this way." The woman behind the desk stood up and clipped her way over to a door that Sam knew well. "Enter, please, he's expecting you."
    Sam took a steadying breath and grasped the ornate handle. The weight of the door always seemed ominous, like entering a dungeon. She half-expected to see a burly guard holding a large set of keys, but the only person inside was a different kind of jailer, and his keys were not so easy to spot.

Sunday, July 22, 2018

The Reluctant Bezonian 1-20

Hello! Been a while since I posted on here, sorry about that. I've been doing daily story posts on Twitter (@avitalelizabeth), and thought I'd post them on here twenty at a time, since I know not everyone is on Twitter. Enjoy the story!

    Stealing things for a living-no, for your life-was not what Sam pictured when they asked her, ages ago, what she wanted to do when she grew up. Astronaut. Gymnast. Firefighter. WWE superstar. But forced thief-hood? Never.
    Professional thief sounds glamorous. Daring. Sexy. Reality? Sweaty, uncomfortable, exhausting. You're never the one who gets to don elegant attire and infiltrate an upper class shindig. No, you're the fake plumber who plunges the toilet as a cover.
    Sam heaved a sigh and tossed the plunger into the corner.
    "I'm so glad I'm wearing gloves," she muttered, resisting the urge to scrub her hands across her thighs.
    Common sense or not, cover as a plumber was the worst.
    Maybe not the actual worst. At least plumbers don't generally get sexually objectified while performing their duties. Not in reality, anyway, Rule 34 and all that. But enough stalling. Time to go rogue.
    Grabbing the toolbox she had left on the floor, Sam slipped out the restroom door, shifting the box into the backpack that was its original shape. She shrugged her arms through the straps and moved down the corridor, reaching into her pocket.
    She flipped the switch on the gadget inside, triggering the scrambler hidden in the handle of the plunger. Quite handy, the security room being right next to the bathroom. Less walking for the guards.
    Not that these guards walked much anyway. She honestly didn't even know why they'd sent her here. A job this easy was way below her skill level, but when you're not the one calling the shots you don't get much choice.
    Her thoughts skipped and meandered as she crept down the hallway. An easy job wasn't so bad. She could use the break after last week. Surprise dog patrols? Not a good time. More exercise than she wanted on that one.
    The door she was aiming for was only a few feet farther. Upon reaching it, she tested the handle carefully. No sense in picking an open lock, but this one was sealed tight. She slung the pack off her back and opened it.
    The lockpick kit was right on top. Sam pulled out one of the tools and made quick work of the lock, tucking everything away as soon as she finished. The door opened silently and she slipped in, easing it shut behind her.
    The room was opulent and showy. She rolled her eyes and moved further in, ignoring the lavish furnishings and making a beeline for a desk on the opposite side. The portrait was on the wall behind it, as promised. Rich people were so predictable.
    There wasn't even a trick to revealing the safe. You just grabbed the edge of the frame, tugged, and the painting hinged away from the wall without problem. The only question was if the safe would be as simple to deal with.
    A mechanical number dial? Who even uses those anymore? Sam shrugged and cracked her fingers. This had been part of her training, obviously, she'd just never had to utilize it. Well, first time for everything!
    She fished a small flashlight out of her bag and flicked it on, holding it between her teeth so she could have her hands free. Pulling the safe door forward as much as she could, she turned the dial slowly, listening for the telltale click.
    There! Once you get that, the rest is cake. Sam grinned as the dial hit the last tumbler and opened. Pulling the door open with one hand, she took the flashlight in her other hand and shined it in, lighting up the contents.
    The only thing inside was an envelope. Sam grabbed it, shining her light on the front. The words 'gold star' were scrawled there in an elegantly messy script.
    Oh no. She knew that handwriting.
    A low chuckle came from behind her.
    She gritted her teeth and turned around. "Bryce." It was a statement, not a question, and it ground its way out past clenched jaw.
    "Samantha, darling, how I've missed you. I hate how your obligations keep us apart."
    "My obligations?" Her voice, though low in volume, grew in intensity. "My OBLIGATIONS are the only reason I'm doing this at all and you know it! If your boss had nothing to hang over my head I'd be gone in an instant."
    The smirk never left Bryce's too-smooth face as he sauntered toward her. He was tall, blond, and... shiny. Everything about him gleamed, like pyrite in the sun, beautiful, yet good for nothing more than catching the eye.
    "My boss? It's cute how you call my father that. Trying to convince yourself that I have less power over you than he does? Oh, Samantha." He stepped into her space, making an amused sound as she leaned away, blocked in by the wall and desk.