Rapunzel & The Boss

Author note: This is my entry for the On The Job Challenge 2024.

'Tower Administration Services wishes all its staff a safe and joyous Spring Bank Holiday', the email gushed, accompanied by a disgustingly twee cartoon of a cute chipmunk stretching and yawning as it left its burrow having woken up from hibernation. I stared at the message for a minute, unable to decide where to begin with this tripe, but then I exorcised it from my brain by clicking the 'delete' button and watching it vanish from the screen. Someone had probably spent all day putting that email together, I reflected. What a waste of time. We didn't even have chipmunks in the UK.

I glanced out of the window of my office. Sadly, it didn't have any windows that actually looked out of the building, otherwise I would look out of those. Instead, I had to look out at the open-plan space that made up the main office of Tower Administration Services. It was Friday afternoon before a bank holiday weekend so the only staff there were either toilers who had nothing to go home for, or people who'd used up all their annual holiday entitlement and were stuck here. The three individuals sitting around a desk, two male, one female, chatting with their feet up, belonged firmly in the latter category.

"Any chance of some work getting done, rather than just tea getting drunk?" I asked, poking my head out of my office door and addressing the trio.

"Come on Rapunzel, do some work," one of the other lads shouted across from his desk, and there was a round of giggles and chuckles from the remaining staff. Rapunzel was the girl's nickname: long blonde hair, working at a company called Tower, it was probably inevitable. Incidentally, that's where my charming new nickname, 'Wicked Whittle', had come from as well, as if I was the sorceress who had her imprisoned here. Annoyingly, at this fag-end of the week, the comparison was apt.

The two men reluctantly got up and dragged their feet back to their desks, muttering about Wicked Whittle. Rapunzel, though, merely gave me an insolent look, remained exactly where she was, sitting on her desk, but switched from flirting with the guys to looking at her phone. I ignored her: Megan 'Rapunzel' Farsley had only been working here for about a month but she had already made it abundantly clear that she was not a woman who liked taking orders.

In fact, Rapunzel was my replacement. I'd been at TAS for just over five years when I was promoted, and in the month since then I had begun to realise that management was a bit of a poisoned chalice. When I had my own desk, out in the open plan area, I'd been Cassie Whittle, a popular member of the team who organised sweepstakes and charity fundraisers, and I was always on the invite list for after-work drinks. Now, though, I was Wicked Whittle, and I hadn't been invited to a single after-work drink. Actually, I was pretty sure Rapunzel and the others had been out for during-work drinks at lunchtime today, if the giggling was anything to go by.

Carefully, I closed my office door, trying vainly to send a message that I wasn't the kind of manager who monitored what was going on. Then I took off my heels and stacked them neatly next to my handbag, rubbing the balls of my feet to get the feeling back. It had felt like a very long Friday so far, and the extra day off on Monday would definitely be welcome. My skirt had ridden up while I was massaging my feet so I stood up a few inches off my chair to tug it back down, smoothing it over my tights. I knew that I shouldn't be comparing myself to Rapunzel, especially as she was a good five years younger than me, but it was irresistible when someone replaced you. I dressed in neat office attire: a black blazer, white blouse, knee-length pencil skirt, tights and heels, my dark hair in a tidy ponytail. Rapunzel dressed in the least office-like clothes she could get away with: blouse unbuttoned to her cleavage, a low-cut sweater, tight black jeans and hi-tops, her mass of blonde hair plaited into two pigtails. No wonder the men in the office buzzed around her like flies. I was torn between wanting to be better than her, and wanting to be her. I resented every suggestion, real or imagined, that she was somehow doing my old job better than I had used to.

Despite telling myself I wouldn't, I looked out of the window again. Rapunzel had her compact propped open on the desk and was touching up her eyeliner, staring intently into the mirror with her mouth pressed shut in concentration. There really was no telling her. I turned back to my laptop and brought up the weekly results presentation, which would keep me occupied for an hour and then it would be time to go home. It really couldn't come soon enough.

Five minutes of re-formatting the same table before I decided it had been better before I changed it. Five minutes of entering numbers from a spreadsheet before remembering they were incomplete and would need changing. Five minutes of gazing at the potted cactus on the corner of my desk and wondering whether the traffic getting home would be better or worse before a long weekend. I looked out of the window, knowing I shouldn't, and there was Rapunzel, her feet up again, filing her nails. It was almost the ultimate insult. She couldn't have cared less and I knew I couldn't ignore it.

"Ahem, Megan, I don't want to ask again," I said, wanting my tone to be friendly and nice, but knowing it came out small and mean. "Just another forty-five minutes and you can go, so let's make the most of it."

Rapunzel looked at me, not with spite or anger but with a bland, disinterested look that was much, much more irritating.

"Sure," she said, putting down the nail file, but not putting it away.

She watched me go back to my office, an unmistakable smirk on her face. I knew, absolutely knew, that the moment my door was closed they'd be making a joke at my expense. Five o'clock couldn't come a moment too soon. I closed the door and pretended I couldn't see Rapunzel turning to the others and saying something; pretended I didn't notice them laughing. I dug my nails into my thigh as I sat down at my desk, urging myself to ignore it. It had never been like this before she'd started working here.

I checked my emails, filing them diligently but slowly. Five more minutes. I spell-checked the weekly presentation, saved it a few times and experimented with re-labelling a pie chart. Five more minutes. Today was never going to end. I was stuck in an endless hour where each minute was slower than the last, until the final minute would stretch into an eternity, like some kind of science fiction film with a weird ending that nobody understood. I stretched my back, smoothed my skirt again, re-tied my ponytail. Two minutes passed.

Loathing myself, I looked out of the window. Rapunzel was sitting on her desk again, chatting animatedly to the two guys from earlier. They were almost enchanted, unable to take their eyes off her. Briefly I wondered whether she was planning to sleep with one of them. Or maybe she already had: she seemed like the type. Perhaps that was a little harsh. Maybe she planned to sleep with both of them. Maybe at the same time. I looked away, my face reddening. That was exactly the type of person I imagined she was: the kind of girl who'd get into bed with two guys at the same time. I was her manager: why did I feel so bloody jealous all the time? I didn't even like men.

The clock crept onwards like a lethargic slug. I wanted to scream. I sneaked a look out of the window and there she was, Rapunzel, smugly sitting on her desk, hi-tops on her chair, half-listening to one of the guys talking. She looked over at me, meeting my eyes, knowing exactly what she was doing. And then, instead of looking away, embarrassed to be caught slacking, she just smiled at me. A bratty little smile of someone who thinks they're untouchable. Well, that was the final straw. I couldn't let that go unpunished.

"Megan, this is the third time I've spoken to you," I said, concentrating all my energy on not sounding shrill and stressed. I had to consciously unclench my fists and relax my shoulders. There was a little 'ooh' from the others in the office. I felt like nothing more than a petulant teacher telling off a child and it was humiliating. A blush was rising around my neck. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to meet me in my office at five to discuss this."

The 'ooh' rose in pitch and there was some surreptitious laughter and hushed comments. I held my ground, looking at her. She looked back, somehow looking more amused than worried. I had no idea how she did it. Utterly infuriating.

"Okay," she said, and then she picked up her nail file. She actually picked up her nail file. It was brutal. The laughter, all of it mocking, started before I was even back in my office. I heard the word 'detention' come from someone, I didn't know who. I'd stormed out there to show her she couldn't get away with whatever she wanted, and somehow, she'd made it perfectly obvious that she could. I didn't feel upset, I just felt anger and frustration, like she was a difficult puzzle and I just needed to complete one more step to unravel it, but that step was seemingly impossible. I breathed. Relax. Relax hands. Relax shoulders. Fifteen minutes to go. Although now I had to stay late to talk to her. That didn't matter. I could spend these fifteen minutes making a few notes on exactly what I wanted to say to her, so I was prepared. And she definitely wouldn't be smiling by the end.

But, committing anything to paper was somehow too difficult. It made me seem petty and I didn't want to live up to the Wicked Whittle name. Perhaps I needed to be lenient, friendlier, and get her on my side. If I explained to her how difficult my job could be she'd see it from my perspective. Maybe we'd share a joke, she'd invite me to drinks, everything would feel easy. That was it. She just needed me to talk to her like an equal. I was sure she'd respond.

To kill the final five minutes of the day, I went to the ladies' and checked my appearance. My makeup, much more understated than hers, just a touch of concealer and a tiny bit of mascara, all looked okay. My hair, well, I re-tied it again with the benefit of the mirror, but I wasn't sure it improved much. It was five o'clock now and outside I could hear people beginning to leave. Taking a deep breath, I compulsively smoothed my skirt again and went back to my office.

Rapunzel was waiting. She'd let herself in, leaving the door open behind her, and was sitting in the chair opposite mine, examining the cactus.

"Hi," I said, taken aback by her audacity, pausing in the doorway.

She swivelled her chair to face me and smiled. "Hello."

Closing the door behind me, I stared at her. Her jumper was gone and she'd undone at least one more button on her blouse. Her thighs were crossed, her hands folded in her lap, accentuating her cleavage. I could see the edge of her baby pink bra, just visible in the bottom of the deep 'V' of her open blouse, matching the colour of her lip gloss. The ends of her pigtails were sitting over her shoulders, neatly placed. She had more of her boobs on display than I could show off naked. It was a power move, plain and simple, designed to disarm me, show how much more feminine she was. But it wasn't going to work.

Moving my chair from behind my desk to a less confrontational place next to her, I prepared my opening salvo. Remember, be friendly, get her onside, I reminded myself.

"I love your cactus," she said, looking at it again.

I blinked. "Um, thank you."

"Does it ever have flowers?" She reached out towards it, not quite touching it, her fingers stopping just before they reached the spines. Her fingernails weren't painted but they were neatly cut, dead level on the ends and a perfect pink colour.

"None that I've seen."

"Huh." She withdrew her hand. The movement of her shoulders had revealed a little more of her bra, and she made no effort to correct it.

I got back on track. "So, Megan, I called you in here to-"

"Oh, you can call me Rapunzel, everyone does."

"I think it would be more appropriate-"

"It's fine, I'm not a big fan of the name Megan anyway."

She smiled brightly.

"Well, either way, I call you in here to talk to you about your work ethic." I felt nervous suddenly, but Rapunzel just looked at me, her expression blank except for the smile, waiting for me to go on. "I can see that you're not necessarily going to work from dawn till dusk, and I can accept that, but it's when you distract other people that I have to step in."

She nodded gently. "Do I distract you?" she asked, unexpectedly.

"No, no, it's not so much me, well, I suppose you do distract me because I am having to keep talking to you, but that's not what I mean," I blustered.

"That's interesting," she said, not sounding at all interested. She uncrossed her thighs and re-crossed them, leaning back a little in her chair. Her body language was languid and bored and I tried to keep the right tone as my irritation grew.

"Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, this can't continue how it is. Look at it from my perspective," I said, feeling momentary relief as I got the conversation going in the direction I wanted it to.

"Can I ask a question, Cassie? About your perspective?"

She looked genuine, so I nodded. "Yes, okay."

"Are you a lesbian?"

I looked at her. She looked back, unperturbed, like she'd just asked if I had any pets.

"I don't see-"

"I feel like you give off a lesbian energy, that's all."

"Really it's not-"

"I'm not sure what it is, but there's definitely something. And that would help me understand your perspective," she said, her eyes widening a little, adding to her calculated innocent look.

"Can you please stop interrupting me?" It just burst out of me. She looked affronted, but her shocked mouth turned back into a knowing smile.

"I didn't mean to upset you," she said, bouncing her leg slightly, still as relaxed as ever. "It's just that you haven't answered me yet."

"I'm not going to answer you."

"Oh, okay. Anyway, are we nearly finished?"

"No, we're not nearly finished, I've barely started," I said, anger finally entering my voice.

She rolled her eyes the tiniest bit. It was a flicker of movement, but it enraged me. Who the fuck did she think she was? I was supposed to be disciplining her, but so far she'd interrupted me about five times, made an inappropriate comment about my sexuality and was flaunting her breasts. And now she had the bare cheek to roll her eyes at me.

"I'm, I'm trying to tell you that, perspective, when you look at things, I mean," I stammered, my hands shaking with anger. That hateful little smile on her face never went away. I hated myself for not being able to even tell her off coherently.

"I only keep interrupting you because you don't seem to know what you're saying," she said, calmly, honing in on my insecurity like a missile, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "Maybe we could revisit this on Tuesday? Only I'm supposed to be meeting someone in a minute."

She got up out of the chair.

"Sit down," I said, seething.

With a confused expression, she looked at me. "Let's talk after the weekend," she suggested, again, only it wasn't phrased like a question. I stood up to confront her, but she took this as permission to go, and she flashed me a cute little smile and took a step towards the office door, reaching out to open it.

I snapped. I reached out and grabbed the wrist of her outstretched arm, pushing her roughly into the wall beside the door. She stumbled slightly, turning, colliding with the wall with her back, her boobs bouncing, and I pinned her wrist up by her head, breathing hard. Standing this close to her, I was six inches taller than her in my heels, so I looked down into her wide, startled blue eyes, looking back up at me through her long eyelashes. Her lips were parted in surprise, pink and wet-looking, and for a moment I panicked about what I'd done. This meant a complaint and being fired, no doubt about it.

Then her head tilted back and her free arm grabbed the hem of my jacket, and she pulled me in. Until that moment, the last thing on my mind had been kissing her, but in the time it took my lips to close the gap between us, suddenly it was all I could think about. I still hated her, but I wanted her too, and I dimly realised that all of the comparisons and jealousy I'd been feeling were really a bit of a crush. She strained her wrist gently against my grip as I pushed against her, still resisting, but she kissed me back, softly, allowing me to take the lead. My mind was whirling with the scent of her floral perfume, the shampoo smell of her hair, the touch of the soft curve of her waist under my other hand as I held her, the slight chemical taste of her lip gloss on my tongue. She made a noise, halfway between a sigh and a moan, and I kissed her harder, very aware of every place our bodies were touching, my thigh sliding up between her legs to hold her there against the wall.

With a slight turn of her head, she broke the kiss. I looked into her eyes, wondering what was coming next, my nerves dancing with the thrill of adrenaline. She looked back at me and broke into that infuriating smile.

"I knew it," she whispered, her tone slow and teasing. "I was right about the lesbian energy."

I squeezed her wrist and she smiled wider.

"I knew you wanted me. I knew I was... distracting you. You just didn't know it yet."

With a gentle movement, I pressed into her again and leant forward to kiss her, but she turned her head sharply, showing me her profile, the perfect sharp angle of her nose and her exposed jaw.

"I don't know if I want to keep snogging my lesbian boss," she said, suddenly jerking her wrist out of my grip. And just like that, the anger was back. She was a tease, I knew it. I looked at her, intensely, tension surging through my body, and she looked back, wide-eyed again, innocent.

"You'll do what I tell you," I growled, wanting to have her and control her.

Her eyes flashed and her smile came back. "Make me."

She pronounced the two words so slowly and deliberately, I had never imagined that hearing them could be so arousing. They aroused my anger again and turned me on. I was almost overcome by lust for this girl in front of me, a feeling I'd never had before. It was like she knew exactly which buttons to press and which switches to touch to get me perfectly worked up.

Rather than reacting quickly, I looked at her for a moment, having her exactly where I wanted her. For the first time, I recognised a flicker of nerves in her face, waiting for my response, a thrill of fear about what came next. The power was incredible and I gently traced my fingers up, from her shoulder over the curve of her neck, brushing the sensitive spot below her ear, feeling her shiver. My hand found her plait and I followed it to the side of her head, my fingers digging into the thickness of her hair, nails touching her scalp. Her lips parted again, her shoulders rising and falling with her breaths, her eyes fixed on me. I had her.

Now I leant in to kiss her again, but our lips only brushed over each other before I pulled away, kissing her cheekbone, then just above her eyebrow. I took my time, not rushing, allowing my frustration to simmer rather than boil over. I dug my fingers slightly more deeply into her hair, my palm flattening against the side of her head, my wrist on her cheek. Slowly I breathed in the smell of her shampoo again, more sharply scented than before, the clean, feminine fragrance suiting her perfectly. It was so perfectly sexy to have this blonde, blue-eyed, beautiful, big-breasted girl at my mercy.