VirginsforSale.com

by Sky Corgan

  I'm a devout Christian, many would say fanatically so. I've done my best to keep pure in all regards to honor my Amish heritage. Though my mother was excommunicated for having me out of wedlock, we still try to stay true to as many traditions as possible, which is a lot easier said than done in our predicament.

  All the other women in the room are staring at Xander Sanderlin and his wealthy colleagues as they sit together several tables away. It baffles me why they didn't go out for lunch. I can only imagine that he must want some attention. Vanity is a sin, a derivative of pride. I've heard it's not the only sin that Xander Sanderlin is guilty of. But I have more important things to worry about than his wrong-doings. What he does is none of my business as long as he keeps me in his employment.

  While I stare at my sandwich, my appetite wanes as I think about my future—or lack thereof. On most days, I try to be positive—to see all the good in my life—the things I should be grateful for. An image of my mother in her hospital bed flashes through my mind. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, whispering to myself, “You have a good, stable job. You have a roof over your head. You have Dorothy and Ruby to help take care of Mom. God has a plan for you. He would never give you more than you can handle. Everything is as he wants it to be. Everything has a reason.”

  By the time I open my eyes, I feel better. Faith will get me through another day, as it has so many. I just need to put myself in God's hands, and he'll take care of the rest.

  And I need to eat my sandwich. I'm blessed to be able to afford this food, and I shouldn't let it go to waste.

  Lunch is over faster than I like, and it's back to the production floor. I grade tests for a living. It's not an exciting job; not particularly difficult either. Most of the work is processed by computers. I just check the marks that the computer can't decipher; figure out if the kid bubbled in A or B when they scribble outside the lines. It's a far cry from the manual labor I feel like I should be doing to keep more in line with my religious background, but jobs are hard to come by, and it pays a decent wage. I'm also next in line to be promoted to manager of my department, but only because my current manager is about to retire and no one else wants the position because the hours are crazy long. All-in-all, I can't complain. It's the first job I've ever had with potential for growth. Before this, I worked for a small ranch tending to the animals and helping in the garden, but the pay was minimum wage and the hours were spotty. As soon as my mother fell ill, I knew I needed more than what they were willing to provide.

  Ruby applied me for this job without my knowledge or consent. As soon as the call came in for the interview, she did her best to convince me that I needed to set aside my beliefs long enough to pay off my mother's medical bills and help with the expenses of housing. We share a small two-bedroom apartment with two other women, and with my mother out of commission, I needed to pull the financial weight of two people. There seemed like no other choice at the time, so I sucked up my distress and went in for the interview. Thankfully, no experience was required. I was brought on almost immediately, and the rest is history.

  The job is miles away from what I'm used to, but I can't say I don't enjoy it. Sitting in front of a computer all day is a lot easier on my body than cleaning stables and pulling weeds. Originally, I had thought that when my mother got better, I would return to manual labor, but with a promotion looming on the horizon, I'm not so sure that's a good idea. This promotion could change my life. This job has changed my life. And if everything happens for a reason...then maybe this is what God wants for me.

  Mister Sanderlin walks the floor while we work. He strolls through production with several other men in suits, taking leisurely steps and pausing every now and then to talk amongst them. They stop at my desk, and when I glance over my shoulder, dark green eyes are staring straight down at me. I give my best polite smile before returning my gaze to my monitor. My cheeks flame unbidden as I think again about that framed picture of his visage in the hallway and realize it doesn't do him justice.

  I see it now—what the other women have seen all this time but I've somehow missed. Worse than that, I feel it. The first tremor of something forbidden.

  I can't look at him again. My fingers tremble slightly as I try to concentrate on what I'm doing. It's an A. It's definitely an A. I take a deep breath and nod to myself before selecting the correct answer and moving on to the next.

  I don't understand what's going on. Looking at a man has never made me feel this way before. There was so much power behind his eyes. In the confident way that he stands in his fitted suit with his hands tucked into the pockets. It's odd how in a fraction of a second you can commit so much to memory. His perfectly carved jawline. The five o'clock shadow of dark hair that made him look just off-kilter of pristine.

  “Wow. Just wow. He even made Miss Goody Two Shoes fluster,” one of my female co-workers pokes at me.

  I do my best to ignore her, refusing to admit the truth—that I felt something when I looked into that man's eyes. Something that I can't wait to forget about.

  I'm haunted for the next several hours. Every time I close my eyes, I see Xander Sanderlin staring down at me. His deep voice is silently beckoning. I squirm in my seat, feeling the darkest parts of me awaken. Then I open my eyes, and I see nothing but the screen in front of me and the task at hand.

  This will be gone by tomorrow. You just need to let it fade.

  “Christiana.” My manager has to repeat my name twice before I finally respond to it.

  “Hm? Oh, yes sir?” I look over at him.

  “Mister Sanderlin has asked to see you in his office.” He's still holding the desk phone receiver in his hand as if he's just as shocked to be delivering the news to me as I am to be receiving it.

  “Me?” I point to myself stupidly. It's not like there's another Christiana on the entire production floor.

  Does Mister Sanderlin even have an office here? I think to myself before my manager offers to escort me.

  “I wonder what he wants,” I say absentmindedly as we take the elevator up to a floor I've never been on before.

  “I don't know.”

  There's a hallway lined with offices. We stop at the very end. There's no placard on the door to indicate who is inside, but when my manager knocks, the question is quickly answered.

  The door opens, and everything I felt earlier that I tried to stifle down is brought back to the surface. I can barely meet Xander's gaze before he thanks my manager for bringing me and then dismisses him back to the production floor.

  “Come in.” He holds the door open for me.

  I clasp my hands in front of me, taking apprehensive steps into the massive office that's empty of everything except for a desk and a few chairs. It's obvious that this is a spare office. There are no pictures on the walls. No papers on the desk to make it look used. There's not even a computer. The plainness of it should make me feel right at home. But instead, it just makes me feel vulnerable.

  “Did I do something wrong?” I trail him with my eyes as he rounds the desk to sit.

  “No.” He gives me a grin that can only be described as wolfish. “Sit.”

  I do as I'm told, my gaze immediately falling to my hands as I begin to fidget. Just being here with him is so intimidating, and I don't even know why.

  “Do I make you nervous?” His voice is like dark silk, so deep and smooth.

  “No,” I respond automatically, though I know it's a lie.

  He chuckles. “I think I do make you nervous.”

  “What's this about?” I force myself to look at him and then immediately regret it.

  While he may intimidate me, the feeling definitely isn't reciprocated. He stares at me as if he could devour me whole. What's that look he's giving me? It's not professional. At least, I don't think it is. It seems like something else entirely. Something I saw when I was a teenager selling bread on the street one day when my mother was ill. These men grabbed me and pulled me into an alley. I'll never forget the way
they looked at me as they spoke vile things.

  I was lucky then. There had been a cop just around the corner who came to my aid. I have a pretty good idea of what would have happened if he hadn't been there. But God was by my side that day. He saw fit to send me a protector.

  As if sensing that I'm uncomfortable, Mister Sanderlin averts his gaze. The heat leaves his expression, and his tone turns to that which he used with his business associates while they were wandering the production floor earlier. “I saw in your file that you're up for a promotion, Christiana.”

  The dread that had balled in my stomach begins to dissipate as I realize this isn't an unpleasant visit. “Yes, sir.”

  “I want to speak to you about a different kind of promotion.” He folds his hands on top of the desk. My eyes fall to his left hand, and I note that there's no wedding ring, though I'm not sure why I even look. Maybe I'm just so nervous that I'm looking for anything to distract me.

  I should be elated. It sounds like he wants to offer me a different position within the company; potentially a better one. But I just can't focus while in the room with him. There's some wicked magic to him that steals my brain to illogical places.

  “Sir?” I ask stupidly. In non-blubbering English, that means please continue.

  “You seem like a good, reliable girl.” His eyes narrow and I see a flash of what was there when he was looking at me on the production floor. The thing that affected me to my very core. I want to avert my gaze again, but I force myself to stay focused as he continues speaking. “You seem like you would be good at following orders.”

  “I can do whatever you need me to do, sir,” I tell him with as much confidence as I can muster, trying to sit up tall.

  “Is that so?” The wolfish grin returns, and it makes me tingle as I try to decipher why he looks so smug.

  “That's so.” I nod.

  He takes a deep breath, leaning back in the chair and propping his elbow on the armrest. His hand cups his chin, drawing my eyes straight to his lips. It's the first time I've realized that his five o'clock shadow is perfectly manicured. He has the soft beginnings of a mustache, the tiniest bit of a soul patch, and then the outline of a beard that extends down his neck. Facial hair has never looked sexier on any man before. There's just enough to make him seem mature, but not enough to wrap your fingers in. I wonder if it would tickle to be kissed by him—by those full lips that are a soft shade of pink.

  He's your boss. This is innocent. Just hold yourself together.

  “This position isn't with the company. You would be employed directly by me.” Mister Sanderlin drops his hand from his face, and my fantasies fall with it as I come back to reality.

  “Sir?” I knit my brow, realizing that I must sound like a parrot with a limited vocabulary.

  “You would be my personal assistant. It would be a live-in position at my home. You would be at my beck and call, day and night.

  “Your duties would be...whatever I need them to be at the time. Cooking for me, performing household chores like tidying the house and picking up my dry cleaning, accompanying me to business meetings when required, and helping me with office tasks that I typically perform at home.”

  As he continues to outline the job duties, I'm still stuck on the part where I would have to live with him. My mother needs me. She's too ill for me to leave her alone right now.

  “I can't,” I cringe as the words slip from my mouth. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I have to throw it away. If God had wanted me to have it, he wouldn't have saddled me with such a responsibility. This is meant for someone else. Not me.

  “It would come with a sizable pay increase,” he informs me.

  “Sizable?”

  “All your expenses would be paid. You'd have full medical coverage. You'd also draw a salary.”

  Living with him would mean not having to pay rent and my portion of the utilities. And I could use the money to get out from under my mother's crushing debt. She has been doing better lately. She can almost get around on her own. But still...

  “I can't.” My gaze falls to my lap again, and I try to remind myself of all of the reasons why denying him is the right thing to do. There will be other opportunities for me in the future. This isn't the right one.

  “I'll send a car for you on Monday morning at 8 AM. Bring only your basic necessities.”

  His words catch me off guard. It's like he's not even listening to me. Has no one ever told him no before?

  I need to say it, but now I'm afraid to. He's made the promotion sound non-negotiable. If I'm firm with him, will he fire me?

  Mister Sanderlin stands and walks around the table. My heart thuds in my chest with each step he takes. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to stand or stay seated, but there's no time to decide. Within seconds, he's before me in all his imposing glory. I'm staring at the front of his suit, afraid to look up into his eyes again. Having him so close, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. The short distance between us threatens the boundaries of my personal space, and when I feel his fingertips caress my cheek, I'm in disbelief that he was bold enough to cross it.

  He cups my chin, forcing my face up to him. My breath sticks in my throat from the contact. It's been forever since a man has touched me—and never since a man this attractive has touched me. My treacherous eyes meet his, and I'm completely captivated.

  “You'll be a good girl for me, won't you, Christiana?” The pad of his thumb traces my bottom lip, and I open my mouth to breathe. At least, that's what I tell myself. There's no more oxygen in the room. It's too precious to be wasted speaking, so I just nod, knowing that I'll do whatever he wants.

  Like what you've read so far? You can get the rest here: Dirty Promotion