Her Old-Fashioned Boss

by Laylah Roberts

  I’m just applying for a PA job. I won’t be anywhere close to the action.

  If she felt a small sliver of disappointment, she quickly squelched it. Some dreams were supposed to stay just that.

  Ava figured she could be open-minded and except for a handful of friends, she didn’t have much of a social life.

  Wincing, she limped up the drive. She wasn’t used to wearing shoes this high, but Asia had insisted that if she was going for a job as the personal assistant of a nightclub owner then she had to look the part.

  So she was wearing Asia’s killer black heels, Casey’s red dress and her own black leather overcoat. She’d gotten a few funny looks on the bus, but had shrugged them off. Casey’s dress was one she’d borrowed before, so she knew she looked good in it. Of course, it was sitting a bit loosely now, she’d lost some weight since being made redundant.

  The cravings wouldn’t leave her. She wanted chocolate and cream buns and cake, but she couldn’t risk becoming that chubby teenager she’d once been.

  The child that no one had wanted.

  I’m so ashamed. And afraid.

  Ashamed of her habit and afraid to tell her friends. The last thing she wanted was their pity and disbelief. They’d already done so much for her. They’d been her only friends, her only family for years. This was her problem to solve. She could do it.

  Closing her eyes, she took a steadying breath and knocked on the old wooden door. Frowning, she wondered if anyone would be able to hear through such a thick door. Stepping back, she searched for a doorbell. Seeing one set discreetly off to the side, she pressed it.

  God, she needed this job. She hadn’t told her friends, but she was running really low on money. Her severance pay hadn’t been much, and she’d spent the entire week after she’d finished work feeling sorry for herself and spitting up bakery products, which had cut into her money and her job searching time.

  If she didn’t get this job, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  How had she let things get so out of control?

  The door opened suddenly, surprising her. Taking a quick step back, she teetered dangerously on her high shoes.

  An arm shot out, a hand clasping her elbow.

  “Steady now, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Ava glanced up at the owner of the melodic voice, her breath stolen for an entirely different reason.

  My God, he was gorgeous—knock her down, steal her breath, give her heart palpitations gorgeous. His white-blond hair glistened in the sunlight, his blue eyes bright and piercing, almost dancing as he stared down at her. Tall, and muscular, he filled the doorway.

  A tight t-shirt the color of his eyes displayed some very fine muscles that she’d love to run her hand over. A tattoo peeked out at her from beneath his right sleeve, tantalizing her.

  “Okay now?” he asked kindly.

  Ava nodded, trying to find her voice. She hoped she wasn’t drooling.

  “Are you our four o’clock interview?” he prompted, making Ava blush as she realized she’d been standing there, staring, without saying a word.

  “Ahh, yes, I am.” She winced as she looked down at her watch. “S-sorry I’m late.”

  “Sam,” someone called out from down the hall, surprising Ava so much she jumped. “Where’s the next interview? She late?” The voice was grumpy, gruff.

  Ava clenched her hands nervously.

  “No,” the man in front of her called back with a smile. “She’s here, talking to me. I’ll bring her down.”

  Sam winked at her and she relaxed slightly. There was something calming about him. He gestured her inside, shutting the door behind her. The hallway was dark, with wood paneling along the sides and deep burgundy carpet.

  “This way, sweetheart,” he told her, resting his hand on the small of her back to guide her down the hall. “Don’t worry,” Sam whispered. “His bark is worse than his bite.”

  Ava looked up at him, flushing slightly. “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous,” she told him.

  Sam winked at her. “Don’t be nervous, you’ll be fine.” He suddenly frowned down at her. “Are you okay? You’re limping.”

  “Oh, ahh, it’s okay. Just my shoes. I walked too far in them.”

  Sam gazed down at her feet but didn’t say anything as he turned, guiding her through a doorway and into a small room with a desk. There was little else in the room except for a couple of chairs beside the desk.

  A connecting door led them into a larger room. A huge, oak desk sat before her. Deep bookcases lined the walls and an old open fireplace sat empty to one side, two cracked and worn leather chairs sitting in front of it. On the opposite side, a sofa nestled in a bay window that looked out on the city.

  Ava sighed. Now this was her idea of heaven.

  Movement to her right startled her and she turned, gaping as a huge man stepped forward. Dark hair surrounded a masculine face. A firm jaw tensed as he looked her over. Ava immediately straightened, wishing she’d had time to tidy herself up. God, he’d probably already dismissed her as useless. There, she’d failed in a job interview without even opening her mouth.

  Good one, Ava.

  “Shh, calm down, honey,” Sam whispered. “Remember what I said about his bark being worse than his bite. You’ll be fine.” Then he spoke louder. “This is Ava Scott. Ava, this is Roarke and I’m Sam. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll get something for your feet?”

  Roarke immediately frowned and Ava found herself taking a step back without even meaning to. Damn, he was intimidating. Those blue eyes seemed to see every secret, every imperfection. He wouldn’t be considered handsome, but he had an arresting look and an air of command.

  He wore a navy blue shirt tucked neatly into black pants. His dark brown hair was tidy and cut close to his head. Deep cheeks and a firm jaw only added to his masculine appeal. A shiver raced up her spine.

  “What’s wrong with her feet?” he asked Sam.

  “Too much walking,” Sam said with a shrug before leaving the room. Ava barely managed not to grab hold of him and beg him to stay. Instead, she forced her gaze back to Roarke.

  Keep calm. Be confident.

  Roarke gestured towards the chairs by the large desk. “Please, take a seat,” he said coolly. He dropped his gaze to her feet as she walked over and sat down.

  “No wonder your feet hurt. You should have worn something more sensible,” he growled.

  Ava frowned slightly, even though she’d been thinking the same thing. “But they look good.”

  Roarke snorted. “Women. What’s the point of looking good if you’re in pain? Don’t wear them again.”

  Ava stared at him; certain he had to be joking. He stared calmly back at her. “I’ll wear what I like,” she challenged, hardly believing herself. What was she doing? She was never going to wear these shoes again, they were killing her, plus they weren’t even hers. And she was trying to get this man to hire her, if he wanted her to jump around on one foot, wearing an eye patch and singing show tunes then she should do it.

  Roarke stared at her until she squirmed, dropping her gaze.

  “I won’t have you twisting an ankle while working for me. You’ll wear flats at work. What you wear in your own time is your business.”

  Ava’s head snapped up at that. He almost sounded like he was considering giving her a job.

  “Do you-do you want to see my C.V.?” she asked.

  He nodded and she handed it over, trying to still her trembling hand.

  “Settle down, I’m not that scary,” he said gently.

  “Wanna bet?” Ava slapped her hand over her mouth, hardly believing she’d said that out loud.

  Roarke’s lips twitched. “I assure you, Ms. Scott, I can be much scarier. Ask anyone who has ever crossed me.”

  Ava didn’t really like the sound of that. She’d be sure to displease him. There was no denying she could be a grouch, she had her off days like everyone else. Would he dock her pay if she said the wrong thing? Wou
ld he fire her if she didn’t make his coffee the right way? All sorts of scenarios raced through her head.

  “Stop.” He said firmly.

  Ava looked at him.

  “You’re worrying too much.” He sighed. “And I’m coming on too strong. But you need to know who I am if we’re going to work together. Tell me, Ms. Scott, do you know what sort of clubs I own?”

  Roarke looked down at the tiny woman sitting in front of him and cursed himself for scaring her. He tried to quell the stirring of arousal in his gut. His cock lengthened, pushing against his pants. What was wrong with him? She certainly wasn’t his type. He liked tall, curvy woman, not fragile little pixie’s with heart-shaped faces, large, green doe-like eyes and silky dark hair. No, not his type at all.

  So why was his dick as hard as concrete?

  Ava squirmed under his scrutiny and he almost smiled. Her gaze lowered to the floor.

  A natural submissive. He wondered if she knew.

  “I...ahh...ummm...” she stumbled over her words. So she did know he ran a BDSM club.

  “Ms. Scott, if we are to work together then there are a few core things that I will insist upon. One is communication. The other is honesty. I cannot stand lies. Do you understand?”

  She nodded and he worried about her being too timid. The last thing he wanted was an assistant who cried the first time he growled at her.

  “Now, I will ask again and I expect an answer.” Roarke deliberately used his Dom voice and she reacted immediately, raising her gaze to stare at him with wide eyes. She nodded silently, her eyes dropping once more.

  “No, look at me.” Where the hell was Sam? If he didn’t return soon to smooth over Roarke’s harder edges, she was going to flee.

  Mind you, that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Ava was entirely too tempting, he wanted to train her, control her, protect her.

  Possess her.

  Maybe he should tell her that. It would have her running in less than ten seconds. Then he could hire himself someone he wasn’t attracted to in the slightest. Someone older, married, independent. Someone who’d stand up to him when needed. Not someone he’d spend all his time imagining in his bed or kneeling at his feet.

  Dammit, where was Sam?

  Ava shuddered, and his attention turned from his thoughts back to her. She nervously licked her lips, her eyes wide as she stared at him with a mix of interest and trepidation.

  “What sorts of clubs do I own, Ava?” he asked.

  “BDSM clubs, Sir.”

  His cock throbbed. Down, boy. The Sir coming from her lips had sounded natural and far too sexy for his state of mind.

  “And do you have any problems with working for the owner of several BDSM clubs?”

  She shook her head, her long, dark hair moving about her head. “No, Sir.”

  Roarke dropped his gaze to her lap where she was wringing her hands anxiously.

  “Have you ever been to a BDSM club before?” he asked, quelling the urge to soothe her.

  “No, Sir.”

  He raised a brow. A complete novice. He wondered what sort of men she went for. Probably easy, sweet men who bored her in thirty seconds. Roarke shook off the thought. It was none of his business who she dated; he was hiring her to be his personal assistant. His old personal assistant had retired months ago and Sam had insisted that he needed one. He’d been relying on Sam too much to help him with the office work. He’d interviewed four other people before Ava.

  None of them had intrigued him in the slightest.

  He should hire one of them. But he wanted Ava. He hadn’t felt his much for anyone other than Sam in, well, too long to remember.

  Hell, no way he should hire her. Not when he was this damn attracted to her. He had a strict rule about not getting involved with employees. Too messy, especially with the type of business he was in.

  “Ms. Scott,” he said, deliberately using her last name to get them back on a more formal level.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  Roarke mulled over what to do. Hire her? Or tell her he couldn’t hire her but he wanted to fuck her?

  Sam walked through the door, carrying a red bucket, a first aid kit tucked under his arm. His lover grinned and winked at him before Ava turned, spotting him.

  Sam kneeled at her feet and put the bucket down.

  “Shoes off, sweetie,” Sam said gently.

  “Umm, what?” She gaped at him.

  “Shoes off. I want to take care of those feet of yours. I bet you’ve got blisters on top of blisters.”

  “Do as he says, Ava. He won't be happy until he's taken care of you. In fact, maybe we should just throw those shoes away for you,” Roarke stated.

  “No!” she told him with a glare. Not so timid then. Damn, he found her hot. “They’re not my shoes. And my feet are fine, really.”

  “Let me be the judge of that, sweetheart,” Sam replied. “Off. Now.”

  Roarke raised his eyebrows, surprised by the firmness in Sam’s voice. Roarke realized then that letting her walk out that door wasn’t an option. Because Sam wanted her too.

  Ahh, bliss.

  Ava closed her eyes as her Sam carefully removed her uncomfortable shoes and placed her aching feet in the warm water. She should protest. This was, well, weird to say the least. This had to be the strangest interview she'd ever had. And she'd had a few doozies.

  “Really, you don't have to do this,” she said half-heartedly.

  “But I want to,” Sam replied. “You keep them soaking then I'll bandage your feet up.”

  “How did you manage to get blisters just from walking from your car?” Roarke asked.

  “I don't have a car, I took the bus,” she said, distractedly as Sam lifted one foot free and placed it on his towel-covered lap. Okay, now this she should definitely argue against this. Not only did she not know this man caring for her feet so tenderly, but she did not want him getting up close and personal with her bony, ugly feet.

  “I can do that,” she told him frantically, trying to lift her foot free. He clasped it gently but firmly. “Sit still.” Sam didn't have the forceful persona that Roarke did, but he injected enough authority in his voice to have her stilling.

  “The bus?” Roarke said loudly, not yelling, but she jumped nevertheless. “You took the bus here?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly, not sure what he was so upset about. “I'm not familiar with this area, though, so I got off too early and had to walk the last few blocks. That's why my feet are sore. I'm just not used to high shoes like these.”

  Roarke frowned fiercely and Ava found herself shrinking back instinctively. But she forced herself to straighten her shoulders. If she got the job then she needed to find some backbone. She couldn't wilt each time he grew angry.

  “You shouldn't be taking the bus,” Roarke told her. “Anything could happen, it’s not safe. What the hell does your boyfriend say?”

  Ava frowned. “I don’t have a boyfriend and even if I did he’d have no say in how I got around. And if I don’t take the bus then how am I supposed to get anywhere? I don't own a car. I don't even have a license. The bus is perfectly safe.”

  Well, most of the time, she told herself. She glanced down at Sam as he put some antibacterial ointment on her feet and wrapped them up. Looking up, she found Roarke scowling down at her as he leaned forward on the desk.

  “There’s no need for you to take public transport to and from work,” he stated. “I may need you at odd hours and I will not have Sam worrying about your safety walking the streets and using public transport at night. You will make use of my driver and car. Sam will arrange it.” He stood abruptly. “Sam, get her a contract and take her through her job. Get Max to drive her home so he knows where she lives. I'll see you Monday morning, 8am sharp.”

  With that he walked around his desk and left the room. Ava just sat there for a moment, remembering to breathe.

  Sam patted her knee and stood. Where he touched her, the skin burned deliciously.

  “Yo
u get used to him, sweets. Now, you just sit there. Actually, we should put your feet up.” Looking around, he grabbed an ottoman from in front of the fireplace and dragged it over. Scooping up her feet, he placed them on the foot rest. “That's better. Don't move. I'm going to empty this water and get the paperwork for you. Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

  “Does-does this mean I'm hired?” she asked, still in shock.

  Sam grinned. “You certainly are, sweetheart. And I for one am looking very forward to working with you.” With a wink, he left the room.

  Ava glanced around with a feeling of disbelief. She pinched herself. Part of her wondered whether she should take this job. After all, this attraction she felt to both men could end up a problem. Plus, she didn’t know how long she could put up with Roarke’s autocratic ways without bopping him on the head.

  “Right, here is the paperwork,” Sam said as he walked back in. He placed a thin document on the desk in front of her. As she reached for the contract, he grabbed her hand. Ava looked up at him, shocked by the zing of electricity, but he was too busy frowning at her hand to notice her reaction.

  “What happened here?” he asked.

  “What?” She looked down at her hand. “Oh, I umm, well, I pinched myself.”

  Sam looked into her eyes, his electric blue gaze holding her spell bound. “You're not dreaming, sweetheart. I promise. Although I should tell you that there will be occasions when you might consider this job a bit of a nightmare. He's grouchy in the mornings, he's a bear when you get his coffee wrong, and he'll want you to work when he wants, where he wants.”

  Ava gulped.

  “He also pays damn well, provides fantastic benefits and is protective as hell. I promise you, sweetheart, we'll take care of you. Just be prepared. He can be a bit bossy.”

  “Really?” she drawled, finding some bravado from somewhere. “I hadn't noticed. Apparently, I won't be taking buses anymore?” Roarke didn't seem like he joked around, but then she couldn't be sure, having just met him.

  Sam grinned and rocked back on his feet. “Sweets, I haven't taken a bus in five years. And the one time a taxi instead of calling for Max to pick me up, I couldn't sit comfortably for days.”