by Ava Claire
She was stunned, glancing over at Maria. Without even looking in Maria's direction, I knew she was equally stunned too. And probably a little pissed.
"I've got the job?" Leila croaked.
I needed to get out of the conference room immediately. I needed to put some distance between myself and Leila before I did anything impulsive. I snapped to my feet and mentally plotted my path, making a silent note to not look at Leila again. It would give away everything. "Maria, expedite her paperwork. I want Miss Montgomery in tomorrow morning."
Leila foiled my plan to leave without incident, stepping in my path and holding out her hand with the cutest smile lighting up her face.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Whitmore! You won't regret this."
I navigated around her without another word. Truth be told, I already regretted it. I could barely contain myself when she was just a blip on the radar, an applicant that was one of hundreds. Not exploring this attraction I had to her would be damn near impossible when I knew that she was right downstairs.
"Mr. Whitmore," she said softly, but loud enough to bend my ear. "If I could just get a minute of your time to talk about earlier-"
I went no further, my voice calm but my words were heated. "Give us a moment, Maria."
I knew that she was probably calling me a choice word or two, but Maria left without another word nonetheless.
When we were alone, I turned back to Leila. The control that seemed so hard to grasp was firmly in place. Finally, something jarring that reminded me just how tenuous starting something with her would be. Was she really going to bring up the stairwell with one of my employees in the room?
She claimed she wanted to talk, but suddenly she was speechless.
"I thought you had something to say, Miss Montgomery."
She licked her lips. "I just wanted to say thank you for giving me a chance."
She wasn't fooling me. I arched my brow, almost relieved that she was already stepping out of bounds. Maybe that would cure this desire to say the hell with everything and take her right here. I had my doubts, since just watching her lick her lips was enough to make my cock twitch at the thought of her tongue against my hardened flesh.
"And about before-"
"There was no before," I insisted, shrugging my shoulders. "If that's all-"
"It most certainly isn't!" she said indignantly. "You marched me downstairs like some petulant child and practically forced yourself on me!"
I couldn't help but laugh at her flair for dramatics. "Oh please, spare me the damsel in distress bit. You wanted it." My eyes found her lips. I wanted it. I wanted her right now. And she wanted me.
She fought it, stepping backward. The similarities between us, fighting tooth and nail against our obvious attraction just made me want her even more.
"That doesn't matter," she spat. "What matters is-"
"It happened," I couldn't hold back my own frustration about the guilt of pushing things too far. For the both of us. I'd broken one of the cardinal rules and that was on me, but it was easier to push her away. "It won't happen again. And that's the end of it!"
She didn't back down. "But Jacob-"
"You will address me as Mr. Whitmore." My words were cold as ice as I turned to leave. "And we're done."
I threw open the door, ignoring the voice in my head that told me that I was the one being a child. I'd have to decide. Either I let her go, or give her a peek into my world and let her decide for herself.
Chapter Four
I knew my lawyer was waiting for me before I saw his bespectacled face. Natasha, my secretary, was barely visible behind a sea of red roses. The old man nursed quite the crush on her, and even though he didn't have a chance with her, Natasha loved the gifts and wouldn't be the one to break the news.
"...and next weekend I'll be flying to the Maldives for a consult with a new client."
I rounded the corner and saw the man fully focused on the flash of blonde hair that rose out of the garden.
"I'd love some company-"
I cleared my throat and Natasha lurched to her feet. The polite smile on her face didn't budge, but relief filled her crystal eyes. Flowers were one thing, jet-setting with the eternally perspiring man was quite another.
"Mr. Whitmore!" she exclaimed, booking it toward me and taking my briefcase. "Mr. Laughlin doesn't have an appointment as you know, but he wanted to squeeze in before your 10am." She gave me an apologetic nod before she walked toward the break room. "I'll get you some coffee. Anything for you, Mr. Laughlin?"
"Just one request," he said with a smile that made me roll my eyes. "Call me Carl. I insist.”
Natasha let out an uncomfortable chuckle and went about her business.
"That's quite a woman," Carl whistled, watching her departure, and rear end, intently.
I didn't hide my annoyance. "You know, for a man that rails on about discretion and not making decisions with my dick, you’re pretty cavalier about following your own.”
Carl let out a hearty laugh and almost clapped me on the shoulder until he saw that I didn’t mean it as some sort of compliment. The arm dropped immediately back to his side and he rushed to button his jacket, stepping back into the role that I paid him a small fortune to play.
“I have all the contract work we discussed. The full background check is still pending.” When I arched an eyebrow with disappointment, he held out out his hands. “I’m good, Jacob, but a full, thorough background check in less than 8 hours is pushing it.” He knelt to retrieve his briefcase and patted the outside like he was carrying precious cargo. “If it helps, she doesn’t have a criminal record. In fact, she doesn’t have a spot anywhere, not even a parking ticket.”
I felt a strange rash of pride. Of course she doesn’t. Not Leila. Though if I was honest, even if she had a rap sheet as long as my arm, I wouldn’t have walked away. After spending yesterday afternoon trying to talk myself out of the way I felt about her and the desire to do this right, I succumbed and gave Carl a call.
I led the way to my office. “So, if you didn’t find anything-”
“Yet,” Carl interjected.
I didn’t appreciate it. “Why are you here?”
The man sank into the chair like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “I hoped I could convince you to see reason.”
I saddled the man with the most incredulous look I could muster. “Excuse me?”
“All this-” He nodded at the briefcase. “With the headache the actress is giving us right now, is it really a good idea to begin a new-” He wisely paused so he could choose the right descriptor. One that wouldn’t have me tossing him from my office. “Arrangement?”
I knew he didn’t mean to offend. The world I crafted behind closed doors was difficult for vanilla minded people to grasp, but my hackles were raised regardless.
“When I need you to counsel me on my needs, I’ll let you know. What I need from you is an updated non-disclosure agreement.” I stalked to my desk. “If it’s ready, I’ll take it, and you can go back to trying to woo my secretary.”
He wasted no more of my time, pulling out the USB with the files and pressing it into my desk. He rose, annoyance floundering in his round cheeks, but his voice was cordial. “It seems I’m no longer required.” He held out his hand and I shook it.
He left without another word and Natasha filed in behind him, holding my coffee and a concerned look.
“Not that I’m complaining, but he booked it out of here in a hurry.”
“A lawyer’s work is never done,” I cracked, a smile creeping onto my lips.
Natasha’s pale eyes widened, my coffee hovering mid-air. “Was that a joke, Mr. Whitmore?”
I glanced up at her with a frown, but it faltered when I realized that it was. And I’d even thrown a smile in for good measure. Two things I rarely did at work. Or anywhere.
I cleared my throat and waited for her to leave before I plugged in Leila’s info.
Just seeing the contract, ripe and
ready for her signature, was enough to make my cock swell with excitement. I glanced at the clock and pushed back from my desk. She should be well into her first day, with no idea that I had a position that she was much better suited for.
My assistant...and my submissive.
The elevator ride down I thought of her, wondering how her curls would fall today. Anxious to see the look on her face when I told her that she was being promoted. The look in her eyes when I asked her to be my submissive.
I punched the button for the research and development floor. The indifferent part of me, the voice that asked me what the hell I was doing, was close to inaudible. I knew all the legal and professional reasons this arrangement was a bad idea, but I couldn’t ignore this pull...and I knew she felt it too.
I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been to R & D. The woman who headed the department, Christy, ruled with an iron fist. I had no qualms because R&D was essentially the oil that greased the machine. When I stepped out of the elevator and paused in the doorway of the mailroom, I saw a rail thin girl biting her nails to nubs in the corner, tossing apprehensive looks around her like she was waiting to be yelled at for doing something wrong. When she saw me, she nearly fainted.
I had my eye on someone else, scanning the buzzing room until my eyes found her.
Leila.
Her curly brown locks were pulled into a bun that rested near the nape of her neck. She wore a blush colored blouse that matched the flush in her cheeks.
She and Christy stood at a wall lined with LCD screens. I watched the bug eyed, black haired woman shuffle toward her boss, probably announcing me. I wanted to tell her that wasn’t necessary. At the moment, I was just enjoying watching Leila hold her own with the cold woman.
“I know it looks complicated,” Christy was in the zone, her full attention on letting Leila know who was in charge. “But it certainly doesn’t take an Ivy League education to figure it out.”
The black haired girl glanced at me, then leaned toward Christy. “Uh, Mrs. Moore-”
“If it’s a page for me, just hold it until I’m done with Lauren,” Christy practically bit the girl’s head off.
I stepped in, eager to remind Christy Moore who was really in charge at Whitmore and Creighton.
“It’s Leila.”
Both of the women whirled to face me. It had barely been eight hours since I last saw Leila, but my heart skittered and slammed into my chest when our eyes met. The way she looked at me, stripping me down with her gaze...I couldn’t help but fantasize about disciplining her. Would she squirm? Count each strike, praying for one more?
“You!” Leila hissed, clearly taken aback by my surprise visit. “What are you-why are you-”
“Mr. Whitmore!” Christy interjected, practically shoving Leila out of the way. “I wasn’t expecting you!”
She was barely on my radar. I was locked on Leila, wishing I could get a peek inside of that beautiful head of hers. Hoping that she would say yes so I could explore other parts of her as well.
"I'm afraid I owe you an apology, Mrs. Moore."
The surprise on Christy's face mirrored the shock that gripped Natasha's when I made a joke. "You do?"
"You'll be down an aide until a replacement for Miss Montgomery can be found."
That spark I'd seen in the stairwell was instantly extinguished. It had seemed clever and obvious in my head, but when it came out I understood how it sounded like I was firing her. I almost comforted her, wanting to assure her that the only way I was letting her go was if she chose to go, but Christy was already narrow-eyed and inspecting us both, trying to put the puzzle together.
"I have another position that would be perfect for our new employee."
Leila's big doe eyes bloomed. "You do?"
"Yes. Come with me."
Every ear in the room was listening and what came next was for Leila, and Leila alone. I led the way and heard her hustle to catch up with me, her flats whispering on the marble floor. We entered the elevator and I didn't trust myself to speak without my voice giving everything away. It didn't help when her shoulder brushed mine, reminding me how good it felt when her body was near. And I was learning her. Her silence was charged with everything she wanted to say.
But my knowledge only went so far. She spoke up, despite my guess that she wouldn't utter a word until we got to my office.
"I'm being considered for another position?" Her voice was low and skeptical.
I don't like to repeat myself, so I answered with a clipped, "Yes."
"What position?"
"A highly paid one," I said vaguely, the fleeting annoyance dissipating. This woman wouldn't go blindly into anything; her cards would always be on the table. I smoothed a shaky hand through my hair, trying to still the excitement that was sparking in my chest like fireworks. I collected myself just in time because she looked at me then, asking the follow up question that would be the starting shot to send us flying past the point of no return.
"And what highly paid position am I being considered for?"
"Personal assistant." I straightened my tie, like that would make my other needs, which were highly unprofessional, more palatable. "My personal assistant."
She fell silent again and I stole a look at her. It didn't take any investigation to determine that she was uncomfortable. Maybe even ashamed. Both were unacceptable.
"You worry that this promotion is due to our time together, don't you?"
I opened the floor for discussion, but she just stared straight ahead. After a long, maddening moment, she dipped her chin to her chest twice.
My questions were not ones to be answered with nods. "A verbal response would be appreciated, Leila."
"I don't know—are we talking about it today? Or is it still our dirty little secret?"
Her verbal snap sent a wave of anger over me. She was deflecting, which answered my question, but it wasn't good enough. "Answer the question, Leila. Do you think I'm promoting you because of what we did together yesterday?"
"Yes."
I didn't have to strain to hear it. Her answer was a pained whisper that echoed in my ears. I almost pulled the emergency brake and took her in my arms and told her that I was being selfish in promoting her, but I'd seen her under pressure and she thrived. Whatever goals she had, being at my right hand would help her achieve them.
But we reached the top floor and the question was forgotten in lieu of her first look at the executive floor. The hardwood floors, marble and glass sculptures; it was my domain. Every piece created my world. My professional world, that is. My private world was something else entirely.
Natasha perked in her seat and I felt the air change between the two women. I bit back a smile when Leila raised her chin an inch, not backing down.
"Hold all my calls, Natasha."
Natasha's porcelain features nearly shattered, but she mumbled a yes and I guided Leila down the corridor that led to my office.
It was time.
Never before had I felt so nervous, so hopeful that a submissive would sign on that dotted line. I wasted no time retrieving the tablet that had the contract waiting. I handed it to her and took my place at the desk. "Feel free to read through it in its entirety. A copy was also emailed to the address we have for you on file."
When I asked her to read through it in its entirety, I didn't expect her to literally read through it word for word, but I watched her eyes skim each line intently. Her eyebrows hitched a few times and I couldn't resist guiding her toward the meat of it.
"I can give you the highlights. As my personal assistant, you will be given a healthy salary along with a clothing and travel allowance. In addition to any administrative needs I may require, you will make yourself available as my submissive."
I'd expected the word to rock her very foundation, but the look on her face was something else entirely.
She was utterly terrified.
Chapter Five
I hedged my bets. There was a chance that
the wide eyed horror was really fascination...or she could be moments from screaming from the rooftops that Jacob Whitmore was a sex addict.
I wasn't an optimist, but I also knew that we'd come too far to turn back now.
I kept my tone matter-of-fact, like we were discussing a new client instead of a new kind of relationship where I was her Dominant and she was my submissive. "You are familiar with the term 'submissive'? With BDSM?"
She let out a strangled chuckle that told me she was familiar, though I had a sneaking suspicion that her definition was garnered from a romance novel.
"Yes," she finally answered, cheeks hot with the most delicious embarrassment. "I mean, I do. I mean, I was..." She didn't finish her statement, her eyes falling to the floor like she'd find the letters and syllables to properly tell that story.
My curiosity about her history was overwhelmed by a rash of territorialism. This woman wasn't even mine and I wanted to slay those demons and kiss away every old hurt. Now that I knew that I'd seen a flash of a sub in her, I knew that she was meant to be my own.
I refused to address the gravity of my attraction; how one tryst in a stairwell resulted in an inability to accept anything but her signature. I'd heard of Doms finding the one...the submissive that changed everything. I was taking a huge risk. What I asked of her wasn't exactly conventional. Or legal. But I couldn't wait to show her my world.
"Good," I answered as evenly as I could. It came off crisper than I'd like, but it beat the giddy timbre of excitement that was doing a number on me. "That means your period of adjustment should be brief."
She still hadn't looked me in the eye since I'd revealed my hand. Instead of just staring at the carpet, she swept her toe back and forth, reminding me of a pendulum. She was leaving no stone unturned with this contract. She hit something that made her stop mid-swing.
"I-Is this number correct?" Her eyes flashed to mine, filled with incredulity. "It must be some sort of typo."
"The salary is correct." The look of awe on her face was one that I knew I'd see again once she saw my playroom. I couldn't resist teasing her a little. "And don't worry, you'll earn every cent."