“I don’t know, Jess.” I feel uneasy at just the thought of working for this guy, no matter how hot he is. “I mean, what if he did kill his girlfriend? If he could do that to her, imagine what he would do to me if he found out I was only there fishing for a story.”
“He won’t find out,” she argues. “I’m not suggesting you rifle through the guy’s things. Just go in there and observe. See if anything feels off. Just think about it. Go for the interview and then see how you feel. I mean, you probably wont even get the job.”
“Gee, thanks for your vote of confidence,” I chuckle, rolling my eyes.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. Terra told me hundreds of women applied. He’s interviewed less than a of them.” She pauses dramatically. “He is really ruthless with his selection criteria, apparently.”
“Won’t your friend be annoyed that you’re pushing me to apply for a job she wants?” I tease.
“She doesn’t want it. She’s too scared she’ll end up dismembered and buried in his backyard,” she cracks.
I roll my eyes, loving that it’s okay for Terra to be scared but not me.
“Anyway, I gotta go,” Jess sighs. “Apparently I’m supposed to be working. Call me later, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree with a laugh.
As I hang up, I ponder over her words. I wonder what catch is. You don’t just wake up one day and decide to advertise for a sex slave, or whatever the hell it is he wants. I mean, is that even legal? I read over the ad again and find myself even more intrigued. Jess is right about one thing: this could potentially be a huge story. My big break. Newspapers would be falling over themselves to hire me.
God, it’s tempting…
And if I want a career in journalism I have to be ruthless, right?
His missing girlfriend isn’t the first time Jaxon Murphy has been in the news. When he was fifteen, his mother, father, and younger sister were brutally murdered during a home invasion. Jaxon had been spending the night at a friend’s house and arrived home the next morning to find the bodies. I shudder at the thought. How does a kid get over that? I guess that’s the point; he’s probably never gotten over it.
When he turned eighteen, he inherited his father’s multi-million-dollar fortune and became partner CEO of his business, Hamden & Murphy Enterprises, along with his father’s old business partner, Ryan Hamden. For a years he was completely out of the spotlight until earlier this year his long time girlfriend, Brynne, disappeared.
I text Jess, who I notice is back on messenger.
Me: This would be an awesome story…
Jess: Oooh, you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?!?
I laugh and tap back a reply.
Me: Thinking and doing are not the same things. I really don’t think I have the balls for this kinda thing. This is more your forte.
Jess: Hmm, I’m pretty sure our guy isn’t after a chick with balls. That’s a whole different fetish ;) But seriously, what harm is there in meeting the guy? If you smell a story, go for it. If not, no love lost, right?
She’s making all kinds of sense right now. Gaining an interview and sussing out the situation doesn’t tie me into taking the job, does it?
Me: I’ll think about it.
Jess: Good girl. Call me later, ’kay?
After rereading the ad for the hundredth time, I copy the email address and type out a quick message, and attach my résumé and the required full-length photo. I press send before I can change my mind and then slam my laptop shut. I’m already regretting it. I need to distract myself. I pick up my bag and grab my car keys off the kitchen counter and head out the door to do the thing I love most: shopping.
My phone beeps, indicating an email, as I’m driving into the parking lot. I pull over and grab my phone, my heart racing. Am I hoping it’s him, or am I hoping it’s not? I don’t know. I’m confused about whether I even want the damn interview.
I click on my email and see it is a reply from him. My hands shake as I click the message.
Thank you for your application. I’d like to meet with you at four p.m. today to discuss the role in further detail. If you are unable to attend, please be advised that no other times will be made available to you.
Sincerely,
J.M.
JM. As in Jaxon Murphy. Holy shit, it really is him. My heart thumps at the thought of meeting him. I check my watch and see that it is almost three thirty. Is this a test to check my ability to follow orders? I have barely enough time to go home, change, and get to the interview. I’m on the verge of saying fuck it when I remember why I’m doing this in the first place. I owe it to myself to at least check it out. I decide to scrap the idea of going home and opt to race inside the mall for a fresh shirt and some makeup. Less than ten minutes later I’m on the highway, swerving through lanes as I change shirts.
***
As I stand at the gated entrance to his house, my heart races. I have no idea what I’m about to get myself into. I reach up and press the intercom, my hands shaking. I take a deep breath and try to settle my nerves, only I can’t settle, because I might be about to become someone’s sex slave. Focus on the finding the story. Remember why you’re here.
“The front door’s unlocked. Please make your way down the hall to the left and wait in the living room.”
I jump, the little hairs on the back of my neck standing up as the smooth male voice booms through the speakers of the intercom. I’m not sure what it is, but something about that voice…his assertiveness turns me on. Everything about this guy is intimidating.
I bet not many people disobey him.
In the back of my mind, a little voice mocks ‘Like the girlfriend he murdered…’
So much for remaining impartial.
“Okay, thanks,” I mumble and take a deep breath. Brushing a strand of hair from my face, I make my way through the gate and down toward the front door, determined not to show my fear. I look around me, the full impact of the property hitting me.
The place is huge. The imposing triple-story mansion sits atop sprawling, lush green grounds. Its white exterior is cold and unwelcoming, in complete contrast to its beautiful surroundings. I make my way up the wide concrete steps, my breathing heavy as I near the door.
By the time I reach the double wooden front doors, I feel faint. How did I let Jess talk me into this? It’s so much easier to blame her rather than admit that part of me wants to do this.
Not only is this a potentially life-changing story, but I need to find out what his deal is. I spent so much time studying the guy, I feel like I know him. What scares me the most is the closer I get to discovering his secrets, the more I find myself thinking up the dirtiest fantasies of me working for him. Heat creeps up my neck as all sorts of nasty images enter my head.
If I am offered the job and I decide to take it, there is going to be sex. Kinky, fucked-up, off the charts kind of sex that little old me just doesn’t do. But that isn’t necessarily by choice, is it? My sex life to this point has been very vanilla, but like every girl, I have deep, dark fantasies that I long to explore. The thought of exploring them with Jaxon Murphy…oh god.
One thing I can say about Nick is that he was anything but experimental. It was missionary, him on top with the lights off all the way. The few times I suggested spicing up our sex life with something out of the ordinary like cowgirl style he made me feel like some kind of sex fiend.
Seeing him fucking that bitch on our kitchen counter didn’t just hurt me, it annoyed me—because our own sex life had been so dull. I guess the lack of physical connection should’ve been my first hint that our relationship was in trouble.
I push open the door and let myself inside. It’s so quiet. I’m standing in what looks like a lobby, and down the hall I can see what has to be the living room. I make my way toward the light-filled room, passing various pieces of artwork that I’m guessing are originals. They would have cost a ton. I sit down on the edge of a thick leather sofa. I feel so uncomfortable. I’
m surrounded by perfection: there is not a thing out of place and everything screams expensive. I’m pretty sure the couch I’m sitting on is worth more than everything I own combined.
My ears prick at the sound of a male voice in the distance. It’s him. I close my eyes and recall the newspaper clippings that showed his smiling face. Does he look better in person? Is that even possible? Anyone who describes themselves as attractive has to be pretty cocky, and the confidence he must have to place an ad like that scares me. I haven’t even met the guy and I’m already as intimidated as hell. I hold my hands together in my lap in a feeble attempt to hide how much I’m shaking. Over and over my mind is screaming What the hell am I doing here?
I swallow nervously as the voice becomes louder, trying desperately to ignore the pang of nausea as it fills my stomach. I look up as he enters the room, his phone to his ear, not even acknowledging my presence. Instead, he wanders over to the bar and pours himself a drink. I’m not deterred, though. Instead, I take the moment to study him in all his beautiful, sexy glory. Just the thought of fucking this guy has me all hot and bothered. I can just tell he knows how to please a woman and all thoughts of his potentially murderous past have taken a backseat. I shift in my seat, trying to regain my composure.
His hair, short and dark, has a slight wave to it, and in the natural light it looks almost black but as he nears me I can see it’s more of a golden brown. The white shirt he wears is rolled up to his elbows, and I can just make out the ending of the tattoo that wraps around his right forearm. His suit pants sit low on his hips, showcasing his athletic frame. With a body like that he must work out.
He is looking right at me. I realize I’m staring and look away, my cheeks heating. His eyes narrow as he mumbles into the phone something about calling them back. He slides the phone into his pocket and strides over to me, his fingers rubbing along the soft stubble lining his jaw.
“Charlotte Lucas, I presume?”
He speaks in a low, husky tone as he stands in front of me, his gaze slowly moving over my body. I stiffen, hoping I made the right choice with my knee-length black skirt and light blue shirt. I can’t help feeling overdressed, especially considering what I’m applying for. I feel like I should be wearing a G-string and some hooker boots.
“I’m Jaxon Murphy.”
“Yes, I know. Lovely to meet you.” I squawk the words out. Any hope of me sounding confident and in control evaporated the moment I laid eyes on him.
I have no business being here. If my feet didn’t feel like they were bolted to the floor, I’d be running for the door.
“Sorry about that, but unfortunately in my line of work interruptions are plentiful. Come through to my office.” He waits as I stand up and ushers me through to his office, his hand resting on the curve of my lower back. I can barely concentrate with him touching me.
His office is a large room just off from the dining room. I wonder what he does for a living? He seems professional, and very business-oriented. He walks around the large oak wooden desk and sits down, motioning for me to do the same. I place my résumé on the desk and sit too, my heart in my chest. Exactly what I am being interviewed for, I still have no idea. I wait impatiently as he reads through my résumé, every now and then glancing up to study me with those sexy, dark, dangerous eyes, causing my heart to leap into my throat.
“Would you like a drink?” he asks. “A tea or coffee, perhaps?”
“A tea would be nice,” I reply hoarsely, clearing my throat. “Black, please.”
He nods and presses the intercom, ordering my tea and a coffee for himself.
“So, Ms. Lucas. Tell me a little about yourself,” he says as he adjusts his position, crossing one leg casually in his lap. He looks so damn relaxed. And sexy. Did I mention sexy? Because fuck this guy defines the word sexy. He watches me intently as he waits for my answer.
“I’m newly out of college and looking for work. I thought this job sounded interesting,” I reply. My mouth feels like rubber and I’m sure he can tell how nervous I am. I wonder if he likes that? He strikes me as the kind of guy who likes to see the effect he has on women.
“Well, you’re certainly the type of woman I am looking for, aesthetically speaking,” he muses, rubbing his jaw.
I nearly laugh. Well if nothing else, at least I pass the appearance test. We’re momentarily interrupted by a knock on the door. An older woman walks in, carrying two cups. She sets one down in front of me and the other in front of him. She offers him a kind smile; I get nothing but cold, steely eyes. I’m momentarily taken aback by her reception of me.
“Thank you, Marina,” he says.
She nods and retreats out of the room, but not before shooting me another glance.
“So tell me,” he continues, focusing his attention back onto me, “why apply for this role? What do you think you can offer me that the other three hundred and thirty applicants can’t?”
I nearly choke on my tea. Three hundred and thirty women applied for this job? There are that many desperate women in southern California? I don’t even know how to answer that question, or what he wants to hear.
“I spent the last four years obtaining my degree, and that has gotten me nowhere. If I’m to be completely honest, at this point I’ll take anything. I have no idea what it is that you want, but I’m open to anything if it’s going to get me somewhere.” I regret the last sentence the second it leaves my mouth because I know it’s going to come back to bite me.
He raises his eyebrows, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips as those eyes invade me. “And what was this degree that took up so much of your life?”
“Business,” I reply quickly. I have no intention of letting him know about my journalism degree. “But I’m not sure where I stand with that now, or if I want to attempt to further my knowledge. So for right now, this job is perfect for me.”
“Very interesting answer.” He pauses and runs over my résumé again, his shoe tapping softly against the hardwood floor. “But I do wonder how you can say that when you have very little idea of what I’m looking for.”
Good point. Could I look any more desperate? I’m practically throwing myself at him without any idea of where I’m going to land.
“How about I run through what I’m looking for, and then you can tell me whether or not you think you fit my needs?” he suggests with a faint smile. “But first, I’m curious . . . What are you expecting from this role?”
“I . . .” My words evade me. I take a deep breath and try again. “From reading your advertisement, I think you’re looking to fulfill a specific desire, but you don’t want to mess around with dating.”
“I don’t date.” He smirks, his deep brown eyes laughing at me. “Ever. Please, go on.”
“You want a no-strings arrangement where you don’t have to deal with the bullshit that usually goes with a normal relationship.” I pause, biting my lip. Am I even on the right track? “So you pay for what you want.”
“I’m into many different things, Charlotte. Can I call you that?”
I nod, forcing myself to hold his eye contact.
“You are right in that I do have very specific tastes. I don’t date. I don’t chase. I hire women to fulfill specific needs, they do their job, and then they get paid. It’s a clear-cut, simple business relationship. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“What kind of tastes are we talking about?” I ask, my face heating.
He laughs. “Nothing illegal, Charlotte, and nothing you can’t handle. Provided you are able to keep an open mind, you’ll do fine. How would you describe yourself sexually?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows.
“I’d say I am willing to explore,” I reply evenly, my gaze locked on his. I decide to elaborate, realizing it’s probably to my advantage to be honest about my lack of experience. “Until now, my sex life has been pretty substandard. But that’s not through choice. I think about sex a lot, and I fantasize about how different things would feel. My mind can go to very dark places when
I’m alone,” I admit, my face flaming.
His dark eyes twinkle as he ponders over my answer and I can tell he’s amused. Eventually he nods, bringing his hands together on his desk. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No. Not since I caught him sleeping someone else two weeks ago,” I try and joke.
He raises his eyebrows as I try unsuccessfully to read his expression.
“I don’t prohibit any of my girls from dating. A boyfriend is fine, so long as it doesn’t interfere with your performance.”
I lower my head at the word performance, trying to contain my embarrassment. If I can’t even handle him talking to me in such a direct way, how the hell am I going to handle whatever else he has in mind—if I even get the job? I’m competing with three hundred and thirty other women, apparently.
“Do you have any questions for me, Ms. Lucas?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I have plenty—like what the hell am I getting myself into?—but instead I shake my head. I don’t want to jeopardize my chances by being too nosy. There’ll be plenty of time for questions later.
“Good.” He nods. “A few other things; I expect you to dress professionally at all times. Similar to what you’re wearing now will be fine and when I ask you to see me please don’t be late. Also, I will need you to start tomorrow.”
“Does this mean I have the job?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“This means you have been successful in gaining a trial. After two weeks, if we are both happy, then we will make the arrangement more permanent. You’ll work on a rotating roster, five days on, two days off. I expect you to reside here on the days you work, but you’re free to do as you like on your days off. How does that sound?”
Honestly? It scares the fuck out of me.
“Thank you so much for this opportunity, Mr. Murphy. I won’t let you down.” I put my hand out, which he takes, his long, thick fingers grasping mine as those dark eyes watch me. I jump at the feel of his touch, and even more so as his eyes penetrate me. I want to look away, but those eyes have me mesmerized.
Resist (Resist #1) Page 2