Becoming His Mistress
A. E. Murphy
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
Snapback to the wedding…
Have you read…?
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also By The Author
PamPammy Shepherd, we are forever bonded over alcoholic slushies, Aladdin, and terrible duets in bathrooms.
Prologue
His eyes and all their imperfections.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Conti,” I say, holding out my hand, turning it slightly upwards so he can see my perfectly manicured nails. I do them myself, a little hobby of mine. I think pretty, clean nails say a lot about a person, even men. Hygiene is so important. “I’m Rose Sinclair.”
His large hand engulfs mine, making me feel so very breakable. His grip is as firm and warm as his eyes.
Mr. Ezra Conti, an American-Italian megalomaniac lives to make other people feel so very breakable. I have spent the past three weeks of my life memorizing his life and his role at WhyTech. I know more details about his life, his business, and his family, than I know about myself.
Though that’s likely because he has more details in his life, family, and business.
He is the unattainable Mr. C.
From what I’ve read, women throw themselves at him despite his marital status. Once the most eligible bachelor in Rome, now a married man, smitten with his wife of twelve years, living in LA and not looking to slow down with his business responsibilities anytime soon.
To say he has travelled much in his life would be an understatement.
One of the main reasons I want to be a part of his personal team. The travel.
His handsome, gray eyes, heavy-lidded and narrowed in a way that is so sharp and assessing, look me up and down. It’s a general look, not a seedy lingering look and I’m glad of that. Though I am most unassuming, but that is for a reason.
I’m not here to look hot. Not that I could. I’m not even sure I know how. I’m here to work. Well… interview. But I know the job is mine so that’s a moot point. This job was meant for me. There isn’t a single thing on the list of duties that I cannot do with quickness and efficiency.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Sinclair, but I’m afraid to inform you that I already filled the position.”
I blink slowly, still holding his hand with a tight squeeze. “I’m afraid to inform you that you made the wrong decision.” Releasing his hand, I push my glasses up my nose, aware of the fact they make my eyes look almost half the size they are, but I’ve had them long enough to not care what people think. I’m legally blind without them.
He chuckles and continues smiling as he speaks, “Is that so?”
His voice is deep and gruff, but also smooth. It’s exactly as it was on the phone when I first called about the position almost a month ago.
He pushes his hair back, it’s neat, dark, trimmed, slightly longer than his last most recent picture. He is cleanly shaven, so smooth and kempt and he has clean fingernails. I can see why women throw themselves at him. The way he looks, plus his voice, his clearly good hygiene, and his incredible laugh. It’s a concoction for heartbreak.
Luckily for me, he’s not my type, so I won’t spend my days working for a man that I’m pining over, knowing he can never be mine.
“There is nobody better for this job than me,” I state simply but I know it’s true. I’m only twenty-three but I have been working for a position like this since I was fifteen years old. “Nobody.”
“Is that so?” he repeats, and I can tell he thinks I’m cute in the way one finds a puppy cute. “The man I employed has fifteen years’ worth of experience already. You have none. You have no connections, no ties in the business world, wouldn’t you be better suited doing a work placement in a less demanding position?” He waves his large hand in the air, still smiling kindly.
“That may be so, but I’m friendly and very persuasive, I don’t find it hard to make new friends. I’m never late. Never sick. I have OCD, I won’t lie, but I’ve taught myself to use it in the best kind of ways. I am excellent with numbers——”
“OCD? What kind of OCD?” he asks, and they usually find that interesting. There are so many misconceptions about OCD that I worry it might put them off, but the way my brain handles it only makes my job easier. So it’s always worth mentioning.
“If you hire me, you’ll see what I’m talking about.” I smile up at him. Up because he’s about a foot taller than me.
“Give me a bit of an insight.”
“Well, I’m organized, I repeat, I can’t leave a task unfinished and I can’t leave it less than adequate. This doesn’t mean I take more time though; I’ve trained myself to be super-efficient with it.” I grin at him, hoping it looks confident. “I can multitask. And… I also have a photographic memory.”
He raises his brows. “You do?”
“Yes. I do. Genuinely. Which means you’ll always have somebody to prompt you with your sales pitches and such. I know you do a lot of those, what with controlling the sales sector.” I shift to my other foot and raise a hand. “You can test me if you like?”
“With what?”
“Any kind of document. Show me, I look, I remember it word for word.” I am so proud of this fact. I’m one of very few people with this talent. “I find it hard to forget things.”
He laughs at that; he has such a nice laugh. “I bet you hold a mean grudge.”
“I don’t have time for grudges, Mr. Conti,” I jest, “I work too hard.”
Still smiling, he picks up a sheet of paper from the bottom of a stack off his desk. “Just in case you cheated and read it already.”
I laugh nervously and look at the paper he shows me. It’s an article on his company, talking about their excellent technological advances with solar energy. I look at it, scan it, look up at him and smile.
“Done?” he asks, brows still raised.
I nod and turn around.
“What are you doing?”
“So, you know I’m not cheating, I’m going to read it back to you word for word.”
“This should be interesting.”
Clearing my throat, I begin, “Two thousand and nineteen has breached milestone upon milestone when it comes to new advances in solar-powered technology. Here at WhyTech…”
I read from brain, and don’t stop until I hear him slow clap.
“That’s incredible,” he tells me, impressed. “But memorizing documents isn’t enough to secure you a position as my PA. I try to be fair espe
cially with newcomers and young people fresh out of college, but I need the experience and networking right now.”
I’m not one to swear often but I really want to curse right now.
This is pants.
I need to convince him.
Think, Rose, Think.
“I understand. I do. But… give me two weeks. Just two,” I beg, trying to look as cute and endearing as possible. “And if my excellent skills in your field, your company, and your life don’t impress you, then I’ll walk away without an issue. You don’t even have to pay me. Look, you read my resume meaning something about it must have enticed you to invite me for an interview… I know experience is essential, but I promise you will not even notice that I’ve never worked for a man like you before.” When he hesitates I put on my brightest smile. “Did I mention I was a foster kid? Raised in poverty, risen from the ashes of my deadbeat parents, paid my own way through university…”
“Okay, okay,” he replies, laughing as he raises his hand. “I’ll give you one week to impress me and show me that you’re a better choice than Fisk.”
“Ah,” I click my fingers. “Fisk means fish, Rose is a beautiful flower… already I’m winning.”
He chuckles and looks me up and down, again, not seedy, he’s just assessing me and my body language. “You can start tomorrow, be back here at seven, have my coffee ready, notes are in my prior PA’s desk.”
“I’ll do you one better,” I reply, pushing my glasses up my nose again. “I’ll start right now.”
“Well,” he comments, shaking his head with amusement. “You were right about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You are very persuasive.”
Chapter One
He gave me a chance that no one else did.
Six Months and Two days Later
“Morning, Mrs. Conti,” I call, maneuvering the door and kicking it closed behind me.
Their home is grand, an open lobby of sorts with one of those wide, curved staircases that leads to an open space above. Their walls are cream and gold with tasteful art and ornaments in all the right places.
“You are a lifesaver,” she replies loudly, greeting me, covered in flour and jam. She doesn’t look dressed for cooking of any kind and this is totally out of character for her. I’ve never seen her with a hair out of place.
I press my lips together, so I don’t laugh. “Are you baking, Mrs. Conti?”
“Absolutely not, Maria is but she decided to overfill the mixer, my kitchen is a sight. I haven’t had time to shower yet.” She takes the bag from my arms as I juggle it with Mr. Conti’s files that he requested.
I try not to laugh. Maria, their ten-year-old daughter, is wild to say the least, but not in a naughty way. She just doesn’t have any boundaries. She’ll go where she wants and do what she wants as she wants it.
“It was no problem, Mrs. Conti,” I respond. “I’ll just put these in Mr. Conti’s office.”
“Sure, go on up.” She turns away from me, reminding me of the first day I met her.
I had seen her emails to her husband about hiring a whore to tend his office and shadow him, she was terrified I’d sleep with him, but then she saw me, took one look at me, turned, and walked away. He never got an email like that again.
It’s not that I’m ugly or anything, I just purposely don’t make myself look amazing so that I can get on with my job without the appraising eyes of others. I respect women who can look sexy and work but I don’t have the balls to put up with judgmental people. I just want to keep myself to myself and do what I do best. Be invisible and work hard.
Besides, I’d never sleep with Mr. C. Sure, he is gorgeous, but he’s clearly married, he’s faithful to his wife, and lastly, I don’t need that kind of situation messing up my schedule. Everything in my life has a place and Mr. C has his place with his wife and child and as my boss.
I’m happy doing what I do. I get to travel. I get my own vehicle. I get excellent perks doing what I do. I would never fuck that up by fucking my boss.
Also… he’s like so old.
He’s thirty-seven. That’s a whopping thirteen years and five months older than me. Gross.
Still, I can’t deny that I like staring at his back sometimes. He’s got really nice shoulders.
Le sigh.
I head upstairs, clutching the binders and files tight to my chest. My phone starts ringing in my pocket and with a bit of shuffling I manage to answer it and squeeze it between my shoulder and ear.
“Rose Sinclair, how may I help you?”
“Dude, please tell me you’re not gonna bail on Saturday. You haven’t been answering my messages.”
I laugh, happy to hear my closest friend and anxious, also OCD-crazed woman called Laurie. We met during group therapy sessions as teens to help us deal with our abandonment issues and anxieties. She’s quirkier than I am in all the best ways. She has mild Tourette’s too and her favorite thing to say around me is, “Mrs. Cuntyflaps.” Referring to my boss’ wife.
It’s not that we don’t like Mrs. Conti, she’s a… erm… pleasant enough woman. She’s just a bit cold and impersonal with her staff. She expects perfection and the way she speaks to us when she doesn’t get it is shocking to say the least. She uses the words idiot and moron a lot.
Mr. C dotes on her though. Forever sending her gifts and touching her when they’re around. It’s sweet. She’s entirely different with him than she is with her staff, from what I’ve seen in the open anyway.
“My hands are full. I’ll be there, I promise. Just no blind dates, I will kill you.” I’ve never been into dating; guys just mess up my schedule and take up all of my free time.
“I swear it. This Saturday is all about you and me, baby. FUCK A LIGHTSWITCH.”
I snicker at her twitch.
“THE LAMPSHADE IS ALWAYS WATCHING YOU!”
“Have you been shopping for home stuff?”
“Yeah, I forgot my meds this morning and didn’t have time to do my exercises. I’m a bit jerky. BEEF JERKY UP YOUR BUM!”
I laugh so hard I almost drop the things I’m holding. “Gotta go. Love you, babe.”
“Love you more,” she replies just as I use my foot to press down the handle to Mr. C’s office. The door clicks open.
I announce, “It’s only me.”
“There you are, right on time as always,” Mr. C declares, sounding his normal disinterested self. He has yet to get mad at me personally to be honest which is a relief. I’ve seen him mad at others and it wasn’t fun. He’s super intimidating.
He rounds his desk to help me with my load, smoothing his thick, shiny, dark brown hair back with a large hand. A smile is fixed on his face, showing white teeth behind pink lips and cleanly shaven cheeks.
He smells citrussy. He’s been using the aftershave I helped his daughter pick for his birthday back in March. It’s so good.
“Everything on track?”
“Ahead of schedule as always, Mr. C,” I reply happily. “Is there anything else I can help with?”
He wanted me to call him Ezra, but I just can’t, especially since his wife wants me to refer to her as Mrs. Conti at all times. It would have been weird being so personal with him and not with her. I don’t mind. But still, we came to an agreement that I’d call him Mr. C. A happy medium for both of us.
“Nothing that comes to mind. I appreciate you bringing these out here,” he comments, forever gracious. He’s the opposite of his wife, he treats his staff with respect and kindness… when we’re doing our jobs right anyway. Though he still doesn’t get familiar. In the six months we’ve worked and travelled together, we’ve eaten in the same space only a handful of times and even then he was looking at his phone or laptop. I can’t remember us ever having much of a conversation. “How long have we been working together now?”
“Six months and two days.”
“Have you ever taken a day off?”
See? He doesn’t pay attention to me beyond the w
ork I’m doing. I shake my head. “Not a personal day off, no. But the mandatory days off, yes.”
He sits behind his desk and eyes me inquisitively. “You should book your annual leave.”
“I don’t have anything planned,” I reply simply.
“Then plan something and get back to me with the dates.”
I hesitate. “But then you’ll have to hire somebody to cover me and they’ll mess up my desk and my calendar and…”
He gives me a look that signals that it’s time for me to go and says, “I’m extremely busy right now, Rose.”
“Right.” I’ve been dismissed. That’s annoying.
I head downstairs, arms empty, feeling slightly aggravated which must mean I’m due for a visit from Aunt Flo because I never get aggravated.
I just don’t like the idea of somebody else screwing up my job and I know they will.
“ROSE!” Maria cries when I reach the front door, ready to slip out silently. The kid has bat ears or something. “Rose! Wait!”
I turn to look at her and she is covered in flour, oil, colorful sprinkles… you name it.
“Hey, squirt,” I say, patting the only clean part of her head. “You look like you’re having fun.”
“You can’t go yet. I did something.” She goes to grab my wrist with her greasy little fingers but thinks better of it. The last time she did that I had to wash my hands thirty-six times. Because six times six. My hands were sore afterwards. It’s not that I’m opposed to a bit of dirt, but I don’t like sticky things or… okay I’m totally opposed to visible dirt, especially sticky things or oily things, but I have it under control now. “Come on.”
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