Authors: Winter Renshaw
DANE
“Hate me yet, Randy?”
I lean back in my chair, my free hand gripping the leather
armrest as I spin around to take in the foggy morning view of the city. Randy
Mutchler wheezes on the other end of the phone. Being a larger man has never
stopped him from nailing his fair share of beautiful women on a regular basis,
especially women who find money particularly arousing.
I may have swiped his newest conquest out from under him,
but the way I look at it, I was doing her a favor.
She’ll thank me someday.
“Every single day,” Randy puffs, his voice rattling. He
really should lay off the cigars.
“I’m sure you’ll find another.” I insert a smile into my
voice that to anyone else might seem lighthearted, but to me, it’s victorious.
“She’ll be better off with me. I get the impression she’s slightly green.
Breaking them in is what I do best. You know that.”
“No clue what you’re talking about, Dane.” I hear papers
rustling around in the background. As per usual, Randy is attempting to
multitask and failing miserably. He’s not listening.
“The girl,” I say, sitting up. I glance at my watch. She
should be here any minute. My H.R. department contacted her last week and gave
her strict orders, but it seems as though timeliness might have to be our first
lesson. “The blonde with the pouty pink lips and the clear blue eyes?”
“You’re describing two-thirds of the girls who frequent the
Crystal Swan.”
We’re clearly not on the same page.
“I’m not talking about the club, Randy. I’m talking about Bellamy
Miller.” I say her name out loud for the first time since last week.
“Not ringing a bell.”
My smile evaporates, and the room heats.
She lied.
The girl with the fuck-me mouth and the tight, candy ass.
The girl with the hips that flare out just enough to send me into a
desperate state of craving the warmth of her stinging flesh under my palm
.
I fucking
hate liars.
“I met her last week. She said you’d just hired her, and she
couldn’t discuss the terms. I assumed she was your new concierge.” I massage my
left temple.
Randy’s laughter whistles through the receiver. “I hired a
bunch of college grads recently for some cubicle grunt work. Maybe she was one
of them? I don’t know. Name doesn’t sound familiar. Still looking for that
perfect concierge. You know how that is.”
Yes. I know exactly how that is. I’ve had three failed
parings this year alone. Two of them were too experienced, bringing in
unfavorable habits from their previous
Doms
, and one
was too stupid to live.
Line two rings. My assistant’s name flashes on the caller
I.D.
“Randy, I’m letting you go.”
More like I’ll see him at the Crystal Swan. That’s how I first
met the horny bastard. He was a premier member of a local sexual sanctuary. We
were locked in a bidding war over spending one night with a charming
twenty-five-year-old with flawless teardrop breasts, the kind that look perfect
when strapped between a complex rope
arrangement
.
I hang up with Randy and take Marlene’s call.
“Your new assistant is here,” she says. “Shall I send her
in?”
I slick my thumb across my brow bone before adjusting my tie.
She’s four minutes late.
“Send her back. Then tell
Laurie Madsen in H.R. she’ll be there soon. I’d like to have a quick word with
her before I send her down.”
“Yes, sir.”
A sharp breath drags past my lips as I wait for my new “concierge.”
My mind fills with a million punishments I’d thoroughly enjoy bestowing upon
her right now, but we need to get a few things out of the way first.
The door swings open a second later. I expect her to freeze
in my doorway, to wait for my command or permission to enter. Instead, she
shuts the door behind her and struts to my desk, taking a seat across from me.
Bellamy has no idea what she’s agreed to.
She’s perfectly at ease around me. Confident. Buoyant and
much too self-assured in the presence of a man who’d break her in ways she’d never
imagine.
We’ll need to fix that soon.
That is…if I decide I’m going to keep her.
“How’s your morning?” Her voice is breathy in the most
tantalizing of ways. A soft sigh leaves her mouth before it curls into a sweet
smile.
“It could be better.”
She doesn’t frown or wince or pry. If she wants to stand a
chance around here, she’s going to have to learn to read me. And fast.
“Sorry to hear that,” she says.
“It’s always disappointing when my employees fail to show up
on time their first day.”
Her lips form a circular shape as her eyes widen. A
manicured hand flies to the tiny hint of cleavage peaking from her white
blouse. She looks like she should be in church and not executively assisting a
man who’ll fully expect her on all fours at some point in the near future.
“Am I late?” She glances around the room in search of a
clock.
I reach for the antique pewter desk clock and flip it around
to face her. “Yes.”
“I didn’t realize the walk from the parking garage to your
building would take this long. I’ll plan ahead going forward.”
Her apology lacks a certain respect, like a glaring typo in
a hastily written email.
“I don’t tolerate much, Miss Miller.” I fold my hands across
my desk, pinning her down with a scrutinizing stare. “Shall we go over my
expectations?”
A wisp of platinum blonde hair falls across her shoulder,
splaying over the spot above her
cleavage, which I now see
is rising and falling in quick succession. She’s nervous. Her face may not show
it. Her words may not show it. But the rest of her says it all.
I’m going to take great pleasure in watching her bullshit
her way through the next several minutes with me given what revelation came to
light this morning.
“I do hope your expectations are realistic.” There’s a hint
of a laugh injected into her tone like she thinks this is funny.
It’s not.
Not to me.
“Expectations.” I let the word linger. “Tardiness is not
tolerated. Excessive lateness will go on your employee record, Miss Miller. And
reprimands will be assigned as I see fit.”
“I won’t be late again, sir.”
“Second,” I
continue, “Lying is a fire-able offense.”
“Shouldn’t we be going over job duties first?” She almost
interrupts me. I can only assume she’s trying to change the subject, knowing
full well she lied to get this job.
“You’ll be doing for me the same things you were going to do
for Mr. Mutchler.” My fingers form a peak as I await her response. “The duties you
said you couldn’t discuss with me.”
I fully expect her to slink back in her seat, exhale loudly,
hang her head, and admit that she’s a filthy liar.
“I’d like to tailor this relationship, Mr. Townsend.”
This girl is good.
“Working relationship,” she disclaims. “Tell me exactly what
you need from me, and I’ll deliver. That’s the way I operate. I’m grateful for
this opportunity, and I’ll do anything in my power to ensure it’s a mutually
beneficial arrangement.”
My mouth curls into a devilish leer. I’ve approached a fork
in the road, and I could easily take this in a completely different direction
if I were in a tortuous mood today.
She’s lucky I’m not.
“Well, then, we should discuss limits.” I exhale and hide
the secret pleasure I receive as I wait for her reaction.
“Limits? Can you be more specific?”
“Hard limits. Soft limits,” I say, teasing her with a trail
of breadcrumbs that will eventually lead her to her final destination. “Things
you will and won’t do.”
“I can’t imagine there’s much I wouldn’t do.”
God, she sounds like a fucking college graduate at a job
interview.
“Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear.” My mouth
hardens. “That’s the last thing you should ever do around me, Miss Miller.”
Her eyes snap toward the desk where my hands are clasped
hard, my thumb grazing over the curve of my opposite hand. My patience wears
thinner by the minute, and if we could fast-forward a bit, I’d be yanking those
pearls from around her neck and pressing her against the wall, two seconds from
claiming every inch of her nubile body as my own.
But seeing as how she has absolutely no idea what she’s
agreed to, taking her pretty pink mouth right now would completely disrupt our
dynamic.
“Absolutely.” An agreeable smile accompanies her
affirmation.
Bellamy is different. The subtle dominance I’ve injected
into our light conversation doesn’t seem to have an effect on her. She’s immune
to it. They say if you watch too much violence on T.V. or in the movies, little
by little it doesn’t affect you as much.
That’s how she is.
Another man has already dominated her.
Another man has owned her.
A heat sears through my body from head to toe at the thought
of her kneeling before another master. I knew from the moment I saw her, Bellamy’s
milky white flesh belonged in my grip.
I wanted to be the one to break her in, to own every inch of
her succulent physique.
“I spoke to Randy Mutchler this morning,” I said, my
impatience searing through me hot and uncontrollable. My fists clench, fighting
the urge to bend her over my knee and teach her not to lie to me again.
A white pallor fills her cheeks. “Oh. Y-yes?”
There we go. She’s stammering. I’m cracking her like the
thin sheet of ice that wraps around her underhanded intentions.
“He’d never heard of you.”
Her brows arch before they furrow.
Still, she says nothing.
“Isn’t that odd?” I scratch the spot just above my right
brow. “He offered you a very important job with secret terms, but he’d never heard
of you before.”
Silence.
“You understand that back at the bar, when I offered you
this position, you had ascertained that you’d just been hired by Randy
Mutchler
as his concierge.” My arms fold. “Do you know what
a concierge does?”
“They’re like a personal assistant.”
“Yes, Bellamy. That would be the standard definition of a
concierge.” I drag in a breath and cock my head. “But if you knew Randy
Mutchler
, and if you ran in our circles, you’d know that
the kinds of concierges we hire are sexually submissive in nature.”
Her lips purse as she stares in her lap at her fidgeting
hands.
“I don’t know how you know Randy or why on earth you would
lie about something like that.”
She brushes hair from her face, running her teeth across her
lower lip. Her eyes drag slowly until they fall into mine. “You want the
truth?”
“Only if it’s
the actual truth. Don’t tell me another lie to cover up the ones you’ve already
spoken.”
I lean back, thinking about how perfect my hand would look
clenched under the soft spot of her jaw, her mouth pressed open just enough
that I could steal a ghost of a kiss from those fuckable lips.
I’ve never been so sexually aroused by a woman who’s found a
way to crawl under my skin and check off a whole host of my personal red flags.
Her silence concerns me.
“I haven’t got all day, Bellamy.” I tug my sleeve up and
check the time once more. This woman has wasted a half hour of my morning, and
I still haven’t prepped for my nine o’clock conference call with New York.
“Fine. I can ask questions. I’ll extract this information from you the best way
I know how.”
Bellamy’s hand drags down her pencil skirt and then hooks on
her crossed knee. “I am a liar. I lied to you. There’s no other way to put it.
I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
Her mouth parts once more, as if she’s going to speak, but
she hesitates. Instead, she rises, gathering her things and turning to leave.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve met her at the door, slamming my open
palm against it before she has a chance to escape.
And that’s what it is really.
She’s escaping.
Escaping her consequences.
“You can’t just offer a quick apology and dash out the door,
Bellamy.”
I startle her, forcing her to take a step back as she
clutches her bag across her chest. I fully expect to find fear in her angelic face.
Instead, the slight flare of her nostrils and her refusal to look me in the eye
suggest she’s packed full of an impressive amount of ire.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes give in, daring to meet mine.