Borden (Borden #1) (15 page)

“Borden has…a few enemies,” Moustache Man had explained vaguely. “He needs to be careful at all times.”

“Does he think I’ll smuggle a rocket launcher into my purse or something?” I muttered defensively.

“Believe it or not, we’ve come across some frankly bizarre situations in the past that make smuggling a rocket launcher into a purse seem genius.”

Well, okay then.

“But look, I’ll give him a word about lettings yours in. We haven’t had women in his office before, so perhaps he’ll be more lenient with you.”

“Right.”

I signed all the papers I needed to, provided all the vital information, and when it came time to look at my pay, I was in for a surprise.

“That’s…three times what I make in a week now,” I whispered.

“Like I said, Mr Borden has been very generous.”

“For a reason I don’t understand.”

“Instead of questioning it, how about just embracing it?”

I frowned. I was the type of person that didn’t settle for anything short of the truth, and just embracing it didn’t work for me.

“Am I going to see bad things?” I wondered just then. “Is that why I’m being paid so well?”

“What bad things are you referring to exactly?”

I looked at him evenly. “Come on, don’t act like that. You know what I’m talking about. Drugs and death and mutilated body parts.”

Moustache Man laughed…and laughed. “No,” he managed out. “You will not be seeing drugs and death and mutilated body parts. Mr Borden is very professional.”

Except when he forcefully hires women.

When all was said and done, I walked with Moustache Man to his black Mercedes parked out front of my apartment building.

“Those men keep staring at you,” he quietly told me, eyes on the group out front of the entrance doors.

“They hang there all the time,” I told him on a shrug. “They’re harmless.”

“They don’t look harmless, Emma.”

I glanced at them more carefully, all five of them, smoking their cigarettes while studying us carefully.

“They probably are more concerned about you,” I told him. “Driving around in a brand new Mercedes around here gets heads turning.”

Moustache Man frowned, and he looked so different from the friendly man two minutes ago. He was a large man, but not particularly threatening to look at, yet the look he now had on was hair raising.

“I’ll circle the neighbourhood for a little while,” he said. “Just to be sure they’re not up to no good. I can’t have Mr Borden’s girl harmed on my watch.”

A strange feeling washed over me. Is that what he thought I was?

“I’m not Borden’s girl,” I said, seriously. “I wouldn’t be working for him if I had a choice.”

He just smiled. “Alright then. I hear you. Now I’ll pick you up at seven in the morning. Try not to be late.”

He opened the car door and was about to climb in when he stopped and turned back to me.

“Oh, and Emma,” he added, as if remembering, “when you’re around Mr Borden, never call him by his first name. It’s happened a few times around the workplace and…you’ve seen Mr Borden when he’s angry.”

Oh, I’ve seen him angry alright.

“Never call him Marcus,” I replied on a nod. “I can do that.”

He nodded, glanced back at the men, and climbed back into his car. When he drove off, I turned around and made my way inside.

*

I spent the following two nights reading over the paperwork in case I missed something – like signing my life away. Along with that, I looked him up again online. It’d become somewhat of an addiction, and I was sure I’d exhausted every website on the internet. Deciding on a different avenue, I simultaneously researched his old flame.

Kate Davenoth.

She really was a stunner. All long blonde hair and magnificent green eyes and legs that went on for miles. She had that sweetness about her too, these soft eyes and innocent smile. I spent a while trying to picture a girl like him with a hard man like Borden. How did that even happen? Wasn’t he as intimidating back then as he was now?

I saw a picture of her father. Articles of him and his hate toward Borden before he quit and moved away from the city.

“He’s the real murderer of my girl,” he’d said once to a journalist. “If he had never returned, she would never have died.”

For some reason, that chilled me to the bone more than anything else.

Do not bring him close, Emma.

Emma

When Wednesday morning arrived, I hurried to get ready. I’d just finished when I heard the expectant knock on my door. It was Moustache Man. I followed him out to the car. We didn’t say anything on the ride to Owls. He took me into the club and dropped me off in front of Borden’s office. I was resigned to the situation, tired after a late night, and uncomfortable in my clothes. I was wearing an incredibly tight pencil skirt, one of a few I owned, with a white silky office shirt I had bought second hand a few years back when I was heavier.

I didn’t feel right. After wanting a better job for so long, I suddenly wished I was back in my waitress uniform and at the diner with the girls. That was safety, this here was new and different and I didn’t realize until now how unready I was by it.

One of Borden’s musclemen opened the door and motioned me in.

I walked into the office and glanced around. It was massive, and it looked incredible, nothing at all like the backroom I’d been in the first time I’d met Borden. Built in bookshelves adorned the walls, and the furnishings were modern and dark. I was about to feel hopeful…until I spotted Borden’s desk and another desk placed right next to his.

He really meant it in the literal sense when he said I’d be working alongside him. We were going to be side by side.

Shit.

I frowned on my way to the desk. Bully Borden wasn’t here yet. I pulled back the office chair to what I knew was going to be my desk (it was clear of everything compared to his) and plopped down in front of my work computer. I stared at the blank screen for minutes on end, waiting for my master to show up and give me my orders.

Just do this, Emma. Do what he wants, play by his rules and wait for him to get sick of you.

I wasn’t stupid. He was having fun toying with me. I was sure he was going to try and play with my emotions, continue to threaten my future employment and homelessness, and touch me however he liked to prove his dominance. Is that what this all was? Did he just want to own someone and torment them because it fed some kind of sadistic fetish of his?

Regardless of why he was doing this, Borden wasn’t looking to physically harm me. I was merely his entertainment, one that had talked back at him numerous times and escaped punishment. Surely he’d bore of me fast if I resisted doing all that.

So fine, I decided. I would play his game. He wasn’t dangerous to me. Maybe to others. But not me.

The door opened, and I looked up from the blank screen and watched him come in.

Stupid bastard.

Fucking bully.

Why did this bully have to look so fucking good, too?

I glared at him, my villain, dressed in a tailored, pinstriped suit, his hair slicked back, even an expensive looking watch on his wrist. Nothing at all like the simpleton from before. He was moving with something in his mouth.

Was that… was that a lollipop?

His eyes met mine and the fucker smirked at me. I didn’t react at all to the smugness in his demeanour as he walked around the desk and sat down in the chair next to me. All my senses were on alert, every hair on my body standing. Would he touch me straight away? Or warm me up first?

I hated how tight my body felt.

“How are we doing this morning, doll?” he asked pleasantly.

“Fine,” I simply answered, already getting flustered by his presence.

“Good. You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you. I fired my bookkeeper last week and we’re a bit behind.”

I blinked at him. “You… You already had a bookkeeper?”

He nodded as he turned on his computer. “Indeed. Sheila was fucking brilliant.”

I blinked at him again and tried to suppress the rage bubbling to the surface. “So you… you didn’t
need
a bookkeeper?”

He looked at me briefly. “I just told you I fucking fired her, so of course I needed a bookkeeper.”

I bit harshly on my tongue and eyed the pen on his desk. Would I be strong enough to stab him in the neck? Would he even die? More likely he’d get pissed at the gaping hole and be very unimpressed with me.

“Did you fire her because you wanted to hire me?”

He pulled the lollipop out of his mouth and circled it in his fingers, watching it spin like a top. “That might be the reason, Lynne.”

I stiffened. The bastard knew my middle name.
Relax, Emma, he’s doing this to piss you off.

He closely eyed my reaction, that same smug smirk curling his lips.

“I don’t like your top,” he then said, scanning my body up and down. “It looks like a tent on you, and your skirt’s a little small. I thought I made it clear in my paperwork how important it is that we look presentable here. Time for a shop, yeah?”

I twitched, blinked, and eyed the pen again.

“Sure thing,” I said, fighting back the curse words sitting at the back of my throat.

“Good.”

I forced a smile before turning to the folders on my desk.

“Oh, and Lynne,” he then added, a mischievous gleam in his eye as he looked at me, “try not to dribble over me. I think it’s also important you learn to ease your sexual need for me in the office. It’s flattering, but also very unprofessional.”

My jaw dropped. I could have screamed. My sexual need for him? Oh, I’d show him my sexual need with my heel up his fucking ass.

“You…you think I’m dribbling over you right now?” I asked in disbelief.

“Let’s not play the denial card, Lynne. You’re obviously hot and bothered. Maybe you should take care of your needs before arriving to work, just so I don’t have to feel like a piece of meat around you.”

My face flamed even more, and he watched the colour deepen with another smirk on his face. What a jerk. I hated him. Really, really hated him, and what he did to my senses. My body was a fucking moron because despite how ridiculous he sounded, he was kind of right too.

Instead of showing how outraged I was, I forced his absurd words from my mind and simply clenched out, “Right. I’ll consider that, Mr Borden.”

“Good. Now let’s get started.”

*

Moustache Man dropped me off at my apartment door. When I walked inside, I threw my purse on the kitchen counter and angrily swiped everything else off of it. Papers, pens and containers crashed to the tile floor.

I angrily tore my top off, and the buttons flew from the fabric. I tossed it on the ground and tore my skirt off next. Once it was off, I spent five minutes trying to tear it apart. When it wouldn’t budge, I panted from the workout and threw it somewhere too.

I hated him. I hated. I hated him.

I wanted to SCREAM!

Instead of toying with my emotions as I predicted he would do, he simply told me what needed to be done, showed me how to get started, and then left me alone. Completely left me alone to get it done, and whenever he did talk to me, he spoke professionally without a hint of that sensual Borden from before.

Talk about a clusterfuck.

I spent the day dusting off the cobwebs in my head and navigating through programs. It was a good thing I passed my units in class with flying colours because the numbers came naturally to me. Meanwhile the dick sat next to me and made a round of calls about professional matters. When he was finished, he left the club on business errands and didn’t come back until midday right before I was done for the day.

He’d paced into the office and threw a sandwich on my desk in front of me.

“The boys said you didn’t have lunch,” he said, taking a seat while flipping through a folder in his hands.

I peered at him and waited for the punch-line that he never delivered. Did he seriously get me a sandwich because I missed lunch? Or was there some other cruel reason behind this supposed innocent gesture?

Maybe it was poisoned.

I eyed the sandwich warily, and the smell of ham and cheese wafted into my nostrils. My stomach tightened in hunger. I decided I would wait ten minutes. Ten minutes before I dived in. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking I was going to eat it straight away. I needed to be casual about this and–

Scratch that. I made it two minutes.

It was the best sandwich of my life.

After I finished, I packed away my things and waited for Moustache Man to take me home. While I waited, Borden hadn’t looked at me once. He was too immersed in the black folder in his hands. Seeing him seated there all normal and concentrated and…
normal
was weird. Very weird.

“Before you leave, write down your cell phone number for me, doll,” he suddenly ordered.

“Why?” I asked defensively.

“Because I said so.”

Wouldn’t a man like him, in control of everything, already have it? I decided I wouldn’t argue with him, though. Maybe that’s what he wanted. I simply wrote down my number and slid it over his desk in front of him. He picked up the paper and placed it over his opened folder.

“Not very nice penmanship, Lynne,” he remarked.

I rolled my eyes and didn’t reply.
Whatever, Borden.

“Is that a three or an eight? I can’t tell from your writing.”

“Three,” I strained out.

“Hmm, looks like an eight is all.”

I exhaled slowly and counted to ten.

“Maybe you should write more legibly.”

No reply.

“Do you agree, Lynne? That you should write more legibly?”

Oh, I was going to fucking kill him. I looked at him while he was still concentrated on the contents of his folder.

“I’ll write more legibly if that pleases you, Mr Borden.”

He didn’t respond, but the corners of his lips just barely twisted up.

When Moustache Man opened the door and walked in, I jumped out of my seat and hurriedly grabbed my things. I wanted to get the hell out as soon as possible and I made it three steps when his voice rang out.

“Don’t be so hasty. I expect a good bye before you leave.”

I stopped mid-step and turned to him. “Good bye, Mr Borden,” I practically spat out.

Still looking down, he said casually, “Come over here, Lynne.”

With a heavy sigh, I made my way over to him and stopped beside his desk.

“A little closer than that, doll.”

I took another step closer until I was a foot away from his chair. I looked down at his perfect profile and plump lips that had risen again. It was such a shame someone so handsome had to be such an asshole.

“Now bend over, Lynne, kiss my cheek and tell me good bye.”

All of me tensed. I gritted my teeth as his order ran through my mind trying to quickly find ways to get out of this. If I got anymore closer to him I feared I’d scratch his eyes out.

Hush, hush,
came the little voice of logic in my head.
He wants a reaction. Don’t give him one.

I slowly bent over, and the smell of him immediately assaulted my senses. He smelled… good. Like juniper and lavender and bergamot combined with something spicy. I had to hold my breath because raiding Borden’s scent felt personal somehow.

The flawless smooth skin of his cheek met my lips briefly. I gave him a quick kiss before backing away. He didn’t flinch at my touch and was still reading. I stood up straight and willed myself to breathe. Nervous tingles ran rampant throughout my body and I had to fight against the urge to wipe my lips of his touch. I didn’t like the way he blurred my senses.

“
Now
you tell me goodbye,” he said.

With a quavering voice, I replied, “Goodbye.”

When he didn’t respond, I turned away on wobbly legs and left.

Put this on repeat the next four days and that was my first week in the bag. I got my first paycheck that Friday and it was triple the amount at my diner job. It was the strangest feeling staring at my bank account balance and seeing a number I’d never thought I’d see. I felt proud, and not just for doing well at my job, but for dealing with Borden. Someone needed to give me a medal.

If you wanted to discount the demand at the end of the day for me to kiss his cheek (which I couldn’t entirely do), he kept it professional between us. Most mornings he was out of the office, and when he was in, he was making phone calls. Nothing about what he did screamed illegal, everything was ordinary and business related. His reputation as some thug was clearly overdone – that, or he was just damn good at hiding it.

I kept to myself and didn’t converse with anybody. While the employees were very friendly when they saw me, I refrained from talking and escaped any kind of social situation. I didn’t want to trust anyone. I didn’t want to be friendly, either. The only times I left my office were to go to the bathroom or buy lunch at a luncheon down the block.

I saw the redheaded woman – Linda was her name – frequently when I left the office and even when I was in it. I learned on her visits to see Borden she was the manager of the club and that surprised me. I initially thought she was keeping Borden’s bed warm, but their conversations were short and business related. And though she stared fondly at him at times she visited the office, he barely glanced in her direction.