Up Close and Personal (2 page)

“Are you always this eager to please?” His lips twitch in amusement.

Pathetically so. “I usually have a great deal of common sense, Mr. MacKay. Don’t know what got into me.” He won’t hire me now. Not after that colossal blunder. Refusing to put myself through more humiliation, I stand. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be going then.”

He laughs, and the expression steals a decade from him, making him seem quite younger. “Why?”

“You’re not going to hire me. So what’s the use?”

A lazy grin spreads over his face. “On the contrary, Ms. Bennett. You’re exactly what I need. You’re hired.”

Chapter 2

______________

Sterling

WISH I COULD SEE the look on her face. I’m willing to bet it’s priceless. Last thing she expected was for me to offer her the job. She probably compared herself to the previous nine candidates and found herself lacking. Granted the other applicants graduated from Ivy League schools. And some of them intimated they would do anything I desired. I’m pretty sure if I’d asked them to get down on their knees and service me, a few would have complied.

But I don’t judge people by their pedigree or their willingness to indulge my sexual appetites. I judge them by their actions. And Ms. Bennett did what none of the others had—answered the phone. She’d been polite, asked for the identity of the caller and reported the conversation to me. And, most importantly, she didn’t get flustered by the gruff tone of the caller—my assistant, Anton, who I’d put up to the task.

Sexual favors are not part of the job. I have an escort service on call. Anytime my body demands sex, I ask them to send over Minouette—a leggy blonde with plenty of curves.

Don’t know what Ms. Bennett looks like, but she doesn’t sound like a sex kitten. She’ll make a great personal assistant. She’s eager to please and willing to do what needs to be done. Like answer the phone. Plus she’ll amuse me. The phone call might not have fazed her, but the Georgia O’Keefe painting did. Hopefully, she won’t run away, shocked by the things she’s bound to see and hear.

“I expect my personal assistant to live here. Would that be a problem?”

A temporary pause, a rustle. She’s shifting in her seat. “Uh, no, but I’ll need to make arrangements with my landlord.”

Something easily dealt with. “Where are you living now?”

“College Park, Maryland. I share an apartment.”

“Your lease is up when?”

“The end of June.”

Today is January 6. “I’ll pay whatever you need to break it.”

“You don’t have to—”

I cut her off. “Yes, I do. You shouldn’t suffer financially because I require a change in your living arrangements.” When she doesn’t offer any further objections, I continue. “The salary will be $100,000 a year. With an annual bonus at the end of the 12-month period. Another $25,000 if you satisfy me.”

“If I satisfy you?” Her voice wisps at the end, and, for a couple of heartbeats, there’s dead silence. But then she takes a deep breath and asks, “Mr. MacKay, what exactly will you require of me?”

Good to know she has some protective instincts. “I’m a very busy man, Ms. Bennett. My business takes up most of my time. Before my . . . accident, I enjoyed an active social life—dinner parties and such. I intend to resume them so I’ll need someone to handle the details associated with them. I also need an assistant to help me when I travel.”

“And that’s all?” Her voice wavers, as if she’s still not sure what the job will entail.

Better reassure her. “I won’t require you to service me sexually, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She chokes, and I grin. How very delicious she is.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Ignoring her embarrassment, I explain what I expect from her. “Here at home, you will handle my social life. When I travel, you’ll arrange matters, see to details. You will soon discover I’m very demanding and expect everything to go as planned. Measures will need to be taken to accommodate my . . . special needs. Sometimes individuals don’t understand what I require. It’s your job to get what I desire.”

“Anyone I should talk to about your special needs? A therapist? Or doctor?”

I grit my teeth. I’ve had enough of doctors and therapists to last me a lifetime. “You may discuss them with me and no one else.”

“Very well.” The warmth in her voice dissipates. I offended her with my gruff tone.

My low vision is a sore subject with me. I’m not totally blind. I can see shadows, shapes. But everything is a muddled yellow. My doctor tells me my injury is not permanent, but it will take a risky operation to regain my sight. If the surgery is not successful what little vision I have will be gone. Not willing to take that chance, I’ve made accommodations to cope with my faulty vision. At the office, my computer reading apps and the e-reader machine transcribe the written word. And I have two excellent assistants who take care of things beyond my powers.

At home, everything is as it always has been. My valet handles my clothes; my chauffeur drives me anywhere I need to go; my butler manages the mansion. An occasional visit from Minouette satisfies my sexual needs. And now Ms. Bennett will fill the other holes in my life, smoothing things over to make sure everything is as I need them to be. I slide her resume over the flat part of the machine and listen while the e-reader reads it to me. Once I have the general gist of her credentials, I turn off the apparatus. “I see you graduated from the University of Maryland with a degree in business administration. You will learn my business, Ms. Bennett. But you will not work on that side of it. I have two very capable executive assistants who do that at the office. Does that work for you?” I doubt she’ll turn me down.

She offers the barest hesitation before she agrees. “Yes.”

“Good.” I wave my hand out the window. “Given the weather conditions, it’s impossible to move your things tonight, but see to it as soon as possible.”

“I will.”

A rustle tells me she’s standing up. “Thank you. I’ll be here in the morning bright and early.”

I scrunch my forehead. “I thought you understood. I need you to start tonight.”

“Tonight? But I don’t have—”

My brow curls up in objection. “I thought we just agreed.”

She makes a noise of some kind. Frustration, more than like. A hitched breath later, she says, “Fine. No problem.”

She’s learning. Good. When I give an order, I expect to be obeyed. Without questions. Without arguments. “My butler will assign you a room. He’s waiting outside for you. Dinner will be served promptly at seven. Don’t be late.”

“Very well.”

I nod toward the door. “You can leave now.”

Her retreating steps tell me she’s obeying my command. My imagination paints a picture of her firm ass as she makes her way toward the door. Not a guess on my part. My hand inadvertently brushed against it when she tripped and fell across my lap. Desire stirs. She’s roused a hunger, my new personal assistant. Inconvenient, but manageable. I don’t screw the help. Never have. Never will. Maybe it’s time to give the escort service a call and quench my passion in Minouette.

Chapter 3

______________

Caitlyn

I EMERGE FROM HIS OFFICE to find the butler waiting for me. He’s not as tall as Mr. MacKay, maybe about six feet, with a dash of gray at his temple and impeccably dressed in the livery of a servant. “Good afternoon, Ms. Bennett.”

How on earth does he know my name?

His eyes smile kindly on me. “You’re Mr. MacKay’s new assistant?”

“Yes, but how did you know?”

“Mr. MacKay rang me. A button on his desk buzzes in my office.”

That’s quite a trick, and one I didn’t catch.

“May I show you to your room?” he asks, waving his hand toward the curving staircase at the front of the house.

“Yes. Thank you.”

I follow him up the impressive stairs to the second floor and down a corridor. At the end of the hallway, he opens a gilded door. What I see takes my breath away. The room assigned to me is bigger than my whole apartment. Not only does it include a king-size bed, but a sitting area with a love seat, coffee tables, lamps.

“And here’s the bathroom.” He throws open a varnished portal on the far side of the room.

Holy crap! From its gilded mirrors to the gold-veined marbled floor, the place screams money. A Roman tub rests in the center of the space surrounded by three columns, while on the other side of the room I spot a glass-enclosed Romance shower. A rectangular gold gilt mirror hangs on the wall. And the commode? Oh, my gosh. With its high, gold-painted back, the fixture gives new meaning to sitting on the throne. “Wow.”

His mouth curls at one end before it returns to a noncommittal expression. I sense an ally in him. Good thing because my gut tells me I’m going to need one.

“Mr. MacKay provides robes to his guests. You will find one on the back of the door.”

Well, that will come in handy for sleeping, since I don’t have my pajamas with me.

“Thank you. I’m sorry. What is your name?”

“Moseley.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moseley.”

“Only Moseley, Miss Bennett. No need to add the mister.”

Allrighty now. “Thank you, Moseley.”

“I’ll leave you to it, shall I?”

“Okay.” My stomach grumbles. Darn it.

That kind smile resurfaces. “Dinner will be served in an hour, but maybe you’d like a small tray to tide you over until then?”

My face heats up. “No. I’ll wait. Thank you.” Last thing I want are special favors. I’m as much the help as he is.

After he leaves, I decide to fetch my emergency bag from my car, the one in which I keep an extra set of clothes. I manage to sneak out and return without anyone seeing me, and, in less than five minutes, I’m back in my room. After a quick bath, in the shower, not that decadent tub, I slip into the clothes from the bag.

A few minutes before seven, I report for dinner. The dining room is stunning. A glass-topped table twinkles with white and silver plates, elegant silver flatware, gorgeous crystal goblets. A crystal chandelier reigns over it all. Everything shines just like his office. The man loves sparkly things. So sad he can’t see them.

Mr. MacKay is already seated at the far side of the table, frowning at me. I’m beginning to think that expression is permanently edged into his features. Before I get a chance to sit down, he barks at me. “You’re wearing different clothes.”

Even though we’ve only been acquainted for a short time, I’ve learned barking out words is his modus operandus. And he enjoys watching me jump. So I’m not doing it, not this time. I take my time taking my seat and draping my napkin over my lap before I respond. “I had clean clothes in the back of my car.”

“You like to be prepared.” It’s not a question, but more of a statement.

Still, I feel a duty to respond. “Yes, I do.” I always carry a change of clothing in case my junker breaks down which it’s done more than once. Glad I had it tonight. That way I can switch outfits for a couple of days until I have a chance to fetch more things which I can’t d until the snow has been cleared from the roads. “How did you know I’d changed clothes?”

“The sound you made when you entered the room. It’s different. You’re not wearing that short skirt, but slacks of some kind.”

“Jeans.” Good lord. He has the ears of a bat.

“Someone in my staff can clean the clothes you wore this afternoon. You may arrange for that after dinner.”

“Okay. Thanks for the tip.” From the big, fat snowflakes falling outside the window, it looks like we’re in for a big storm. So I won’t be able to get back to my apartment and fetch more clothes any time soon. So it will be nice to have clean garments to wear until then.

“You’re wearing perfume. A musk of some kind.” His upper lip curls in distaste.

“Yes.” I’d picked it up at the drugstore around the corner from where I live. It smells good and had been on sale at the time.

“Don’t wear it anymore. I can’t abide strong scents.”

Sheesh. “Very well.”

The aroma of something delicious wafts in the air as the butler approaches with a tureen. When he ladles the soup into my bowl, my stomach growls. Again. I wish it’d cut it out. But honestly, what can I expect? I’ve eaten nothing since breakfast which consisted of a slice of dry toast. Embarrassed, I cover the noise with a slight cough.

Mr. MacKay snaps the napkin to his side before dropping it across his lap. “Do you have a passport?”

I pause with the soup spoon halfway to my mouth. “No. I’ve never had the need for one.”

“Well, you have a need now. I’ll have Anton call to get your details. We’ll put a rush on it. At month’s end you’ll be traveling overseas with me.” He dips the spoon into his soup, brings it to his mouth.

I’ve never studied men’s lips before. Too busy with school and work to pay much attention to guys. But I can’t help but stare at his. They’re perfectly shaped, like they’ve been carved from stone. When he curls them around the curve of the spoon and drinks from its bowl, I let out a trembling breath.

His gaze snaps up.