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“Don’t tell me what I’m going to do. You fired me, and you ruined my name. You’re damn lucky I don’t sue your ass,” she says, glaring at me. Normally, I’d take that threat and make the person eat it, but I’ll give her anything she wants.
Before I can say anything, my driver says, “Sir, we are here.”
“Well, thanks for the ride. It’s been great, but I have to go.” Her phone pings and then rings. She sends it to voicemail before another text message pops up.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Of course I’m not okay. I don’t have a job, and now I’m a pariah. My family just learned that I got fired for fucking at my job even though it was that piece-of-shit cousin of mine who is going to lie and say it’s true because that’s his personality.”
“My uncle works on the fifth floor and was the one who told me about the job. How could they know that already?”
“Word spreads like wildfire, so thanks. It’s been a pleasure.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.” I want to tell her that I could keep her wrapped up in our bed for the rest of our days where she can’t get away and find other men. I’d help her find another job, but that would mean that she’d work for other men or be surrounded by other men all day. It’s unacceptable to me and yet, I can’t have her by me all day, or the animal I’ve kept hidden my entire life will come out.
“That’s what I thought, so excuse me.” She exits my vehicle, and I don’t stop her because she deserves someone who isn’t sick and twisted. I watch her until she’s inside, and then I have my driver take me home where I sit for ten minutes before I remind myself that I’ll never be able to get her out of my head. Grabbing the keys to my Mercedes SUV, I drive back to her home and then stay across the street, watching her apartment for the next few hours until her lights go off.
Even in the darkness, I can’t pull myself away. I see a car that parks on the side of her building. There’s a man that stands outside the vehicle, and something about him gives me a sense of discomfort, so I decide to do something dumb. I call her.
It takes forever before she finally answers, “Hey, Harley, it’s Dylan Hunter.”
“Dylan? What time is it?” Her voice is sexy even when she’s half asleep.
“It’s one in the morning.”
“Is there something wrong?”
“No, I found a position for you,” I answer cheerfully.
“Excuse me? It’s one in the morning and you found a position? Am I on my knees for this one?” she asks, her voice full of skepticism and sarcasm.
“Don’t tempt a man,” I mutter, slamming my eyes shut; my dick is so hard I could build a house with it.
“Huh?”
“Nothing, but it starts right away, so I need you to get dressed and come with me.”
“Right away? Like when?”
“Like right now.”
“What? What’s the job?”
“It’s as my live-in personal assistant. I’ll pay you two hundred thousand a year.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Are you trying to sleep with me?”
“Hell, no, I’m not.”
“Well, way to hurt my feelings.”
