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Chapter Twenty-Two
RORY
The days pass quickly while working for the Dixen brothers.
I arrive earlier and earlier every morning to try and beat Maddox, but to no avail. Luckily, I don’t see those tatted up assholes anymore, and neither Maddox nor the others ever mention it. Mackenzie is at my apartment door every morning, somehow at the exact time I leave, and we start to talk and laugh as we ride the elevator down together. I may even consider her a friend in different circumstances, but this isn’t really me, is it? Plus, once I have completed my job and I’m back living in my trailer, it will be like we never met at all.
Sighing, I eye the outfit they have left out for me today. It consists of a dress and high heels, which have slips of silk to tie around the ankle. The dress is white and nearly transparent, with matching lace straps crisscrossing the bodice. Oh, and it’s skintight and almost doesn’t cover my ass, so there are no panties or a bra.
Fuck.
They are testing me, I know they are, and as strong as I know I am…one day, I’m going to snap. I just don’t know what will happen after.
The sexual tension between all four of us is insane, and as the days go on, it gets worse and worse until I can almost taste it, choke on it. Every passing word or request is filled with sexual innuendo. Every heated look and each accidental touch sends my heart into overdrive.
Determined not to give in and ignoring the flare of enjoyment for this game we are playing, I get dressed and leave, riding down with Mackenzie before zooming into the office. As usual, Maddox is already in the office and his door is open. He glares when I place his coffee down next to him. His hand darts out, snagging my wrist, and I gasp from the sudden movement. I snap my eyes to his dark ones.
“If you are late one more time, pet, I will take it out on your hide,” he snarls and then squeezes my wrist to the point of pain, almost grinding my bones.
But my messed up body reacts a different way. My nipples harden, and a low moan escapes my lips as my pussy clenches. His eyes widen, and a smirk curves his lips as he releases my wrist. I step away, clasping my hands behind my back, and his eyes track me like he’s a wild animal. I see calculation and glee in his dark gaze, so with one more nearly terrified look aimed his way, I spin on my heel and flee. When I’m back at my desk, I rub my red wrist, but I don’t have time to relax because shortly after, Alistair and Rogan appear, arguing with each other about how best to sell something, before they disappear into Rogan’s office.
I sit there like a good little girl waiting for orders, but when they don’t call, I check the schedule. Distracting myself, I email reminders and reply to a few sitting in my inbox. I answer the phone when it rings, and even make a fresh pot of coffee while I wait for their games to begin.
Their requests are also getting worse and worse. It started as normal personal assistant tasks, and now they are obviously working with each other to request increasingly annoying, and often sexual, things to be done. I want to smack them in their smug, rich boy faces. I haven’t even learned anything useful, too busy trying to keep up with them and wrap my head around everything. I can’t even wear the wire today, so I text Bronson and tell him we need to talk. He agrees to meet this evening to discuss a better way for me to report. The wire doesn’t fucking work, and after Alistair “accidentally” felt up my chest the other day, I was sure I was busted. Luckily, I got away with it, but it won’t be long before I get caught, I know it.
The comm sounds, and I roll my eyes, prepared for whatever they’ll ask. “Ms. O’Brien,” Rogan greets kindly. He’s the worst. He acts all nice and friendly, but I swear he takes great pleasure in seeing me suffer. “Could you come to my office, please?”
I get up and straighten the dress before heading into his office, where I find them both bent over his desk, whispering. When I clear my throat, they look up. Alistair runs his eyes down me with a grin. “Nice outfit, Rory, thought you might like it.”
I should have known it was him, because it’s slutty and showy just like he is.
“Ms. O’Brien.” Rogan grins, his whiskey eyes hidden behind his glasses, which he pushes up the bridge of his nose as he straightens. His high cheekbones glisten in the sunlight as it shines through a nearby window. His three-piece suit is perfectly in place, probably thanks to his OCD, whereas Alistair couldn’t be more different. His shirt is unbuttoned sloppily and half untucked, displaying plenty of golden skin, even though his hair is perfectly styled. They are total opposites, dark and light, and I want them both and they know it. They use it against me, flirting, teasing, and pushing me to my very limits.
“How may I assist you?” I inquire kindly, keeping my aching hand behind my back, which unfortunately pushes my chest out, causing both of their eyes to linger on my breasts. I clear my throat again. Rogan looks up, his cheeks tinting slightly, even as he grins. Alistair, on the other hand, just stands there staring.
“Rory, stand in front of the window, let me get a better look at the outfit,” Alistair orders. Rolling my eyes, I move to stand in front of one and turn to him.
“Better?” I question snarkily, cocking my hip to the side.
Rogan chokes on a laugh and takes off his glasses, pretending to clean them, while Alistair nods and hums as his eyes run down my form. “Much,” he answers.
I follow his gaze and my mouth drops open in shock. The dress is see-through in the light.
Motherfucker.
I storm forward and get in his face—well, as much as I dare. “I suggest you wipe that cocky smirk off your lips,” I demand, poking my finger into his chest. I could let this send me into a meltdown and act all shy, or I could just own it, so I choose the latter. Calming, I smooth down the skirt and smile politely. “Now, how may I help you?”
“Oh, in all sorts of ways.” He winks, biting his lip as he runs his eyes down me again. “For now, why don’t you be a doll and hop up on the desk.”
“What?” I sputter angrily, looking to Rogan, who smiles sweetly.
“He actually does mean that. We need your help holding down the papers,” Rogan explains.
They want me to sit on their papers on the desk…to hold them down?
Oh, so we aren’t even starting small today, we are just going straight for the jugular. Brilliant. I hide my annoyance by keeping my gaze down as I rush to do as I’m ordered. I think of Mischief and my brother, the reasons I’m doing this, but with each passing day, my strength to restrain myself and not wring their pretty necks wanes. The desire to say, “Fuck the police and their deal,” is growing stronger.
I climb onto the desk, placing my ass on the corner of the papers spread across it, and then they return to looking it over. They ignore me as they talk through their issues, basically using my ass as a paperweight and something pretty to look at. Assholes.
