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“Your resume states you’re proficient in Lawcus legal management software. Is that true?”
“Yes. Three years.”
“Mr. Barton’s secretary called out because of a car accident. You’ll have to do.”
The insult’s meant to intimidate me. A heavy sigh exhales from her frowning mouth, and her eyes sweep over my outfit. This dress is my most conservative, a green sleeveless shift garment. But there’s no hiding my abundant assets. Maybe the boss man likes skinny blondes and he’ll keep his dirty hands to himself.
Hostility from other women's a daily occurrence. People assume my brain is small because of my generous chest. I've discovered that remaining quiet diffuses most situations. I'd love to ask the green-eyed ladies if their back aches at night and they're afraid to go anywhere alone. Some gifts are a curse.
“Report to Mr. Barton’s office. I’ll lock your purse in my cabinet; he doesn’t allow cell phones on his floor.”
The idea of meeting the owner within minutes of starting the job spikes my heart rate. I can’t afford to quit again. My knock-off Gucci bag locks in her cabinet and she gives me a keycard, explaining the procedure. Thank God I’m not bluffing about knowing the software.
“This activates the secured twentieth floor. He demands perfection and efficiency. Professional mannerisms are required at all times. Understand?”
Her undertone indicates I’m the type of girl who jumps at rich jerks in positions of power. I have an excellent comeback for miss grumpy, and am used to other women feeling threatened by the assets God gave me. But I need the money. Desperately.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Oh, and address him as Sir, not Mr. Barton. Go. He’s waiting.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and I stand. I twitch my fingers and straighten my hem as Mrs. Rogers waves me to the door. Dad needs surgery to correct a knee bone misalignment. I’m saving extra dollars for his medical bills, and will fill his Christmas stocking with two thousand in cash.
I walk to the elevator, dreading the inevitable. Maybe, for once, the CEO will choose self-respect instead of a cheap thrill. Four-inch black heels click across the tile floor, and I adjust my bra to further conceal my generous cleavage. His barbaric Sir rule is ridiculous. Probably another old geezer who gets off bullying younger women.
A deep breath inhales as I insert the card and the transport whisks me to my destination. The pinging sound from the opening doors rings across the expansive empty floor. I’m greeted by a sea of white marble tile as far as I can see. A glass conference room is ahead, with two hallways on either side. Decision time.
I choose the right path, finding a small kitchenette and restrooms, but no office. The air’s cool, and my fingers brush my arms for warmth.
Why didn't I wear my heavy coat? Oh yeah, it needs washing after a drunk man spewed vomit on the wool fabric at the pharmacy.
Admitting that I enjoy the male attention a bit is tough. I’m an expert at highlighting these swaying hips. However, respect and boundaries are non-negotiable. Men assume this girl’s easy lay when their lustful eyes sweep over my body. I’ve turned down sex for ten grand. This dignified assistant is not for sale.
There’s a small fridge filled with water. Since I’m already cold and the stale air is dry, I help myself, and gulp half the twelve ounce bottle. Knots twist in my stomach as I anticipate the meeting of yet another wealthy womanizer.
My feet turn to exit, and hard muscle stops my progress. I gasp. The remaining liquid squirts down my chest as I squeeze the plastic, and I throw the bottle in the air to find my balance. My hands land on flexing biceps, and a full body shiver rushes through my core. Long fingers clutch my hip to save me from toppling to the ground.
“Who are you?”
His deep voice booms, and a small, trembling squeak escapes my lips.
Please let him be under fifty, I mentally plead. I’m overdue for a Christmas miracle.
2
Bentley
Her beckoning energy drew me from my office and into the hallway. This is an unusual behavior. Call me a dick, but employees come to me. My time’s invaluable.
She stutters a response as heat engulfs my cells.
“Penelope Parks, a new temp, reporting to Mr. Barton.”
“Address me as Sir.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I’ve gained her submission in less than sixty seconds. She’s a bombshell, with an abundant chest and full, sexy hips. My thumb and forefinger rub together, wanting to tug her silky red hair. The deep shade of green in her emerald eyes is mesmerizing. My pecker picker is on point with this girl.
