Текст книги "ARROGANT PLAYBOY"
Автор книги: Winter Renshaw
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Текущая страница: 28 (всего у книги 43 страниц)
ARROGANT MASTER
DESCRIPTION
I’ve never felt more alive than when I’m on my knees before my master.
Some would say I should be ashamed.
Others might say I’m filled with sin.
I say I’m just a woman with unstoppable determination, doing whatever it takes to secure her freedom before the opportunity fades forever.
Nobody knows about us. Not my father, my three mothers, or my seven brothers and sisters.
I was bred to be chaste and true, expected to find a respectable polygamous man and carry on the tradition of our faith.
But this man? The one who owns me with biting kisses and the crack of a leather paddle? He might be the only thing that can save me.
Submission equals freedom. It’s an equation I never thought possible until the day Dane Townsend showed up in my life.
I’m Bellamy Miller, and this is what happens when an angel loses her wings.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a stand-alone spin off of Amazon Top 10 bestseller, Arrogant Bastard. HEA. No cliffhanger.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE – Bellamy
ONE – Bellamy
TWO – Bellamy
THREE – Dane
FOUR – Bellamy
FIVE – Dane
SIX – Bellamy
SEVEN – Dane
EIGHT – Bellamy
NINE – Dane
TEN – Bellamy
ELEVEN – Dane
TWELVE – Bellamy
THIRTEEN – Dane
FOURTEEN – Bellamy
FIFTEEN – Dane
SIXTEEN – Bellamy
SEVENTEEN – Dane
EIGHTEEN – Bellamy
NINETEEN – Dane
TWENTY – Bellamy
TWENTY-ONE – Dane
TWENTY-TWO – Bellamy
TWENTY-THREE – Dane
TWENTY-FOUR – Bellamy
TWENTY-FIVE – Dane
TWENTY-SIX – Bellamy
TWENTY-SEVEN – Dane
TWENTY-EIGHT – Bellamy
TWENTY-NINE – Dane
THIRTY – Bellamy
THIRTY-ONE – Dane
THIRTY-TWO – Bellamy
THIRTY-THREE – Dane
THIRTY-FOUR – Bellamy
THIRTY-FIVE – Dane
THIRTY-SIX – Bellamy
THIRTY-SEVEN – Dane
EPILOGUE – Bellamy
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
DELETED SCENE from ARROGANT MASTER
PREVIEWS – DARK PARADISE + ARROGANT PLAYBOY
PROLOGUE
BELLAMY
“When are you going to take me home to meet your parents?” Cortland’s hand glides into places it doesn’t belong. His hot breath evaporates into fog as he whispers into my ear. I wish we were anywhere else but the backseat of his Kia. “Your father’s going to love me.”
I tug on his arm until his hand is free. I don’t want him talking about my father while he’s about to be knuckle-deep inside me.
“What’d you stop for?” The baffled expression on his chiseled face is a problem for me. “I thought you liked it when I–”
“Not in the mood tonight.” That’s what he gets for bringing up my prudent, strict, devout father who would marry me off in two seconds flat if he knew I were in the backseat of a boy’s car when I’m supposed to be at Bible study.
I stare into his impossibly gorgeous green eyes. Even in the dark they shine like two polished emeralds. His greedy hands lunge for me once more, but I block his move, crossing my forearms like some kind of flesh-toned barricade.
“You should take me back now. It’s getting late.” I inject my tone with a saccharin apology in an attempt to soften any case of blue balls.
Cortland’s shoulders fall. He pushes a steady breath through his nostrils. “Was it something I said?”
Yep.
“I just don’t want to get caught. We shouldn’t do this anymore.” I take the virtuous path, hoping that a faith-based argument will hold some weight with the son of an AUB quorum member. Besides, it’s time I break up with Cortland. Not that he’s my boyfriend, but I’m sort of bored with him and the thrill of sneaking around is now yawn-inducing.
And I think he’s falling for me, which wasn’t supposed to happen.
I don’t do romance and love and boyfriends, and he gave me a Valentine’s Day card last month. This day was going to come sooner or later. Now’s as good a time as any to end it.
I’m going to miss those lips, and the things he does with his tongue and the way his weight and warmth felt against my body in the cool of the night under the shade of dark. Our compatibility starts at physical and stops short beyond that.
It’s been fun, my handsome Cortland.
“You’re right.” He reaches for my hand, sandwiching it between his and holding my gaze as if he’s about to utter some kind of profound truth. “We need to make this right, Bellamy. We need to stop fooling around. It’s been, what, five-and-a-half months now?”
I wasn’t counting but okay.
“I have a confession.” His words stop my heart like the pause of a clock right before a bomb’s detonation. “I’ve already met your father.”
My mouth dries, prohibiting me from uttering a single word for a moment. “Um. What?”
He reaches for my face, cupping my jaw in a moment that might be tender to anyone else but me. “It’s time I make you mine. I want to be sealed to you.”
He has to be joking.
This isn’t the green-eyed, blond-haired guy I’ve been holding make out sessions with every Wednesday for the last five months, the one constantly uniformed in Sperry Topsiders, gingham button downs, and khakis with creases down the legs.
This is an imposter.
“Cortland.” His name comes from the most guttural part of me. “What did you do?”
“Relax.” He laughs. I don’t. “I just told him I was interested in courting you. He has no idea that we’ve been…”
His eyes drift to the hint of skin peeking out from the top of my unbuttoned blouse, and he wears the satisfied, stupid grin of a man replaying his glory days from the highlight reel in his head.
“Oh, God.” I exhale and then gulp in drink after drink of cool, spring air. “What did he say?”
“We went out to lunch. He wanted to get to know me. I told him we met at Bible study. Told him who my father was.”
My stomach twists hard, a balled knot lodging itself under my ribcage. I know where this is going. My father couldn’t have dreamed up a more perfect suitor for his twenty-two-year-old daughter. My mothers haven’t shut up lately about the fact that I should be married by now, and my father stopped silencing their commentary several months back.
“He asked how I felt about plural marriage, and that’s when I knew you were my destiny.” Cortland’s hand hooks behind my neck, and he pulls me toward him. His lips graze mine, and I feel him smiling. “My family is polygamous, too. Bellamy. You should’ve told me. I believe wholeheartedly in the principle of polygamy. I would be honored to take you as my first wife.”
The car is hot. Suffocating. His cologne makes my stomach churn.
I don’t know if this is a good time to tell him I wholeheartedly do not believe in the principle of polygamy. All I know is I need to get out of here.
Now.
“Take me home.” I move toward the handle of the passenger door, but he grabs my hand, pinning me against the seat.
“Bellamy, stop. You’re being ridiculous. Keep sweet. That’s all you have to do. Keep sweet, and I’ll take care of you. Submit to me. Marry me. Have my babies. We’ll expand our family when the time is right. This is the only path for us.” He produces his argument like he’s speaking undeniable truths. “This is what Heavenly Father wants for us. I feel it in the deepest part of my soul.”
He sounds like my father on his craziest of days, when the ranting and quoting and paraphrasing booms from his mouth to God’s ears.
My heart races until the blood whooshes in my ears, and my head fills full of a thought-drowning thickness.
“You don’t want to marry me, Cortland.” I jerk my wrist, but he’s gripping it hard, unwilling to free me. “I’m all wrong for you. I’m not the submitting type.”
“Sure you are.” He releases my wrist for a second and then squeezes tighter. “Might take some work, but we’ll get there.”
“Maybe I don’t want to submit.”
“Maybe you don’t have a choice.” His eyes flash in a way that chills my soul.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His answer comes in the form of an egotistical leer, one that implies he’s much craftier than I ever gave him credit for.
“Are you blackmailing me?” I lean away, or at least as much as I can. My back presses against the seat until there’s no more give in the upholstery.
“I want you, Bellamy. I have to have you. I’m the only man who’s ever felt you from the inside.”
Right. With your fingers.
“I’m the only man who’s ever tasted you. I’m the only man who’s ever commanded your body, pleasured you, and that’s why you keep coming back to me.” He leans closer to me, running his mouth across mine before taking a single, biting kiss. “I want the rest of you, which means you have to marry me. And I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that happens.”
“Take me home, Cortland.” I wriggle out from underneath him, jerking my wrists from his grasp and lunging for the door. The second the fresh air hits me, uncontrollable shivers run the length of my body.
The click of the opposite passenger door fills the empty parking lot. I stand frozen as he climbs into the driver’s seat and then rolls down the window next to me.
“Get in, Bellamy. I’ll take you back.”
I’m powerless in this moment because my car is several miles across town, and I do not own a cell phone. Calling my sister, Waverly, for a ride will just get me into even more trouble at home, and the last thing I need is for my father to be asking why I was on the south side of town, when I was supposed to be at Bible Study.
I climb in, slamming the door hard.
The drive across town is a mixture of muted thoughts and road noise. By the time he pulls into the church parking lot, my car is the only one left. According to the clock on the dash, I’m going to be thirty minutes late going home, which means regardless, I’ll still have my father’s wrath to deal with.
I can’t win.
Cortland pulls up beside my car, reaching over to place his hand atop my knee.
My body responds to his touch with a delayed flinch.
“Tonight, you’ll tell your father that I approached you after our studies, and we lost track of time as we spoke. You’ll arrange a time for me to meet everyone, and then we’ll begin our official courtship.” He speaks as if he’s had this planned for a while.
I should’ve known where this was headed when he signed his Valentine’s Day card with a heart and “Love forever, Cortland.” All along I thought I was dealing with some love-struck puppy dog, not a sadistic maniac.
Guess I thought wrong.
“Submit to me, Bellamy. No one else can love you the way you need to be loved. Only me. The sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.”
Marrying Cortland, or anyone else like him, would breathe life into my darkest nightmare.
My body buzzes with paddle-shock intensity. None of my thoughts makes sense, and I’m not certain I could form a complete sentence if forced. In all those months of sneaking around, never once did I consider this to be a possible outcome.
“I’m going to marry you by the end of the year,” he says. He releases his hand from my lap and rubs it across the smooth plastic of his steering wheel. I hate the slick sound it makes against his palm. “And Bellamy?”
I respond with silence.
“I strongly advise meeting me halfway with this. I don’t think your father would appreciate the truth.”
“So you are blackmailing me.”
“I like to think of it as saving your soul.”
I can save my own soul, thank-you-very-much.
“Whatever helps you sleep.” I lurch for the door handle before he has a chance to stop me, and I slam the door the second I’m free. I hear his voice, but I refuse to listen to the endless spewing of venomous threats fused with scripture.
I’ll do what I have to for now because if he’s not bluffing and he does tell my father everything, I’ll be married off in a heartbeat.
And I know that marriage will be with someone ten times worse than the twisted control freak with the talented tongue and deceptively gorgeous green gaze.
I scramble for my car, taking with me a handful of things I know to be true.
I would sooner die than marry Cortland McGregor.
I refuse to submit to him or any other man.
I’m going to get out of here as soon as possible, no matter what it takes.
ONE
BELLAMY
“I’m sorry. Your interview was yesterday.”
“No, no.” I yank my planner from my bag and slap it across the marble reception desk, my cheeks burning behind the blanket of hair that falls into my face. I refuse to believe this is happening. “It’s today. My professor set this up last week. The first Tuesday in April.”
The receptionist’s desk phone rings shrill and intrusive. She points a finger straight up in the air and takes the call. I’m flipping through the pages of my planner like a crazy person, page after page of March dates finally bring me to the current month, and several pages later, I’m staring at today’s date.
The page is blank.
I blink as if my eyes are the ones who have deceived me.
It’s all their fault.
“No.” I run my palm across the smooth, traitorous page, dragging in a haggard breath before I flip backward to Monday.
Monday, April 6th – 10:30 AM, Interview with Randy Mutchler, RJM Corporation
“This has got to be a mistake. This is not like me at all. I’ve never been late for so much as a doctor’s appointment.” I’m rambling, words flowing straight from my frazzled brain to my tingling lips. The stale lobby air nearly suffocates me. “I’m sorry about this. Is there any way at all he could maybe still see me today?”
I flash the kind of benign smile you might see in a stock photo of a business professional lugging a briefcase, hoping to God this receptionist is the merciful type who just might have a soft spot in her heart for interviewees with a nervous streak.
“I’m sure these things happen all the time.” My words are half chuckle and one-hundred percent an attempt not to break down and cry. My master plan is crumbling like ashes to dust. I slide my hand down a shiny tendril of blonde hair that spills over my shoulder. The softness against my skin is comforting.
Distracting really.
It pulls me out of the present moment and gives me something to focus on when the entirety of myself is threatening to unravel.
“I’m so sorry.” The receptionist’s words slam into my attention with brick-wall intensity.
“Professor Stan MacAbee recommended me. They’re friends. Tell him. I’m sure he’ll change his mind. Can you ask him?” I didn’t drive almost an hour from Whispering Hills to Salt Lake City to give up this easily. My gaze falls toward the phone. Her hand isn’t anywhere near it. She’s not going to even attempt to entertain my suggestion. “Just tell him Bellamy Miller is here to see him.”
A line of people waits behind me. I’m not sure how long they’ve been standing there, but now I’m all too aware of the fact that I’m causing a scene. The collective weight of their stares is like a silent push, urging me to walk out of this building and pretend like none of this happened.
This job was supposed to be a sure thing. RJM Corporation is hiring a whole slew of entry-level college grads. No experience necessary. It’s grunt work, but it beats flipping burgers and it pays better too.
Besides, it’s almost impossible to find a job when your resume consists of nothing but a community college education. I’ve never held a job before. I have no references. All I have is my 4.0 GPA and a called-in favor from my marketing instructor.
I lean in, closing the gap between myself and a receptionist who doesn’t appear to be much older than me. She seems nice enough, and I know she’s only doing her job, but I’m not ready to walk away yet.
“Look, I came all the way here.” There’s a quiver in my words that I make no point in trying to hide. “I need this interview.”
“I understand that, Miss…”
“Miller. Bellamy Miller.”
“Yes, I understand that, Miss Miller.” Her lips widen into a pained wince while her eyes attempt to hold sympathy and fail miserably. “I’m terribly sorry. There’s nothing I can do. Anyway, Mr. Mutchler is out on business today. I can ask him when he returns tomorrow, and if he agrees, our H.R. department can get in touch with you.”
“Is there someone else who might be available for an interview?”
Her eyes glide over my shoulder and land on the gentleman behind me. She’s offering him a silent apology. Her winced face screams, “This girl is crazy. I’m sorry. Be patient. She’ll be out of here soon enough.”
I collect the shattered remnants of my dignity off the floor and sling my bag over my shoulder.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
My head hangs as I avoid the intrusive stares of the people lined up behind me. I don’t know what they look like. I don’t know if their gapes are laced with pity or packed full of amusement.
I don’t want to know.
I want to get out of here, regroup, and come up with a plan B.
My watch reads ten ‘til eleven, and the sign on a local bar and lounge claims it’ll be opening soon for the lunch crowd. I’ve never been a drinker, but today feels like a pretty good day to start.
People drown their problems with alcohol for a reason. It must work.
My mothers aren’t expecting me until this afternoon. They think I’ll be in the city all day, filling out hiring paperwork and getting a tour of my new office. I told them I was all but hired when they wished me luck that morning after breakfast.
As far as I’m concerned, I have a hall-pass today.
Never mind the fact that I’m twenty-two.
A grown woman.
A full-blown adult, even if I’m still living under my parents’ roof like a baby bird who never learned how to fly away from the nest. It was never that I couldn’t fly, just that I was never allowed.
Until now.
I spend the better part of ten minutes convincing myself it’s perfectly okay to enjoy an adult beverage at eleven on a Tuesday all by myself, and the second the proprietor flips the window sign to “open,” I show myself in and take the first bar stool on the left.
The inside of the place is dark, and it almost feels like night. I suspect there’s a glaze on the windows, tinting them to give off just enough of a dusky ambiance to make people want to stay a while. I’m beginning to forget what all transpired just a little while ago, but I’m quite certain I’ll forget even more once I’m face to face with a stiff drink.
Rows upon rows of glass liquor bottles in every shade from clear to brown to cobalt are backlit on shelves that span from the ceiling to the back of the bar. I glance around for a drink menu and find none. Maybe they’re not out yet?
I suppose most drinkers don’t need menus. They know what they like. They know what’s good.
“What can I get you, ma’am?” A gray-bearded bartender tucks a white rag into the back of his apron and rests his hands on his hips, studying me. “Are we having a drink today? Lunch? Both?”
“I’d like a drink.” My words are slow and unnatural. I cringe on the inside. Hard. I sound like a foreigner in a strange new land, uttering an unfamiliar phrase, trying to blend in, yet making herself stand out even more. “What would you recommend?”
His round head cocks sideways, and he chews on his lower lip before smacking the top of the bar with an open palm. “I know. A Manhattan.”
“What’s in that?” Now I sound like a child afraid to try a new food their mother has laid out before them.
“Whiskey, sweet vermouth, and bitters.”
“I look like a Manhattan girl to you?”
His head cocks and his lips curl into a slow grin. “Not at all. You look like a girl who’s never had a drink in her life.”
I resent that, as true as it may be. “You’re wrong.”
My father always said once a person starts lying, they never stop, and in the last week, I’ve proven him to be correct. I can’t get over how easy it feels to be in the company of this stranger, this Salt Lake City bartender, look him in the eye, and make him believe anything I want him to believe about me.
I’ve been given a blank slate.
No one knows me here.
I can be anyone I want to be, even if it’s just for an hour or so.
It’s a lot of power to place in the hands of a twenty-two-year-old girl who, her whole life, has never been allowed to spread her wings. Not once.
“I’ll take champagne,” I declare, straightening my posture and crossing my legs.
“Ah. A celebratory beverage.” He’s either making a statement or subtly hinting that he still doesn’t believe me.
“Was just offered a new job.” I force a smile on my face, the one that would’ve been placed by an actual job offer.
“We don’t sell by the glass,” he says. “But since you’re a champagne drinker, you should know that.”
“Well aware,” I lie. That makes number three for the day and probably number sixteen for the week.
My father was right.
The bartender releases his grip on the ledge and his gaze from mine in one fluid whoosh and disappears in the back, emerging with a dark green bottle dripping with condensation. I squint from my perch at the end of the bar, failing to read the elaborate script font on the cream label.
Jingle bells on the door slice through the quiet bar. My fingers rap against the marble counter as I stare ahead at a mounted T.V. screen.
Today, I’m celebrating.
A silent toast to my impending freedom.
Even if I have to fight for that freedom.
Even if I’ll do anything to obtain it.
My mother’s words echo in my head as the bartender pops the cork. We were standing around the kitchen last week peeling carrots for a stew and discussing how it was Dad and Kath’s seventh anniversary when she turned to me and said, “You’re going to make a great first wife, Bellamy. Heaven help us if you’re ever a second or third wife like poor Kath.”
She thought she was being cute, and she meant it in jest, but all it did was ignite a fire so deep in my soul all the water in the world won’t put it out.
The new patron takes the stool two spots down from me. We’re separated by one seat. I resist the urge to huff or give them a single look. Eight other spots and this person has to sit close to me.
“Here we are.” I glance at the bartender’s nametag, which reads Matt.
I take the champagne glass by the stem like I’ve seen classy women do in movies and lift it in his direction. Today I’m fancy. Today I’m free.
“Thank you, Matt.” The glass rim presses against my bottom lip.
“Manhattan.” The customer two spots down has a voice smooth as velvet and laced with palpable virility. It commands my attention, dissolving my previous disinterest in two seconds flat.
My God.
My breath catches in my throat. I tilt the flute and take a small mouthful, letting the tiny bubbles dance on my tongue before quickly swallowing them. The last thing I want to do is choke them down like some amateur.
The champagne is sweet, but not too sweet. The crispness is refreshing in a way I’m sure I’d appreciate much more if I weren’t so distracted by the suit sitting mere feet away from me. He’s sucked all the air from the room, I’m sure of it, because now I can’t seem to catch my breath.
“If you’re going to stare, at least introduce yourself.” He speaks to me though he looks straight ahead.
My jaw slacks, my brain racking itself to come up with the appropriate comeback that doesn’t make me sound like a love-struck teenager noticing boys for the first time. I noticed boys a long time ago; I’d just never noticed anyone like him before.
His elbows rest lightly against the bar, his hands gripping the shiny glass Matt just placed in front of him. Not a single spec of fuzz or stray hair clings to the impeccable fabric of his navy suit. Lush, dark hair covers his head, and his jaw hollows just below his cheekbone.
They certainly don’t make them like him back in Whispering Hills.
“She doesn’t speak English?” he asks Matt.
“Bellamy Miller.” I don’t extend my hand; instead it rests firmly at the base of my champagne glass. I hold my head up high. If he’s going to sit there like some arrogant businessman, two can play that game. “And you would be…?”
The curiously handsome and intensely haughty stranger turns my way, clearing his throat and tensing his jaw as his unyielding stare sharpens in my direction. The hollows of his cheekbones release and flex not once but twice. “Dane Townsend.”
I expect him to smile or nod, and I wait in vain for his expression to soften.
Instead, he huffs like I’m some nobody who’s suddenly invaded his personal space.
Well, excuse me.
I uncross and re-cross my legs the opposite way, turning back toward the T.V. Some soccer game is playing, and I pretend it’s the most engrossing thing I’ve ever seen. Anything is better than having a staring contest with the world’s most arrogant stranger.
“I wasn’t done speaking to you.” His words slice through the tight space between us. His need to control and dominate this conversation is insulting.
“Pardon me?”
“I introduced myself, and then you said nothing and turned away.” He lifts his drink to his full mouth, his eyes burning into mine as he pulls in a sip. “It’s rude.”
My jaw falls, and I jerk my attention away. Any quick fantasies I may have had about this man a few minutes ago have dissipated.
I stare at my drink, squinting one eye and estimating that there might be a couple more ounces left to finish. A sigh escapes my lips when I promptly remember I bought the whole bottle. I’m certainly no champagne connoisseur, but this stuff doesn’t taste cheap.
I’m going to be here a while.
I can’t just skit out the door dragging my dignity behind me like I did at RJM Corporation.
“My apologies.” I don’t mean it. I demolish the rest of my drink like I’m an old pro and nod at Matt before turning to Dane again. I know how to play this game. I know how to tell people what they want to hear to bandage an awkward situation. It’s practically my way of life at home, and it works like a charm with my father. “My mind must be elsewhere today. I didn’t intend to offend you.”
“You didn’t offend me.”
He’s slipping under my skin with skilled finesse, arrogance and all.
“Good to hear.” I slide my empty glass toward Matt. I want another even though this one’s already snaking through me faster than I could’ve anticipated. I’m two seconds away from telling him to bother someone else if only there were someone else around for him to bother. “If you don’t mind.”
I force a tight-lipped smile and nod toward the T.V., trying desperately to ignore the obnoxious amount of power this stranger wields in his unrelenting stare.
Matt refills my drink, pouring clear to the top.
Numb warmth invades my cheeks at the same time.
This must be what a buzz feels like.
“So what exactly are you celebrating today?” Dane asks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen a young woman drinking champagne at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday.”
“New job.” I refuse to make eye contact. I’m disengaging and hoping it’s only a matter of time before he takes the hint.
“Where?”
I swallow hard and clear my throat lightly.
Of course he would ask that.
“Mutchler Corporation.”
His head tilts and his lips jut for a second. “Ah. Working for Randy?”
My heart sputters to a stop.
“Right.” I force a coolness in my tone that implies I wholeheartedly believe my own lies.
“What will you be doing at RJM?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.” My brows lift as my eyes dart to him, desperate to gauge whether or not he’s buying this. “It’s not exactly official yet. Nothing’s been signed. The terms and titles are private. You know how that goes.”
He can’t argue the details if I give him none.
His palm rakes across the underside of his smooth, cleft chin as the corners of his mouth lift enough to show a hint of dimples. “I know exactly how that goes. I know Randy quite well. We run in the same…circles.”
My cheeks flood with red, and I tilt my head down just enough that my hair covers them. Funny how lying could make me feel so powerful and invincible a second ago, and then this man so easily flips it all on its side.
“Randy mentioned he was going to be hiring a…concierge.” Dane holds a wicked flash in his steely gaze. “What’s a girl like you doing taking a job like that?”
“It sounded like an interesting job.” I sweep my hair from my shoulder and take another slow sip. “I guess I was the most qualified applicant.”
Vagueness and ambiguity fuels this conversation though I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this running.
“You don’t want to work for Randy,” he says, leaning into me. He flashes a white smile, the first one I’ve seen on him since he walked in here. My attraction to him, as much as I try to fight it, soars off the charts for a moment. “Trust me.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you should be working for me.”
I lean away, a laugh bubbling in my balled stomach. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
“I’m a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.”
“Are you proposing that I work for you instead?”
“I’m demanding that you not work for Randy.” His gaze floods my veins with warmth and overruns my thought process for a moment. “You’re all wrong for him. Believe me when I tell you that.”
“Are you offering me a job?”
I came to the city for a job. I’m determined to leave with one.
At any cost.
“It depends,” he says. “Can you offer me the same services, terms, and agreements you were going to offer Randy as his concierge?”
“Of course.” I fight the rush of crimson that tries to consume my entire body, never knowing it was possible to blush from head to toe. My gut tells me I’ve no idea what I’m agreeing to, but I have no other choice. Flipping burgers back home and babysitting for local neighborhood families isn’t going to fill my bank account with the kind of money I need to secure my future and ensure I don’t end up married off to Cortland or any other polygamous asshole.
I need a real job, and this man is offering me one.
“When can you start?”
“Just like that, you’re hiring me?” I try to hide the excitement in my tone, but my words are rushed, and my lips are twisted into a smile. “You don’t want to interview me first? Check my references?”
“I don’t need to check your references. The fact that Randy Mutchler wanted you tells me all I need to know.” He leans back, cocking his elbow against the bar. Our bodies are perfectly aligned though I’m not sure about our intentions. “He’s a very particular man. I’m sure he’s run you through a battery of tests.”
Now would be a great time to tell him I’m a dirty, rotten liar.
“Can I think about it?” If I jump all over this chance, the way I want to, he’ll call my bluff, and this’ll all be over.
“What’s there to think about?” His dark brow rises while the other one slants.
“Salary. Benefits.”
Dane smirks. “Randy’s a cheap bastard. I can assure you anything he’s offered you will be paltry compared to my compensation package.”
