Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 42185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
This man isn’t shirtless, but he does have the brooding look down.
I’d guess he’s in his late thirties, maybe early forties. He has slight stubble on his cheeks, bright green eyes, stylish dark hair swept to the side and back almost casually. His chin is strong and his shoulders look broad. I’d study more of him, but he’s seated at a desk ten feet away.
Mason Ward. My boss.
His eyes sweep along my body. I feel naked, exposed, and excited all at once.
“Is this her?” he asks the butler.
“Yes, sir,” he says.
Mr. Ward sighs. “Not bad, I guess.”
I blink, surprised. Not bad?
“Thank you, sir.”
“Has she been briefed?”
“Somewhat.” He glances at me. “She seems adequate, however.”
“Yes, well. We haven’t had much success lately with assistants, have we? I thought the last girl would work out but she ended up being terrible, just like the others.”
I can’t pull my eyes off this man. They’re talking about me like I’m not in the room and like I’m some kind of prized cow or something, and yet I don’t mind. He’s an asshole, but for some reason that gorgeous mouth talking in my direction is enough to keep me happy and satisfied, at least for now.
There is a little voice in the back of my head that noticed something, however. How many girls before me?
“Her name is Hazel Cook,” the butler says. “Twenty-two, graduated with decent grades from Temple University.”
“Major?”
“Painting.”
Mr. Ward hesitates before sighing. “Really, Rogers? An art major?”
The butler, apparently named Rogers, just shrugs. “We thought we might try something new.”
“At least bring me something with substance. An English major, or art history, but painting?”
I can feel myself starting to turn red. For my whole life, everyone’s been telling me that pursuing art isn’t worthwhile, that I’m wasting my time. What kind of job can I get with a BFA in painting?
I’m sick of it. Even my own parents gave me shit up until graduation. They refused to pay for a cent of my education, forcing me to take out a ton of student loans, which is bad enough. They didn’t need to heap all that guilt and harassment on top of it.
Now this random, gorgeous guy is treating me like I’m a ghost.
I take a half step forward, but Rogers drops his right hand in my direction. It’s subtle, and I don’t think Mr. Ward notices. I stop in my tracks, realizing that he’s trying to restrain me.
Stay silent, he said. Speak when spoken to.
I take a breath and get myself under control.
For eighty thousand a year, I’ll let this guy tell me I’m a worthless piece f shit every day. At least that way I’ll be able to support myself while still painting on my own time.
Then, when I’ve saved up enough, I’ll quit and never look back.
It’s a good plan. I just have to survive this gorgeous bastard first.
Rogers clears his throat. “If she’s not pleasing, I can find another.”
Mr. Ward sighs. “No, no, it’s fine. She’ll do, I guess.” His eyes lock on mine and I feel a thrill run down my spine. He’s rude and brash but so gorgeous, it’s hard to stay angry. “Step forward,” he says.
Rogers glances at me and nods toward the desk. I take a few steps closer and stop.
Mr. Ward stares at me, his eyes moving up and down my body.
“Turn around,” he says.
I hesitate and glance at Rogers. He just nods at me.
I turn around.
I can feel the asshole’s eyes on my body. I know what he’s looking for.
He won’t find it here. I’m not interested in that kind of relationship with him, even if he’s handsome as hell. I only want money. He can leer all he wants, but at the end of the day, this is just a job.
“You may turn back around,” he says.
I face him again, face as impassive as I can possibly manage.
“You didn’t enjoy that, did you?” he asks me.
“No,” I say.
“But you did it anyway. Why?”
“It’s my job to do what you say.”
He smiles, face brightening. “That’s right. Good. Most of the time, I’ll ask you for perfectly normal things. But every once in a while, I may ask for something strange. I may ask you to turn around for me, or bake me a pie, or any number of seemingly strange and bizarre requests. If you can handle them, you’ll do fine here. If you can’t, I won’t hesitate to fire you.” He raises an eyebrow, the smile still lingering on his lips. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nods at Rogers. “Take her out. Pay her for today.” Mr. Ward looks away, back down at his desk.
Rogers gently takes my arm and leads me away from my new boss. I want to linger there, stare at him, ask him questions, try to understand why he’s such a fucking asshole, but I don’t. I just follow Rogers out of the room, tingling a little, floating on air.