I was on the edge of my seat. “If what?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Jada, aren’t you a virgin?”
My mouth fell open as my skin tingled. Yes, I was a virgin, but I had never told her that. As a matter of fact, I’d made up some past sexual experiences designed to convince her I wasn’t a virgin. Of course, I felt horrible about lying to my best friend, but she was one of those sexually free women. I was five-eight, but she was two inches taller, so guys always saw Hope first when we walked into a room. Her light-auburn hair was baby fine, and her brown almond eyes and heart-shaped face made her as sexy as a Kardashian. So lots of men wanted to sleep with her, and she was not the sort of woman who brokered her pussy for a better deal—Hope did not need to know there was a ring in her future before she slept with a guy. I wasn’t that way, either, but I was a different animal from Hope. The last thing I needed from a man was his dick inside me. The first thing I wanted from any man who would be my lover would be a sharp mind and a kind heart, but he couldn’t be a pushover like my dad.
“Me, a virgin? Why would you ask that?” My tone was way too defensive not to give me away, but it was too late to change it.
She scrutinized me long enough for me to keep shifting in my seat.
“What?” I snapped.
“Well, listen, Jada. All I’ll say is Spencer Christmas is not the sort of guy you hand your V-card to unless you’re in it strictly for kicks. And, Jada, you’re not a simply-for-kicks kind of girl. So here’s my advice—if fucking is part of the deal, then let the money go.”
The house was now in view. The sheer scale of it, as well as the design, made my eyes open wider. It was the size of a mansion but had the design of a luxury chateau and a craftsman-styled luxurious estate home, made mostly of wood with lots of large picture windows and tall chimneys blowing smoke into the cold atmosphere from just about every corner.
The car stopped in front of a set of steps leading to the front entrance. A shiver ran down my spine as I thought I saw the form of a tall man with an athletic frame standing deep behind the glass doors. I craned my neck and narrowed my eyes to get a better look.
“This is the end of the road, Ms. Forte,” the driver said.
Suddenly, a tall white-haired man in a black suit walked out of the house and was standing in front of the door, waiting for me. He was certainly not the person I first saw.
The driver opened my door and held it that way until I got out. I let my curious gaze dart from one large window to the next. If the person I’d seen seconds before was Spencer Christmas, he was now long gone. I smiled at the man in the suit, who was watching me with a stoical expression, and tried to convince myself that the phantom of a person who might or might not be my new boss had not made my stomach flutter.
Chapter Two
I followed the driver up the walkway as he rolled my two large suitcases and carried my gigantic weekender bag with the strap slung over his shoulder. He handled them a lot more easily than I had. The air was crisp, clean, and nippy. I hugged myself to keep from shivering, which I was doing not because I was cold but because awareness had just slammed into me like a ton of bricks. I had flown across the country to live in a stranger’s luxury ranch house. The job description said I would be performing normal executive assistant duties, like keeping a calendar, doing bookkeeping, and being in charge of special projects. That was it. But something about the place felt eerie. My suspicion was even more heightened after the driver dropped my suitcases on the porch and two men rushed out of the house to collect my luggage. The men were the same height and build, and both had black hair. I would have taken them for twins, but I couldn’t get a good look at their faces. Not only did they move fast, but they kept their heads down too.
“Welcome, Miss Forte,” the long-legged man in the suit said, reclaiming my attention. “I am Felix, the house butler.” He had an English accent.
I studied his gaunt build and stodgy disposition and then rubbed my arm as I looked over my shoulder. The driver was already behind the wheel of the car and was rolling away. Part of me wanted to run after the vehicle and beg him to take me back to the airport. I would go to every discount-travel site I knew of and shop for a cheap ticket. If my credit card payment hadn’t cleared yet, I would use the money to fly back home and let my account fall into the red zone.
“Miss Forte, would you please come inside?” Felix was holding the door open and inviting me in.
What if this is a trap and, come tomorrow, I’m sold as a sex slave on the black market? I hadn’t thought this whole ordeal through. Since the Christmas name was synonymous with popularity and old money, I’d never questioned whether Spencer Christmas or his proposition was completely safe. I’d felt a little too comfortable about taking the job, having spent a lot of time around people of the Christmases’ caliber when attending fundraisers with my mother, who liked to show me off to donors as her proper, smart, ambitious daughter. Maybe trusting him was a mistake.
I smiled tightly at Felix, telling myself that my irrational worries were a result of anxiety—I hoped. Head up, shoulders back, I entered the house.
The foyer was warm and cozy, even while being spacious. The floors were light wood, and so were the walls. The space had the feeling of a luxury lodge. Everything looked new—the furniture, accessories, shelves, and artwork. Even the smell of newness sat in the air.
“When was the ranch built?” I asked the tall butler as I followed him down a wide well-lit hallway with an arched ceiling.
He kept facing forward. “I don’t know, Miss Forte.”
“Oh,” I said, trying to think of something else to say. The fact that no one associated with Mr. Christmas wanted to carry on even the smallest conversation was concerning. “Is Mr. Christmas here today?”
“I’m not sure, Miss, Forte,” the butler said, still facing forward. “However, I’ve been instructed to take you on a tour of the nonrestricted areas of the house.”
I perked up. “There are restricted areas?”
Finally, he stopped walking and gestured toward a wide-open space to our left. “This is the dining room, where you’ll have your meals. Each morning, a menu will be placed on the back of your door. You will choose your entrees for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Snacks, along with coffee, tea, and other beverages of your choice, will be provided throughout the day. You will merely call the kitchen and ask Marta, the head chambermaid, to bring you what you like.”
I opened and closed my mouth, trying to figure out what to say next. I realized he had blatantly ignored my last question. I could have pushed for an answer. But I knew it didn’t matter how hard I pushed—he wasn’t going to give up the house secrets and was only going to say what was permissible.
“I can make my own meals,” I finally said.
“The kitchen is a restricted area. All entrances are locked.” His deadpan tone matched the expression on his face.
“But what if I want a glass of water in the middle of the night?”
“Marta will see to your needs.”
I gazed at him with focus. “Even at three o’clock in the morning? I wouldn’t want to wake someone up so they can fetch me water at three in the morning.”
Felix blinked as if waiting for my curiosity to pass. The longer the silence lingered, the more I received his message loud and clear. The rules were the rules, and he wasn’t going to argue about them or allow me to change them.
I pressed my lips together in a slight grimace as he showed me the reading room, living room, sunroom, and bathrooms that I had permission to use. He showed me the staircase that went only to the third level, which was the only upper floor I was given access to. However, we didn’t climb the stairs—he led me to an elevator instead.
I yawned once we were inside. The tour had reminded me how exhausted I was, and the house was so warm and so comfortably lit that all I wanted to do was shower, crawl into bed, and sleep. I restrained my second yawn after the doors slid open. The lighting in this hallw
ay was dimmer than it was downstairs, which made me more tired. The walls were made of plaster and painted off-white. The floors were still wooden, though, and the new smell was just as pervasive as it was on the first floor.
I noticed, even though my eye sockets ached, that the hallway didn’t run the length of the house. We’d just walked past the staircase and stopped in front of the only door on that level. Essentially, I was being shown to my own private wing. Felix held the door open for me, and my jaw dropped as I stepped into the space.
I sucked a quick breath. “Wow. I was not expecting this.”
The room was five times larger than my last apartment. A set of stairs led down to a tastefully designed living area, featuring a burnt-orange sofa, a love seat, and two comfortable-looking armchairs that were set before floor-to-ceiling bay windows running the length of the floor and then curving around the corner. Warm light beamed from contemporary arched floor lamps. The edges of the coffee table glowed too. Beyond the windows was a wraparound patio, which held comfy lounge furniture. I’d been so enamored with the lower level that I hadn’t paid attention to the largest bed I’d ever seen, to my right, and the long hallway to my left.
“The bathroom, closet, and dressing rooms are to your left, and your belongings have been put away for you.” Felix picked up a remote control, pressed a button, and set it back on the white lacquered nightstand.
As a large-screen television was lowered from a pocket in the ceiling, I rubbed my temples, still processing the last part of what Felix had said. I registered him saying the dinner menu was on the bed and instructing me to make my selections and place the card on the basket attached to the back of the door. I ripped my gaze off his face, trying to remember whether or not I had packed anything that I didn’t want touched. Then it appeared as if in a vision—pink plastic with two little bunny ears and only used for moments when I craved pure pleasure. My vibrator. I’d brought it.
“In the meantime, there are refreshments below. Breakfast will be served at eight, and I’ll meet you in the dining room tomorrow morning at nine a.m. to escort you to the office—”
I reached out and touched him on the arm to silence him. “I’m sorry, Felix, but who put away my things? The two men who brought my luggage inside?” My face felt hot, and I was positive my skin had turned red.
With his eyebrows raised, he looked at my hand on his arm. His expression asked me to remove it, so I did. Then he carefully placed his arms by his sides and out of reach. “No, Miss Forte. The chambermaids put your belongings away.”
There was no way I was going to ask if they were female, but I assumed they were. I tried to figure out where another woman might possibly put another woman’s vibrator.
“Could they not do that again?” I asked, fanning myself.
“And why might that be, Miss Forte?”
“Could you stop calling me Miss Forte as well? I’m not my mother. Call me Jada.” Shit. I hadn’t meant to take that tone with him. However, I was so agitated by all the things that were bothering me at that moment.
He straightened his posture. “I can refer to you as Miss Jada if you prefer.”
My lips parted rapidly as I tried to figure out what to say. Miss Jada? Is he fucking for real? But then I remembered that my mind had gotten ahead of me, and I had something more important to get straight. “And still”—I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice—“I don’t want the chambermaids putting my things away, please.” I took in a deep, steadying breath. I was exhausted beyond reasonable limits and was sure it was affecting my mood. “Sorry,” I whispered.
“No apology necessary, Miss Jada.”
I shook my head. “If I have to be referred to as Ms. Someone, then I’d rather it be Ms. Forte.”
“Then, will that be all, Miss Forte?”
I sighed forcefully. “You never answered.”
“And what have I not answered, Miss Forte?”
“I don’t want chambermaids putting my things in drawers. I can do that myself. I have private shit.” I closed my eyes to steady myself. “I mean private things.” I opened my eyes, and he was watching me with the same blank expression.
“I will relay your request to the chambermaids,” he said.
I released all the tension from my body. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Forte.” He then explained that there was a telephone on the second nightstand with directories to all the services I would need during my stay.
My eyeballs burned with tiredness when I thanked him.
He bowed his head. “Have a good evening.”
I was so happy he hadn’t called me Miss Forte again. As soon as I was alone, I tugged off my stinky sweater, removed my high-tops, then stamped out of my skinny jeans. The air caressing my skin had never felt so good, causing me to fall facedown on the bed.
“Umm…” I moaned as if consuming the most delicious dessert.
The soft white duvet felt divine against my skin. I closed my eyes to relish the feeling, and I kept getting more tired by the second. Before I knew it, I had given in to the need for sleep.
Chapter Three
I awoke with a gasp. My eyes roamed the sleeping area before looking out at the tall windows. Black shades covered the glass. I didn’t remember drawing them. Not only that, but I could have sworn I wasn’t alone.
I scooted off the bed and fished my phone out of my purse. It was after three o’clock in the morning, and I’d missed two phone calls from Hope. She’d also left me a text message: Let me know you’re okay before I wake up, or I’m placing a call to local law enforcement.
I knew she wasn’t making an idle threat, so I quickly replied: I’m fine. Fell asleep. My room is stunning. Let’s talk later.
Once I sent the message, I dropped the phone on top of the bed and rubbed my temples.
Holy shit. I’d been out like a lamp. I had never in my life slept so comfortably. The bed felt as if it had dropped from heaven. Then I remembered Felix telling me the chambermaids had packed away my luggage. Not only that, but I still hadn’t showered in three—now four—days. Still groggy, I shot up from my sitting position on the side of the bed to get clean.
The bathroom was fit for any five-star hotel in the world, and the shower was large enough for an entire basketball team. I stripped off my underwear, figured out how to use the technically advanced settings to achieve my desired heat and water pressure, and then basked in the delicious droplets of water spraying from the rainfall showerhead. Washing my hair, I grinned from ear to ear, thinking I’d never before been so lucky as to land a job that came complete with a bedroom that would cost the same as a five-million-dollar apartment in Manhattan.
Yes, but you’re only an assistant, I heard my mom’s critical voice say in my mind.
I shook my head to banish her then finished washing my hair and used the P245 Hot Bird blow-dryer, one of the best on the market, to dry my tresses. Once my skin was no longer wet, I wrapped myself in one of the three fluffy white ankle-length robes that were in the walk-in closet, which was larger than my bedroom in my last apartment. I pulled open the drawers of the mid-century dresser that stretched the length of the wall, seeing all of my underwear and T-shirts neatly folded in two drawers at the far end of the massive piece of expensive furniture. I found my special toy in the bottom drawer.
Anyone who owned such a dresser should have a closet full of designer clothes. I liked nice clothes, but Hope and I were into shopping at vintage stores on the weekend, finding high-end designer brands for pennies on the dollar. We looked for what we called utility garments, such as one blouse that would go with six pairs of jeans that I already owned or a pair of pants that I could wear to work or play, night or day. Our system of shopping allowed us to do more with less, which meant my entire wardrobe couldn’t come close to filling the drawers of my new room, let alone all the space for hanging clothes.
My work clothes weren’t in the drawers or hanging on the bar. Then I saw a note clipped to a
velvet hanger:
Dry-cleaned. Ready by 7:00 a.m. Six shirts. Six pants. Three blazers. Six blouses. Four dresses.
My jaw dropped. To get that many articles of clothing dry-cleaned usually would cost an arm and leg, and I’d have to wait forever to pick them up. All of this was too good to be true. I hadn’t met Mr. Christmas yet and wondered if he was the embodiment of the other shoe dropping.
I didn’t have to think about it just then. I almost wanted to get my toy out of the dresser, lie on my bed naked, and make myself feel even better. Instead, I remembered that I’d missed dinner, and even though Felix had given me permission to call the kitchen anytime, there was no way I was going to ask someone to prepare me a meal at four o’clock in the morning. I recalled him saying there were snacks in the living-room area. I walked downstairs and saw finger sandwiches set on a three-tiered server, silver urns labeled Coffee, Decaf, and Hot Water, and an assortment of teas, lemon slices, honey, and crushed fresh ginger. There were also fresh-baked chocolate chip, peanut butter, and oatmeal cookies and a note inviting me to ask for anything else I might like.
I devoured the sandwiches and four cookies, fixed myself a cup of mint tea with lemon, ginger, and honey, then walked to the window to stare out into the darkness. The longer I looked, the more clearly I saw an outline of the mountain range. I’d been too tired to check out the view before I fell asleep the previous day, but now I could hardly wait until the rising sun would give me a full picture of what was beyond the windows.
I was able to catch another hour and a half of sleep before a doorbell woke me up. I put on my robe and opened the door to two smiling ladies, who said good morning as they brought in my dry-cleaning and hung my delivery in the closet.
“Thank you so much,” I said as they headed out, wanting so desperately to engage them in small talk so they could divulge all they knew about Mr. Christmas.
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