Dirty Fake Fiancé

by Sky Corgan

  As if sensing that I'm uncomfortable, Mister Sanderlin averts his gaze. The heat leaves his expression, and his tone turns to that which he used with his business associates while they were wandering the production floor earlier. “I saw in your file that you're up for a promotion, Christiana.”

  The dread that had balled in my stomach begins to dissipate as I realize this isn't an unpleasant visit. “Yes, sir.”

  “I want to speak to you about a different kind of promotion.” He folds his hands on top of the desk. My eyes fall to his left hand, and I note that there's no wedding ring, though I'm not sure why I even look. Maybe I'm just so nervous that I'm looking for anything to distract me.

  I should be elated. It sounds like he wants to offer me a different position within the company; potentially a better one. But I just can't focus while in the room with him. There's some wicked magic to him that steals my brain to illogical places.

  “Sir?” I ask stupidly. In non-blubbering English, that means please continue.

  “You seem like a good, reliable girl.” His eyes narrow and I see a flash of what was there when he was looking at me on the production floor. The thing that affected me to my very core. I want to avert my gaze again, but I force myself to stay focused as he continues speaking. “You seem like you would be good at following orders.”

  “I can do whatever you need me to do, sir,” I tell him with as much confidence as I can muster, trying to sit up tall.

  “Is that so?” The wolfish grin returns, and it makes me tingle as I try to decipher why he looks so smug.

  “That's so.” I nod.

  He takes a deep breath, leaning back in the chair and propping his elbow on the armrest. His hand cups his chin, drawing my eyes straight to his lips. It's the first time I've realized that his five o'clock shadow is perfectly manicured. He has the soft beginnings of a mustache, the tiniest bit of a soul patch, and then the outline of a beard that extends down his neck. Facial hair has never looked sexier on any man before. There's just enough to make him seem mature, but not enough to wrap your fingers in. I wonder if it would tickle to be kissed by him—by those full lips that are a soft shade of pink.

  He's your boss. This is innocent. Just hold yourself together.

  “This position isn't with the company. You would be employed directly by me.” Mister Sanderlin drops his hand from his face, and my fantasies fall with it as I come back to reality.

  “Sir?” I knit my brow, realizing that I must sound like a parrot with a limited vocabulary.

  “You would be my personal assistant. It would be a live-in position at my home. You would be at my beck and call, day and night.

  “Your duties would be...whatever I need them to be at the time. Cooking for me, performing household chores like tidying the house and picking up my dry cleaning, accompanying me to business meetings when required, and helping me with office tasks that I typically perform at home.”

  As he continues to outline the job duties, I'm still stuck on the part where I would have to live with him. My mother needs me. She's too ill for me to leave her alone right now.

  “I can't,” I cringe as the words slip from my mouth. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I have to throw it away. If God had wanted me to have it, he wouldn't have saddled me with such a responsibility. This is meant for someone else. Not me.

  “It would come with a sizable pay increase,” he informs me.

  “Sizable?”

  “All your expenses would be paid. You'd have full medical coverage. You'd also draw a salary.”

  Living with him would mean not having to pay rent and my portion of the utilities. And I could use the money to get out from under my mother's crushing debt. She has been doing better lately. She can almost get around on her own. But still...

  “I can't.” My gaze falls to my lap again, and I try to remind myself of all of the reasons why denying him is the right thing to do. There will be other opportunities for me in the future. This isn't the right one.

  “I'll send a car for you on Monday morning at 8 AM. Bring only your basic necessities.”

  His words catch me off guard. It's like he's not even listening to me. Has no one ever told him no before?

  I need to say it, but now I'm afraid to. He's made the promotion sound non-negotiable. If I'm firm with him, will he fire me?

  Mister Sanderlin stands and walks around the table. My heart thuds in my chest with each step he takes. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to stand or stay seated, but there's no time to decide. Within seconds, he's before me in all his imposing glory. I'm staring at the front of his suit, afraid to look up into his eyes again. Having him so close, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. The short distance between us threatens the boundaries of my personal space, and when I feel his fingertips caress my cheek, I'm in disbelief that he was bold enough to cross it.

  He cups my chin, forcing my face up to him. My breath sticks in my throat from the contact. It's been forever since a man has touched me—and never since a man this attractive has touched me. My treacherous eyes meet his, and I'm completely captivated.

  “You'll be a good girl for me, won't you, Christiana?” The pad of his thumb traces my bottom lip, and I open my mouth to breathe. At least, that's what I tell myself. There's no more oxygen in the room. It's too precious to be wasted speaking, so I just nod, knowing that I'll do whatever he wants.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I can't believe I'm actually doing this. Everything in me is telling me it's wrong. Even as we drive towards Mister Sanderlin's estate, I can feel the words pushing at my lips to tell the limo driver to stop and turn around—to take me home to the safety of my apartment where my mother and everything familiar is waiting for me.

  This...I glance around at the leather seats, and the mini-bar lined with champagne glasses and the hole carved out in the small table for the ice bucket. This is all foreign to me.

  The only reason I'm even here is because Dorothy and Ruby spent the entire weekend convincing me it was the right thing to do. Even my mother mumbled her approval, which carried more weight than the hours of talking with Dorothy and Ruby combined. I'm here because this will bring in the money that we need. This will get my mother the proper care that she deserves. Even though they're not as devoutly religious as I am, both Dorothy and Ruby told me that if this weren't God's plan, it wouldn't have happened. For whatever reason, I was blessed with this job offer. I should take it and do whatever I can to make Xander's life easier so that my life can be easier.

  For the next week, I'll be in training at Mister Sanderlin's estate. Dorothy and Ruby have offered to take care of mom until my checks start rolling in and I can pay them for their service. It should work out okay since Dorothy is on disability and Ruby makes her own hours as a hairdresser. Mom shouldn't have to be alone. We're blessed to have such wonderful roommates and friends.

  Life has bestowed many blessings upon me, but as the limo stops in front of a wrought-iron gate and I gaze out the window at the lion's head crest while the gate slowly swings open, I wonder if this is one of them. There's so much splendor and waste here. More space and things than any one man could ever need. It feels like I'm entering a land of excess.

  I expect the driver to walk me to the door, but he doesn't. He simply sets my suitcase on the curb, and I carry it up the winding walkway. This place looks a lot more like a hotel than a house. The lawn is pristinely landscaped. The outside of the imposing two-story structure appears to have recently gotten a coat of fresh paint. There's the faintest hint of chlorine on the breeze, which must mean there's a pool nearby.

  I reach the doorstep and my gaze dances from the knocker to the doorbell. My habit of shunning modern conveniences makes me go for the knocker, even though I realize the house is so large that Mister Sanderlin probably won't hear me knocking if he's not already close to the front door. Not surprisingly, he doesn't, so after a few minutes of standing in silence I still end up having to ring the doorbell.
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  The door opens, and I suck in a breath as my eyes land on my boss who looks every bit the CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation in a suit that I'm certain was tailor-made for his body. I focus on that five o'clock shadow I've been so fascinated with. It hasn't grown, which must mean he purposely keeps it trimmed down to give him that sexy slightly unkempt look.

  Oh my, I really need to get over how handsome he is. If I'm a nervous wreck around him all the time, how can I possibly expect to do my job efficiently?

  “Welcome to my home, Christiana. Come in.” He steps aside.

  For half a second, I wait for him to offer to take my suitcase. When he doesn't, I quickly get moving.

  The inside of the mansion is every bit as luxurious as I had expected it to be. Priceless paintings adorn the walls, mostly of historical scenes. Some are so large that I have no idea how they were able to get them inside unless they weren't framed until they were in the building. There are sculptures of metal and marble in the corners and in the little niches carved into the walls, figures of people as if they were immortalized while dancing. The floors in all the living spaces are made of a dark hardwood, while the floors in the kitchen and bathrooms are dark speckled marble. The whole place has an eerily dark ambiance to it, though again I think it's more imagined than real. There's plenty of lighting, and the walls are painted an off-white that makes the spaces seem bigger than they actually are.

  Mister Sanderlin takes me into a room that looks like it once belonged to a taxidermist. There are various animal heads mounted on the walls. Deer and boars and elk. There's a bearskin rug on the floor in front of a sprawling desk that has a full-body lynx mount lounging across it. Next to a fireplace, a wolf and coyote stand sentry.

  Mister Sanderlin gauges my reaction to the room. I stare at everything inside in wonder, setting down my suitcase and stepping over to the lynx to run my fingers through its fur.

  “Is this your office?” I turn to ask him.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “It was my father's office. I honestly wasn't sure if it would offend you or not.” He joins me at my side to scratch the lynx between the ears.

  “Why would it offend me?” I gaze up at him. He' smiling down at the animal fondly.

  Mister Sanderlin sucks in a breath. “A lot of women would find this morbid.”

  “Do you like to hunt?”

  “Not particularly.” He drops his hand to his side, and his expression darkens slightly. “I don't really see the point.”

  “I think it's more of a traditional thing these days.”

  “I'll show you to your room, and we'll get started.” He turns abruptly, leading me out of the room.

  I follow him up to the second story. There's nothing lavish about the room he puts me in, but it does have its own bathroom, which is quite the treat. Never in my life have I not had to share a bathroom with someone. Come to think of it, never in my life have I not shared a bedroom with my mother. I'm not sure if I feel more lonely or liberated. This is such a large house for just two people. Or is it just the two of us?

  “Your father's office is here. Does that mean he works here?” I ask curiously.

  “He passed away.” There's a touch of solemness to my Mister Sanderlin's voice.

  “Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.”

  “This used to be my family home.” His eyes sweep the walls. “After my father died, my mother didn't want to live here anymore, but she couldn't bring herself to sell the place. When I turned eighteen, she gave it to me. I've been living here ever since.”

  I feel the desire to reach out and console him, but I keep my distance. He reminds me of a wounded animal. You want to help but know it's probably dangerous. We're not on a personal enough level for me to cross the space boundary with him that he did with me. I'm certainly not willing to risk my job over it.

  “Get settled in, and I'll meet you in my office to begin your training. You remember which room that was, right? This place is pretty big.” He flashes me a friendly smile that sets my mind at ease.

  “I remember.” I nod. “And I don't need any time to settle in. I'm ready to begin whenever you are.”

  “Well then,” he smirks, but there's something behind his expression that I can't quite place, “give me a few minutes to settle in. How about this, I'll meet you in my office in fifteen minutes?”

  “Alright.”

  Mister Sanderlin takes his leave, and I sit alone with my thoughts, fidgeting as I watch the clock on the wall tick down. I'm already beginning to feel overwhelmed. His kitchen looked as big as the back of a restaurant. Cooking his first few meals is going to be like a game of hide-and-go-seek finding what I need. There are so many rooms in this house, I'm not sure how he expects me to keep them all clean.

  You're overthinking things. You'll get used to his kitchen in time, and with only two people living here, the house can't possibly get that dirty. Unless he has guests over or throws a party. Surely, a man like him throws many parties. And you'll probably be expected to serve his guests.

  I take a deep breath.

  Stop. Just stop. This is only day one. It can't possibly be that bad.

  I head to Xan's office five minutes early because being punctual is something I've always felt strongly about. As I approach the office, a strange sound makes me slow my pace. A few more steps and I've completely stopped. There's heavy breathing and a...woman moaning. My cheeks instantly flame as I start putting the pieces together.

  My heart pounds against my ribs, threatening to break through them. I press my back to the wall, wondering if I should retreat. There's no clock for me to check the time, but I know I'm early. Was this what he meant by settling in? Is he...

  I close my eyes and try to chase the dirty thoughts away, but they're not going anywhere. The sound of an unfamiliar man's voice tells me that Mister Sanderlin is not involved. The squeaking of box springs can only be coming from speakers because there's no bed in the room. He must be watching porn.

  I hold my breath, my eyes shooting back down the hall from whence I came. I feel like I should return to my room to check the clock and make sure I give him enough time to finish up whatever he's doing in there. But what will happen if I'm late? I don't want to make a bad impression on my first day as his personal assistant.

  Apparently, he's a lot less worried about making a bad impression on me. Surely, it has to be close to the time of our meeting. Did he even consider that I might come early? Or maybe, just maybe, he wants me to catch him in the act.

  No. I can't force myself to believe that. It's far too crude and inappropriate. In fact, it's sexual harassment. I highly doubt that esteemed billionaire Xander Sanderlin would purposely chance having a sexual harassment lawsuit filed against him.

  Darn. What am I supposed to do?

  My anxiety spikes as I wait. Just when I'm about to surrender and head back to my room, Mister Sanderlin's office goes quiet. I listen for a fraction of a second longer, then I count to thirty before taking the last few steps until I'm standing in front of his office.

  Mister Sanderlin is sitting in his plush office chair staring at the door with a smug expression as if he knows I was secretly standing there all the while. I knock on the door frame anyway, requesting permission to enter. Almost the moment I do, my eyes fall to something laid across his desk. I pretend to ignore it, knowing it's not meant for me. The white lacy lingerie was probably purchased for one of his many flings that I've heard about. Maybe he even wants me to go deliver it to her. That's the only reason I can think of why it wasn't on his desk when he gave me the tour earlier.

  “Come in,” he tells me.

  I clasp my hands together, trying not to fidget or stare at the lingerie as I make my way to his desk and stand in front of it. I don't really want to look at him either, though, because I have a pretty good idea of what he was just doing in here.

  “You're nervous again.” Mister Sanderlin taps the top of his desk to get my attention.

  “I'm not,” I li
e, following it up with a strained laugh. “Why would I be?”

  He stands, circling his desk to come to my side. Each step he takes causes my heart to beat a little faster.

  I steal a glance at the front of his slacks and wish I hadn't. I can see the outline of his manhood pressed crudely against the material. It's every bit as imposing as he is. He must not have finished, or else he wouldn't be this hard.

  What makes it worse is that seeing him aroused is causing moisture to build between my legs. Every forbidden act I can think of is going through my head, and I can't seem to stop them. When I meet his gaze, it doesn't make things any better. Because the way he's looking at me...it unsettles me in all the best and worst ways. His features are marred with desire. It can't be for me? Can it? He couldn't possibly want me.

  I'm plain and boring. I've always thought that my eyes are set too far apart, and my nose is a bit too long. Xander Sanderlin sleeps with perfect women with svelte bodies and tan complexions and large breasts. I have none of those things. I'm skinny at best with an awkward bust size too tight for an A cup but also too small to fill a B. That's why I mostly wear sports bras that make me look as flat-chested as a boy.

  “Do you always button your collar up to your throat?” Mister Sanderlin thumbs the top button of the blouse I'm wearing.

  I pray that the heat I'm feeling inside hasn't reached my cheeks to settle there.

  “I believe in dressing modestly,” I confess. My entire wardrobe is filled with the same outfits, long-sleeved white blouses that button all the way up and black skirts that go all the way down to my ankles. I've never had the desire to show off my skin. Everything is meant for my future husband's eyes only.

  “This won't do.” He shakes his head, making a tut-tut sound as he looks me over.

  “Sir?” My nervousness is back full force. He's standing way too close. I can feel the heat from his body and smell the masculine scent of his cologne. It's making me dizzy, knowing he has so much power over me—knowing that I'm enjoying the subtle way he touches me. It's wrong. I know it is, but I can't force my feet to move to get away from him.