by Vivien Vale
“I’d like to think I know a good opportunity when I see one.”
There are my instincts, saving my butt once again. Carter’s understanding nod, peppered with a touch of relief, confirms that that was the right thing to say.
“As do I, Ms. Johnson.”
He’s returning the compliment, but that seems like a strange thing to say to a job applicant. It’s like when a waitress tells you to enjoy your lunch, and you unthinkingly say you, too.
Not that I do stuff like that. I try to choose my words carefully—although with this unexpected job interview, I’m flying by the seat of my skirt a bit more than usual.
“It works for you,” says Carter, pointing vaguely in my direction.
“You mean my resume?”
“Forget the…okay, yes, your resume. It’s a bit unpolished, it could use a good ironing, but that just makes it all the sexier.”
Using the word sexy to describe everything—that’s a city thing I’ve heard about. But, why is he talking about ironing?
“I apologize for the creases, Mr. Abraham, but that’s my only copy, and I carry it in my purse. You’ll have to forgive me for not wanting to lug a briefcase with me everywhere.”
A storm of confusion passes over Carter’s face. It’s clear we’re speaking two different languages, but if I’m going to be a secretary here, I’m sure I can learn.
Oh, crap. He’s talking about my clothes, isn’t he?
A flushing in my cheeks begins—much worse than what I felt at that weird little store across the street. It should come as no surprise, the way he’s been looking at me, but I’m not sure if this would be a good environment to work as a secretary.
“Being my only copy,” I continue, “I would like that resume back, Mr. Abraham. Unless you have any more questions.”
An immediate sense of regret swings through me when I invite Carter to ask more questions. However, I’m still not positive what this is all about, and I’m not ready to leave until I’m sure.
“Please, take it back.” Carter hands me the resume. Quickly and silently, I refold the paper and put it in my purse.
“Will that be all, then?” I ask, ready to stand up.
Why am I not just leaving at this point?
“I do have a couple more questions, Ms. Johnson.”
“Okay. What?” I stop just short of telling him to make it quick.
“What’s your cycle like?”
“Excuse me? I’m sorry, you saw on my resume where I’m from, right? I’m not up on all the newest lingo, so if you can please be...”
“When do you ovulate, Ms. Johnson?”
Okay, all that weird stuff going on in the other room? And Carter’s comments?
And now this question?
“Mr. Abraham, this is not an interview for a secretary position, is it?”
Now Carter’s blushing. And laughing.
“Goddamn,” he says to himself before addressing me. “I’m almost certain that you’re serious, Ms. Johnson.”
“I’m completely certain that I’m serious. Please, call me June, and explain to me what this is really about.”
Carter sighs and pats his desk.
“Alright, June. First of all, please call me Carter. Second of all, I’m looking for somebody to sign a contract…”
“A contract position?”
“Technically, yes. This would be a contract to be the mother of my child.”
I blink a couple of times and suddenly feel the need for a stiff drink…even though I don’t even drink.
“Sorry,” I mumble trying to maintain my composure. “I think I must have misheard. I thought you said something about me being the mother of your child and contract in the same sentence?”
The smile on my face is forced. My hands clutch onto my purse. I’m desperate for him to label me as a little slow and clear up this silly misunderstanding.
My prayers are not answered. Carter nods.
“You did not mishear.”
“You want me to…bear your child?”
“If you were to sign the contract, yes. And if and when you do become pregnant, we would get married.”
“Let me just get this straight, because I want to be sure I heard you correctly…”
“This would only be until the death of my father,” he shrugs. “Then we would end the marriage.”
I frown slightly and nod. A job is a job, isn’t it?
“So…it’s for appearances.”
“Except for the pregnancy, you could say. But yes, exactly that, Ms. Johns...June. Hence the contract. In most senses, this would be a business arrangement.”
I mull his words over in my head. Should I be shocked? Because the only thing I’m shocked by now is how much I’m not shocked.
Listening to Carter explain it, it makes perfect sense.
I mean, maybe I should be a little appalled. Or, at least, I should have more questions about why he’s doing this. But then again, does it matter why he’s doing it?
I do have one question, though.
“What would I get out of the contract?”
“Once fulfilled, your compensation would be ten million dollars.”
Oh.
Well.
When I told Carter I know a good opportunity when I see one, I was telling the truth. My instincts have served me fairly well during this interview, and right now, my instincts are telling me—practically screaming at me—to see where this goes.
Wait, did he say ten million dollars?
No wonder my instincts are screaming.
“And I’m in the running for this contract?”
“Yes, you’re very much a contender.”
Carter is making distinct eye contact now. The message in his eyes is also distinct: I’m not just a contender—that contract is mine if I want it. I see the leverage I have in Carter’s eyes, and I’m going to use it.
“If I’m to sign this contract, Carter, I have a few additional conditions.”
“Okay,” Carter says slowly. “You did hear me when I said ten million, right?”
I’m glad to have that number repeated.
“I heard you. I could also use a job in the meantime. Working as a secretary here would suit me, with the standard wages you’d pay for that. Additionally, I’d require an advance on my wages—enough to get me by for the time being.”
Watching Carter carefully, I see no change in his expression. That means I still have leverage, I think.
But he’s not saying anything. Maybe my instincts aren’t so…
“Okay.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said okay, June. I agree to your conditions.” He shrugs again. “The contract is yours, if you want it.”
Oh.
That was easy.
“Thank you, Mr. Abraham. I’ll start the secretary job today, I think.”
I’m slipping back into calling him Mr. Abraham, but that’s at least partially out of shock.
My instincts are doing a fine job, after all.
“And the contract? You’ll sign it?”
Now I don’t even have to force my smile.
“I’ll think about it.”
Chapter 5
Carter
When I saw those big doe eyes staring up at me for the first time, I thought I’d finally found myself the innocent, obedient kind of woman who would be happy to follow my orders and pose next to me for the company Christmas cards.
Obviously, I’ve never been more wrong about anything in my life.
June Johnson. She’s too stubborn to be likable and too headstrong for her own good. Sure, she’s gorgeous—but that just puts her in danger around a man like me.
Being that beautiful and that willful…I don’t expect myself to fall in love with her, but I know exactly how I’d like to break her.
We’ll see how easily she can sass me with those thick, pretty lips wrapped around my hard, fat cock.
“June.” I stand in the doorway of my office, watching h
er trying to make sense of a dozen expense reports that probably look like fucking Latin to anyone without a business degree.
“Yes, Mr. Abraham? You need me for something?” She looks up at me with those big hazel eyes again, and I feel my cock hit half-mast in an instant.
I fucking want her. That’s undeniable. I want to bend her over my fucking desk and show her exactly how an Abraham man puts his secretary through her paces…
But that can wait. For now, she’s just my employee—not my contracted bride.
There are other ways I can put her through her paces first.
“I need you to pick up the pace.” I don’t bother to hide my impatience. “I need eighty-five copies of this document,” I hold up a tick bundle of papers before pointing to a pile of unruly papers near my door. “And I need these documents sorted, paginated, and photocopied within the hour.”
As I give my orders, my hawk eyes study her carefully. She doesn’t flinch, blink, or show any other sign of anxiousness. Instead, she leaves the expense report and comes toward me to grab the bundle of papers in my right hand.
Instead of picking up the box full of documents, I watch her ass as she returns to her desk.
My cock is threatening to stand at attention, answering the call of duty. When she turns back around, she barely looks at me.
Her eyes are already fixed on the box. It’s not heavy, so I don’t feel bad for making her do the work. Besides, if she ends up carrying my baby, she’ll be working a lot harder than this.
“Which is more urgent, the photocopies or the papers in the box?”
Those deer eyes are trying to suck me in, but I resist. I don’t need to start caring for her. No, sir—I just need to put her through the paces and makes sure she’s up for it. Then I can have her sign the contract.
“Both are urgent,” I reply and shut my door.
It’s time to make a hasty retreat. Suddenly, my cock was threatening to take over my brain, and things might have gotten a touch interesting. There’s no fucking way I want to fuck her before she signs the contract.
I’m not falling for the tricks of any woman.
No contract, no fuck.
Of course, shutting the door hasn’t really done anything to appease my cock. It still is thirsty for a good fuck. I’m seriously debating a cold shower, but that would involve having to go home, and I don’t want to leave June in my office when I’m not here.
I’m going to make the most of her here today.
With my brain preoccupied and my cock in charge, I take a moment to pace the length of my office like a caged tiger. I’m not sure if I should be worried she hasn’t signed the contract yet. What more does she want?
I would’ve thought the promise of ten million dollars would have been enough incentive for anyone to jump at the chance to have my child.
Not June, though—she said she had to think about it
I can’t understand what there is to think about. It’s simple: have my baby and then marry me to receive the money.
A knock on the door interrupts my pacing and navel-gazing.
“Come in,” I bark, wondering who it is.
June pushes through the office door sideways. I’m too stunned to do or say anything. She’s carrying huge bundles of papers in both arms; she must’ve used her elbow to push the door handle.
Her face is half hidden by the papers. “Where do you want these?”
At first, I want to ask what she thinks she’s doing, but then I remember the photocopying I asked her to do.
Fifteen minutes. Not bad.
“Over there,” I thrust my chin in the general direction of the back of my office.
Those babies are for the board and senior management. They’re my pride and joy, setting out past achievements, current trends, and visions for the company that I have.
Without a word, June struggles to put the pile of papers on the floor. As she does so, her skirt rides up a little towards that cute ass. Again, my cock springs to life.
Fuck.
She turns around and walks out without so much as giving me another glance or acknowledging my presence in any shape or form.
“June.” I can’t help myself.
“Yes, Mr. Abrahams?” She half-turns towards me.
Her shirt has been unbuttoned an extra button. I stare at the hint of her tits.
“Was there something else?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Could you organize some coffee and lunch for me?”
I know this isn’t fair. I should tell her how to go about this.
But I want to test her. If she’s not going to jump at the chance of signing the contract, she’ll have to be put through the paces.
This time, I set the timer on my watch.
With my mind preoccupied, I don’t seem to be able to do any fucking work.
I slump into my high-backed black leather office chair and put my feet on my desk. Then I call the old man.
“What do you want?” he barks into the receiver.
“I’m fine today, thank you. And how are you?”
You’d think the old bastard could at least play the game and engage in pretend pleasantries.
“Time’s money, sunshine. I assume you didn’t call to ask about my health. And no, I’m not about to drop dead, and yes, my lawyer has been made aware of the new rules, so don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“It’s Carter,” I protest—and then stop.
Fucking asshole.
“I just called to tell you I’ve chosen my wi—I mean, the woman who’s going to have my child and then become my wife.”
No need to burden the old man with too much information. She’s going to sign the contract. No woman would refuse ten million dollars
Okay, so I’m beginning to realize June is like no other woman I know, but still, I would bet another ten million that she’ll sign the contract.
“About time,” growls my father. He hangs up.
I stare at the phone and wonder how he does it. How does he manage to make me feel so small and insignificant?
And how come I continue to long for his approval?
Any further thoughts on the matter are cut short when the phone buzzes.
“This is Carter,” I answer.
“So, you went for love at first sight, you fool.” Lawrence laughs. It’s a disgusting, fake laugh that leaves me with goosebumps down my neck and back.
“Fuck off.”
More laughter.
“You know dad didn’t say you had to fall in love. He just said you had to choose someone to have your child.”
For some reason, my brother’s comments offend me.
“What do you want, Lawrence?”
Even before the words are out, I realize how much I sound like our father.
“I want to see how the lovesick puppy is faring.”
When I don’t answer, he continues. “And I also want to tell you I’ve also chosen my wife-to-be, too.”
Silence.
There are multiple responses on the tip of my tongue, but I keep them all to myself. I don’t want to get into a fight with Lawrence about this.
“May the best man win—which will be me—because I’m not fucking in love with the woman I chose.”
He hangs up before I can throw a sharp retort back at him. The door opens, and June comes in with a hot cup of coffee and a brown paper bag.
She puts both on my desk and turns to leave without another word.
The thank you dies on my lips when she comes back, this time with the messed-up documents—except they’re not messed up anymore.
“Paginated and ordered, just like you asked for. And put into a folder.”
I stare at the folder and then at her. Without thinking, I pick up the paper bag and zero in on its contents.
A bagel sandwich and a cinnamon roll for dessert.
Is there anything this girl can’t do?
“If there’s nothing else, I’ve still got to finish the expense report.�
��
By the time it’s five o’clock, June looks worn out. There are dark rings under her eyes, and her step is definitely slower than it was earlier in the day. She’s photocopying the expense report for me.
I walk over to her. Instead of looking at me, she keeps her eyes on the documents popping out of the copier. Suddenly, the machine goes crazy and starts spitting out hundreds of copies insanely fast.
June shrieks. Pieces of paper are flying through the air.
At first, I’m frozen to the spot, but soon I jump into action. I pull the power cord out of the socket, and the machine instantly dies.
With a sigh, June bends down and begins picking up the papers scattered everywhere. Seeing how tired she looks, I bend down and help. We’re working towards each other, and June only looks up when we nearly collide our heads.
We’re so close, I can feel her warm breath on my cheek. Our hands touch as we reach for the same piece of paper at exactly the same time.
A silent tug-of-war ensues. She seems determined not to let go, and for some reason, I don’t want to give up, either. And so we stay kneeling on the floor, eyes locked, our fingers nearly touching.
The air is electrified.
Time seems to stand still.
Almost involuntarily, my face moves closer to hers. We’re now only inches apart. I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but her lips seem to part a little in anticipation of my lips coming down on them.
There’s a discreet cough, and we both move apart as if we were just caught doing something wrong.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Carter,” Lawrence calls from the door and is gone before I can say something to him.
Quickly, I get to my feet. June finishes clearing the floor.
“It’s been a long day. Let me take you home,” I offer.
June shakes her head. “I’ve got to finish these,” she points at the papers. “And I’m fine, thank you. I can look after myself.”
I frown. Is she really going to refuse a ride?
Chapter 6
June
The moment I step outside the Abraham Fertility building, I realize just how freaking bad my shoes fit me. I’ve been on my feet pretty much all day—since when Carter Abraham says jump, I have to do it in high heels—and the blisters on the backs of my ankles sting with every step.
