by Alex Wolf
Matty smirked. “These amounts aren’t material enough to warrant close attention. Thank you for the concern, though.”
“Well, one day when the money runs out. You’ll be glad you hired me.”
She began collecting the piles of papers and letters from the various shelves, open filing cabinets, and low tables around the room. He watched, wondering how she got by so far in her job with her snarky attitude. Usually, it took a few weeks for someone to hate him. This was a new record.
He fussed with his shirt cuff and watched her work. “Is the attitude part of the service or complimentary?”
“What do you mean? Am I supposed to call you 'sir'?”
“Well, you are my employee now.”
Christina shook her head. “You hired me, but I’m not your servant, or an employee. I’ll call you Mr. Spencer.”
“Does this bluntness earn you many repeat customers? I don’t recall asking for this attitude to be a part of the contract.” He sat down on the edge of the coffee table, completely amused.
“If you had to work with children every day, your question would answer itself. I work with a lot of men in your position. I know how I need to speak to you.”
Did she just compare me to a bloody child?
He knew for a fact he was at least five, maybe even ten years older than her. She couldn’t be but what? Twenty-five? This was new. He couldn’t figure out if he should laugh or become angry.
Matty scoffed. “You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever been spoken to like this, requested or not.”
“I said need, not want.” She moved the stack of letters and papers onto the desk. “Nobody wants to be told the truth. But it’s what my clients need. If I soften my words, trying not to offend anyone, then clients only hear what they want, and they ignore the actual message. Suggesting and implying things isn’t good enough.” She flashed him a clearly fake smile.
“It’s more ladylike,” Matty said. “Saying things so bluntly is not ladylike at all.”
“I’m not a lady. I’m here to get results.” She didn’t even look up from the papers she was shuffling around to get just right. “Ahh, better.” She sat down at the desk and began scrutinizing the letters.
He ought to be angry with her, fire her immediately. In all regards, he should probably hate her. She was everything he hated in a woman.
Yet somehow, every one of her actions drew him more to her, like some kind of addiction. Normally, he liked his women passive, submissive, sweet and girly. But not Christina. She was—different. Perhaps that’s why he currently enjoyed her company.
She lightly pressed the pen to her plump lips as she pored over a sheet, tapping her mouth gently in the manner of someone who used to chew pencils in school, but had since learned not to.
Drawing in a sharp breath, he realized that a heat stirred inside him. He needed a drink. Something stiff to ease his mind and prevent additional stiffness.
“Care for a brandy?” He moved toward the cabinet.
“I don’t drink on the job. I have to stay focused to give you the best work possible.”
Matty shrugged with a grin. “I’ve never found a little sip at work to do any harm.” He slowly selected one of the three aged brandies from his vast liquor cabinet. Christina stared at him as if he were an animal who should spend more time organizing the post than choosing a drink.
“Maybe that’s why you had to call me.”
He wanted to reply but could not think of anything. Damn, she had a sharp wit for a young woman. And an equally quick tongue. She was like the mind of a no-nonsense matron in the body of an American fairytale creature. Where was she from, anyway? His guess was South America. He didn’t know much about the culture there. Maybe this was normal. It was a delightful challenge. How had she wound up crunching numbers and sorting post for anyone? Sure, it was better to be doing such menial tasks for a man like him, but he knew so many talent scouts who would whisk her off her feet in a heartbeat. How had she remained so undetected?
“I’m amazed a beautiful woman like yourself, working in this part of the country, is not something like a model, or an actress.” He poured himself a drink.
“There are plenty of beautiful women who work in business.”
Matty shook his head. “I’ve never, in my entire life, seen a woman as pretty as you who does not make a living off her looks. Especially not an unmarried woman. Do you not want to be a model? To be famous?”
Christina shook her head. “Nope.”
“Too good for it? Too smart to make money off your looks?”
“Nope. Many models are smart. I know one or two myself.”
“Did a model break your heart? Is that why you chose your current line of work?” He was genuinely baffled and couldn’t help himself trying to break through her cold exterior. She was this attractive and knew models and had no desire of becoming one?
She paused her current task to stare up at him. “Beauty fades, sensuality expires. Being good at business doesn’t.” She stared up at him. “An intelligent model who knows how to play the system and become a recruiter might be able to make a living off it for her entire life. But I’m not good at that. Some of us would rather do what we’re good at, instead of doing something we find fun.”
That last bit was definitely another jab at him. Tommy Arvin hadn't been wrong. This woman was a total bitch. How she could treat her employer this way was beyond him. If she were anyone else he would have kicked her out, or started placing higher demands on her already. But he just smirked and sipped his brandy as she worked. He would not give in first.
Why did he like her so much? That was the issue that troubled him the most. She was precisely the sort of woman he avoided like the plague. The sort of woman he scoffed at, and who his friends would suggest suffered from lack of sexual activity. It was as though she had heard that men like feisty girls and decided, “Hey, that's cute, now let me show you how it’s done.” This was just pure cruelty.
But simultaneously, it was kind of nice. Her cruelty excited him, made him yearn for her even more. Despite being his social subordinate and an employee, she was somehow standing above him, on a pedestal. And he wanted to knock it out from under her, and show her who really was the boss.
Christina Smith was sort of an enigma. He should not like her. But he did. He wanted to break her down, to control her, to possess her mind, heart, and body. She was a challenge. And he was more than prepared to rise and meet her defiance.
“Perhaps I ought to make you a model. I cannot believe that any woman has at no point desired to be famous and admired for her beauty.”
“I didn’t say I never imagined being a model, or an actress, or a singer. But many people are afraid of blood and dream about being doctors, and a lot of people fear flying, and dream of being a pilot.”
He shook his head. “Are you saying you wouldn’t make a good model? You don't strike me as someone with such low confidence, but I suppose it’s a possibility. Or do you mean to say that you fear failure? That would be odd for a businesswoman—”
She paused and put the papers down.
Matty came alive on the inside. Had he finally cut to her core? Put a chink in her armor?
“What I mean is that a dream is not necessarily connected to the reality of the world. What little girls picture when they dream of modeling isn’t reality. Dreams aren’t real. They don’t come true. To put it bluntly, they’re a waste of time.”
That was one of the saddest things he’d ever heard anyone say. He actually pitied her in that instant. Everyone had dreams. Even he had things he aspired to do someday, that were beyond his reach. No matter how much money you had, there was always something you didn't have the time, the energy, or the connections to do. And he had an entire life plan mapped out to achieve his dreams.
“So, you gave up on all of your dreams? Just like that?”
She shook her head. “They’re not my dreams anymore. I know how the world works, and I don’t have what it
takes to succeed in that environment.”
“I have the means to make sure that you could succeed. And you most certainly have the beauty.”
Why was he doing this? He was under no obligation to help her out. But he felt a dual impulse. On one hand he wanted to help her, and on the other to get her under his thumb—which motivated him to offer her everything he had at his disposal.
She glanced over at him. “Are you a model?”
He shook his head. “I know a few directors of agencies, and I’ve dated enough models in the past. I’m sure they’d be able to help you.”
“Maybe we should just stick to what we know best.” She held up the disheveled papers with a curt smile.
Chapter 4
Christina sighed and shook her head as she looked through the papers. There was something wrong with his head. How could he be so hung up on ideals, or dreams, or the fantasy world that everyone else left behind at fifteen? A modeling career? Just because she was attractive? He was insane.
The man was thirty-one for fuck’s sake, and he didn’t have an adult bone in his body. She’d done her homework. How had his company even survived his leadership? She knew he’d inherited it from his father, but he’d also owned it long enough that it should’ve fallen apart by now.
Amazingly, it was a success. Either a miracle had occurred, or there was something more to the guy than fast cars, models, and having more money than sense. What she’d seen didn’t match up with her research, though.
“What do you plan on doing with your life?”
She rolled her eyes. He was still at it. Why was he even still there? He was nothing but a distraction.
His question jolted her out of her thoughts. She had to stifle a laugh. It was so cheesy. This asshole, of all people, was asking her what she planned on doing with her life? Why was it that rich men always assumed their lives were perfect just because they had money? Like she was floating around aimlessly, just begging for a man to save her because she didn’t live in a mansion?
She made a show of holding her hands out at the now neatly-stacked pile of bills. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“But where do you see it going?”
Christina shrugged. “Where do you see your life going?” She loved doing this. Throwing these apparently philosophical questions back at these rich pricks and watching them struggle to find meaning in their existence.
“I don't know. I’d like to someday be able to paint, I suppose, but there isn't much time for that right now.”
Her eyes widened at his answer. She hadn’t seen that coming. “Did you just, umm, admit that you don’t know?” This was not how the conversation usually went. Normally they stuck to their guns and made a case that they were the most valuable person alive.
He nodded. “That’s why I asked you. You seem pretty confident you have it all figured out.”
She laughed. “Well, I don't. But I have a house I’m saving up for.”
“That seemed like a genuine laugh. Be careful. You might injure yourself.” Matty smirked.
Her face heated. Not only at his sarcasm, but at the fact she was smiling. She forced her lips back down into a neutral position. He made her nervous, and he shouldn’t. He was just a man. But fuck, he was a gorgeous one. She couldn’t find a way around that fact.
His smile grew wider as if he could read her thoughts. “Is happiness against the rules?”
“I’ve learned that if I smile at a male client, they make it out to be more than it is.”
He shrugged. “But that was a genuine smile, not a polite one. So it was more than it is. So why not let it happen?”
Was this whole conversation some kind of competition for him? What was it with men? It was a smile, Jesus.
Fine. He could play his little immature game. It wasn't like it mattered. She showed him an obviously fake smile. “Okay. I’ll smile at work. I just have one condition.”
“Which is?”
“That you leave the room. So I can get my work done in peace.”
His lips mashed into a fine line, and his face paled. “Tommy is right. You are a bloody bitch.”
She nodded, and her smile widened farther. “You got that right.”
At first, fear came over her for some reason. She might lose him as a client for that. He might call security, or toss his expensive brandy at her. It wouldn’t be the first time it’d happened. Wealthy, powerful men didn’t always take kindly to rejection. They usually didn’t appreciate the snark either. But if that was what she had to do to be treated professionally, then that’s how it would be. Her dreams and personal life weren’t his concern. She was hired to do a job, and he should let her do it.
Relief washed over her when he walked out of the room and left. He shouldn’t insist on looming over her shoulder anyway. Nobody could work that way.
Back when she worked for a variety of clients, she hadn’t experienced the same problems. Men with less money didn’t seem to think they were entitled to her body or her personal life. They just appreciated the work she was doing for them, most of the time. The more money the man had, the less care he took with it, and the more likely he was to assume her job was pointless.
Egomaniacs. That’s what they were.
Of course, they were the ones who suffered when they didn’t listen to her, or when they fired her before she could do her job. But she personally made sure they didn’t get away with that kind of behavior. She didn’t let them, and she wouldn’t, ever. Were other women allowing themselves to be treated like doormats? Or were these guys just so wealthy that the odd sexual harassment settlement didn’t scare it out of them?
Normally, the clear signs of this type of thing had her avoiding the client whenever possible. A little bad behavior, a little entitlement, and she despised him immediately. Matty Spencer should be the same.
But for some reason, she still wanted to talk to him. To impress him. It was the strangest feeling. Even after all the banter, she felt compelled to do a good job for him. She wanted to show him what she was worth. There was something about him that set him apart, made him interesting to her.
She couldn’t put a finger on it. Maybe it was the painting dream of his. Or his interest in her dreams. Maybe it was the fact he had actually admitted he didn’t know what he was doing, and that the situation could be embarrassing for him. Maybe it was just pure magnetism. His blatant advances excited her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever. His cockiness was sexy. His mystery was thrilling. She wanted to slap herself.
No.
She couldn’t let herself think about a client this way. She needed to work. Get her shit together. Not sit around fantasizing about her employer like a horny schoolgirl.
Perhaps it was because he was younger than her typical client. Hotter. So self-assured, despite his undeniable incompetence. She spent so much time working for pompous, dirty, old men, that someone like Matthew Spencer was a bit refreshing. At least he was nice to look at, slightly more in touch with reality, and managed to avoid really slimy behavior. It wasn’t like he’d touched her, ogled her, or made glaring advances. He was an asshole and not all that bright, but he stood head and shoulders above her usual clientele.
But, no matter how much she reassured herself of all this, she found herself unable to concentrate on the work in front of her. She wondered why she could still feel his hand burning hot against her lower back where he’d guided her from room to room.
She had to pull herself together. Forget Matty Spencer and his gorgeous, broody eyes. That was all there was to it. She had a crush on her employer. It wasn’t a big deal. He was handsome and rich and powerful. Of course she had a crush.
A silly infatuation wasn’t valid grounds to ruin her career. She pored over the papers and began swiftly sorting through them without him in the room. Much better. Besides, how could she possibly think of sleeping with a man who couldn’t even pay his bills on time? There was wealthy, and then there was just unbelievably irresponsible. If someone
had a pile of money they didn’t respect, it would soon be gone. It would drive her crazy being romantically involved with someone that careless.
Speaking of not lasting long, Matty walked back in and stared at her as she carried on working.
She rolled her eyes where he couldn’t see.
The man refused to give up. All she wanted to do was get her job done. It seemed he was going to be one of those clients. But, she couldn't bring herself to tell him to leave again. She couldn’t move to another room. Her feet were like concrete bricks.
She enjoyed him being there. It was almost soothing.
She decided she would just sit and work, not talk to him, and hope that he would take the hint and walk out. No such luck.
“How’s it going?” Did he micromanage his employees at his business this way? Was he constantly walking into their offices to check up on them?
She refused to look up. “I’m a miracle worker, but not even I’m that fast. It’s been five minutes.” She let out a sigh that was much heavier than she’d expected, like she’d been holding in a breath.
“You’re very quiet.” Matty walked to the liquor cabinet again. “You sure it’s going okay?”
She couldn't help but watch as he moved over and poured himself another brandy. Was he an alcoholic? It was still the middle of the day.
She couldn’t help but notice his impressive figure as he walked through the room in his suit. Whether he was an idiot or not, he definitely had that going for him. Was he doing it on purpose? Coming in the room just to torture her? She thought he’d made it pretty clear that he liked her, but maybe he was just an asshole.
Shaking her head, she carried on opening letters.
“You seem a little upset.” He sipped his brandy and stared at her.
“It’s called working. One of us has to do it. You don’t have anything to do?” Her words came through gritted teeth.
“Not today, love. Perks of being in charge. Everyone else does the work for you. With proper guidance, of course. Remarkably, it gives you plenty of free time.” He leaned back in his seat with a smug grin.
