by Ava Claire
The Interview (A His Submissive Series Short Story)
Ava Claire
Copyright © 2015 Ava Claire
The Interview is a re-telling of The Billionaire’s Contract (His Submissive: Part One), from Jacob’s point of view. The entire His Submissive Series is now available in a boxed set.
E-book License Edition Notes
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter One
I hate my father.
I shifted in the leather armchair, a scowl ready to go when he finally remembered that I existed.
The scowl hardened when the leggy blonde let out a bubble gum flavored giggle. My father responded with a laugh of his own, one of his full belly ones that I’d never heard at home. It was the sound of complete, unabashed happiness...and I was sixteen, not six—I didn’t miss the undercurrent of lust in that sound. But just in case it wasn’t obvious that he was flirting with some chick, he reached for the folder in her clutches and brushed his fingertips across her knuckles. It made her cheeks match her red pencil skirt.
My scowl was forgotten, a sickening thought flitting through my head. Abroad, thousands of miles from my mother, my father was balls out, in your face, Billionaire Playboy of the Year. After Aunt Al got tired of his bullshit, he hosted parties filled with scantily clad women and ear splitting music that would bring the cops knocking, but it was only a matter of time before they were laughing and joking with the one and only Carlton Whitmore. But like some switch had been flipped, snatched from some wild dream and dumped back into a boring reality, we’d board the jet and my father would make sure I understood what happened in Europe stayed in Europe. At home he was quiet and withdrawn, a far cry from the boisterous life of the party, the smooth dude that made all the women stare at him with a look that made me jealous. None of that charm existed at home. And even at the office, he seemed detached around other women. But not today. Today, he seemed uncomfortably close to grabbing some blonde’s ass with me sitting twenty feet away.
Was he going to divorce Mom? Was he finally ready to admit that they made each other miserable?
When the blonde leaned in to whisper something in his ear, I balled my fists and cleared my throat loud enough for the entire floor to hear it.
She stepped back and flashed me a charming, flat smile. “Your father is an incredible boss.”
I didn’t return the smile. “I bet he is.”
That got his full attention. He stood to every inch of his 6 foot, 3 inches frame and dismissed the blonde without saying a word. You’d think an alarm went off with the way her stilettos booked it from the room.
When we were alone, my father cleared his own throat, pulling a smile out of his ass. “She’s quite something, eh?”
I just glared back at him. “I’m sure she and Mom would get along great.”
That wiped the smile off his face. For the briefest moment, the iron wall of indifference was gone. The look I saw wasn’t anger or bullshit charm he flung at women like an ape throwing feces. It was resignation. I knew that look well because it was one I’d worn every day since I realized my parents were too busy doing their own dance to give a flying fuck what I was doing. Maybe my dad and I had something in common.
I still hated him.
“Let me tell you something, Jacob.” He adjusted the knot of his tie like he was adjusting a noose. “I could tell you that Misty-”
“Of course her name is Misty,” I huffed. “Is that with a y or an I?”
“Is just friendly,” he continued, ignoring the interruption. “But you’re not a child. Hell, in less than two years, you’ll be a man.”
I almost butted in that I was a man in every way except legally, but I was too stunned by the fact that he knew how old I was in the first place.
He perched on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms against his broad chest. “As a man, it’s important to acknowledge certain truths. Whether you wear a suit or a uniform, run a Fortune 500 company or dig ditches, you have urges. Urges that can’t be denied.”
“Is this the birds and the bees talk?” I cringed. “You’re a little late.”
“Of course I am,” he beamed. “You’re a Whitmore.”
The pride reeked from him like an old woman who coated herself in cheap perfume. When he realized we weren’t sharing some sort of moment, he launched from his desk. I planted my feet and went rigid as stone. He wasn’t going to do something ridiculous like hug me, was he?
I breathed a sigh of relief when he walked toward the door.
“Join me.”
I rose to my feet and followed him to the bank of windows that opened to the main floor. I was waiting for some spiel about hard work and legacy, but he was silent.
“What do you see?” he said finally.
I peered out at the same scene. Women were bustling around with folders and coffee, many hunched in front of computers. “People working?”
“Not people,” he corrected. “Women.”
I glanced over at him, confused. “Okay. And?”
“Women were created to be looked at. Lusted after. Desired.” He rotated his wedding band. “Evolution, society, whatever, may drive us to settle down, start a family, chase the elusive ‘American dream’, but at the end of the day, a man will always crave that warm place between some woman’s thighs.”
******
I was going to kill someone.
I stalked through the entrance of the building, finding no comfort in the fact that my name was over the door. Reminding myself how far Whitmore and Creighton had come with me at the helm was usually a jolt to my system, clearing out any doubt that crept past my defenses. I could lock eyes with any board member, detractor, or obstacle in my way and find the fight I had to channel when I took the reins at 21. And in the years since, I hadn’t met an obstacle, or client, that I couldn’t handle.
Rachel Laraby was proving to be an exception to the rule.
It wasn’t enough that she seemed to sabotage every second chance her fans gave her; the tabloids were consistently filled with her latest bender or booze-fueled gaffe. And to add insult to injury (and remind me of the perils of letting my cock take the wheel), she had turned a strictly sexual arrangement between us into a romance that I didn’t sign up for.
It had been months since I realized the colossal error I made and she still called me incessantly. She insisted upon talking about a ‘special someone’ in her interviews. Luckily, the media could care less about the mystery man that put the sparkle in her eye and more about getting to the root of why she seemed incapable of avoiding scandal.
I’d hoped to send Claudia or Missy to Venice to ensure she stayed out of trouble during her press junket, but I feared I’d have to break my rule and take care of it personally. When I ended things with someone, that was it. Per our contract, we never had contact again.
I never should have slept with her, I thought despondently.
My father’s face, leering and intoxicated, sprang into my head. I could practically smell the sea and feel the warm Venice air on my skin while we stoo
d on the balcony of the villa all those years ago. We looked down upon the vast, lush estate, though I knew his attention was on the pool that was filled to the brim with scantily clad women.
He’d clapped me on the shoulder, his words slurred. “The body wants what the-”
BAM!
Some woman was in the way and I slammed into her. I was tempted to voice my agitation, but I was already late and I needed to nail down the Italy trip. I continued on my way, making a mental note to take the garage and private elevator from now on.
“Excuse you!”
The words were like a lightning bolt, electrifying me on the spot. No one spoke to me that way...and it should have been enough to unleash an anger of my own. The anger that had been eating at me since I realized I wouldn’t be closing the book on Rachel Laraby after all.
But her voice, this feeling – it was something else.
This was the look on a submissive’s face when she saw the equipment in my play room; eyes rounding with surprise, terror going down like a rock when she swallowed. This was the hiss of leather slicing though the air; the beautiful sound it made when it licked flesh. The authority in her voice was a mirror to the dominance in my own when I was in that secret place. A place of pain, surrender and bliss.
I hadn’t even seen her face, this bold woman who spoke to me like I was Joe Blow off the street, and I wanted her.
I turned slowly, the anticipation gripping me tight. Hardening a part of me to stone. When I met her gaze, the other part of me that was used to being as callous as rock, my heart, did the most bizarre thing.
It jerked to my throat.
She was beautiful.
I started with her eyes, deep brown and widening with surprise when she realized who I was. The curve of her nose, the thick suppleness of her lips as she tried to backtrack when I moved closer...and her hair. Glossy brown curls were trying to escape the confines of the bun she wore. I wanted to see them wild and free. I wanted to learn every inch of her beautiful face so I could map out every twitch, every sigh when I found out where to touch her and make her melt.
I’d used the word ‘beautiful’ before to describe women that had graced covers of magazines, glittered in the society pages, and lit up movie screens. But their beauty was flat and predictable. This woman had a glow that came from inside and streamed from her like rays of sunlight.
I wanted to bask in it.
I wanted to know her.
I wanted to fuck her.
That thought made heat rush to my groin, relief flooding me like a sip of good bourbon. I could axe that silly romantic stuff about the sun. This attraction was closer to the things that happened when the sun went down. When the lights dimmed, thighs parted, and lips uttered the most delicious sounds of pain and pleasure.
I smirked when her lips started uttering sounds of embarrassment.
“I, er, I’m, it’s-”
I boldly moved even closer, the heat of desire fanning her cheeks. If she bit her lip, all hell would break loose, right here in the lobby. I forced my naughty thoughts to the back of mind. Maybe I should learn her name before I started planning to discipline her, here and now.
“What’s your name?” I barked.
“M-my name?” she eked out.
I couldn’t resist lifting an eyebrow. There was a very thin line between endearingly nervous and weak. “Yes. Those things one is given at birth?”
A rumbling sound echoed from her throat and raised her chin. Good girl.
“Leila,” she answered, setting those brown eyes on me.
“New hire?” It was rhetorical. I never forgot a face...and I certainly wouldn’t have forgotten hers. But as quickly as her spunk had flickered to life, it was snuffed out when she shrunk a few feet and shook her head no.
Disappointment pulled the sides of my mouth into a frown. “Then what brings you to my building?”
“Interview,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Research aide.”
“Huh.” So that was way she was so hot and cold. She was used to flying under the radar. “I suppose that makes sense.”
As if she’d read my mind and did not like what was written on the page, she scowled at me. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“That research seems a suitable fit for you,” I answered simply.
She rose to every inch of her height, confirming that nothing about this woman was simple. “Somewhere tucked in a dark cubicle where cameras wouldn’t dare venture?”
Well then. I had enough self control to keep my surprise isolated to my gaze, but my body was alight with excitement. That stubbornness and defiance, mixed with adorable nerves that made her slap her hand over her mouth like she was about to be punished, made me throw caution to the wind.
She was about to be punished.
I reached for her forearm, her skin soft and welcoming. “You’re coming with me.”
I held her tight, my common sense, hell, my lawyer’s voice flitting through my mind. What was I doing? She hasn’t been vetted. She hasn’t signed a contract. Yet, she let me lead her through the crowd of Whitmore and Creighton employees. I told myself I’d let her go if we turned down the corridor and she yanked from my grasp. Come up with some excuse for my behavior. The truth was, I had no excuse.
I’d never felt so viscerally attracted to someone.
But she didn’t say a word. Excitement was shouting louder than anything that would keep me from pushing her up against the wall and finding out for myself if she was as wet as I thought she was.
I held open the door to the stairwell after sliding my card through the reader.
“After you,” My voice was smooth as sin. Overly confident. There was a part of me that worried she’d say ‘fuck you’.
I held my breath and pretended like I wouldn’t be devastated if she didn’t follow my first command.
She hesitated, finally shaking loose of my hold. She didn’t bolt, taking the tiniest step backward. “My interview-”
“I’m about to administer a preliminary interview,” I interjected. “Personally.” I licked my lip at the thought of her quivering skin beneath my fingers. What was this woman doing to me? I was a fortress. This wasn’t my first time at the rodeo, if you will. I could control my dominant desires, at least long enough to properly initiate my potential sub. My cards were flat on the table. I needed her...and I needed her now.
She gave me a look that made my cock harden to stone and without another word, she turned on her heels and began the descent.
Chapter Two
Watching the round, delicious curve of her ass was almost enough to distract the nagging voice in my head that threatened to call the whole thing off.
One look, and you’re sure she wants to be dominated? That’s a hell of a gamble. Not to be outdone, my conscience, common sense, or both even dredged up images of the headlines all over the world. “Billionaire Playboy and Star of the Acclaimed reality show PR, arrested for assaulting...”
My eyes ate her up with a spoon, knowing that interviewee, a young woman, hell, even beautiful didn’t do it justice. There was a sensuality about her that ignited a desire that wouldn’t be denied. How could I make rational, coherent decisions when my fingers wouldn’t stop twitching, imagining the way her dark curls would feel when I grabbed a fistful, tugged her head back, and exposed the delicate flesh of her neck? My lips ached to taste her, certain that she’d be even sweeter than I imagined. And even though I could feel her apprehension, she moved down the stairs with a surety that made my cock press against the fly of my pants. No two Dominants are alike and the submissives they seek out run the gamut from the virginal, with coy naiveté that radiates like some saccharine perfume, to the brazenly disobedient who act out in hopes that they’d be punished for it. This woman was somewhere in between, not naive nor playing coy. She was too confident, too deliberate for games. She knew the power she wielded and it would take a man with a firm hand and experience to claim her.
Or you could have misr
ead it all and she’s moments from flipping you off or worst.
I refused to acknowledge the massive lump that clogged my throat. There was a question I could ask that would give me insight as to where she stood, but the answer could also end whatever this was before it began. And with my recent string of bad luck, culminating in Rachel’s latest attempts to piss me off, I forced the words from my lips, prepared to let her go.
“Are you afraid?”
I expected silence, maybe a replay of that lip biting nervousness, but she answered immediately.
“No.”
Like her quick response gave her whiplash, she swayed perilously on the heels she was clearly unaccustomed to wearing. I was so used to women that not only wore ridiculously high heels, but made sure I knew just how precious they were to them, or one better, just how much they cost. Those kinds of things, fashion, being noticed—they weren’t priorities for her and it just made her shine brighter in my eyes.
I steadied her, my breath catching when I felt her warm curves pressed against me. Her nearness was more than intoxicating, especially when I felt her gently rocking against me like we were doing a dance that we’d been doing for years. We knew the steps; we knew that this was our moment. It was maddening...which was probably why she flew down the remaining steps, putting an invisible barrier between us.
Her dark eyes flickered across my face. “I-I can’t do this.”
I bought myself a little time, giving nothing and everything away as my eyes locked on hers. “Do what?’
There was uncertainty as she looked at me like I wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all her. “I have an interview.” She paused and I could see the gears turning, the fight that first caught my attention roaring back to life. “With Maria Delacourt.” Her eyes dropped to my crotch and quickly darted back to business. “A proper interview.”
Fight...there was another ‘F’ word that came to mind when I watched the stubbornness ripple from her brown eyed gaze to the hard set of her jaw and the jut of her lip. Feisty. And with no effort at all, another juicy F word echoed through my head. Fuck.
