Seven years older than me, Mara has always harbored this weird jealousy toward me, which I’m sure has to do with the fact that our grandmother always seemed more interested in what I was doing and where I was, up until she died last year. I always had a close relationship with Nan, ever since I was a child spending weekends having sleepovers in her living room. As I grew older, I made sure I maintained that bond. Even when I moved father away to go to college, I called her every week to chat, right up until her death.
It probably didn’t help that Nan left me a sizable inheritance that I wasn’t allowed to touch until my twenty-fifth birthday. Oh, how I could use that cash right now! Mara, on the other hand, was given a much smaller amount, as were all the other grandchildren.
“Okay. Thanks.” I sigh, running my hand through my hair.
I hang up the phone and pick up the jobs section of the paper, scouring it again but this time lowering my standards to consider work outside of journalism. I’m beginning to get desperate. I need a job to at least tide me over until I find one I want.
Even with my now-basic requirements, there isn’t much listed that isn’t waitressing. Maybe I’m going to have to lower my expectations to rock bottom, because my savings aren’t going to help me for much longer. I consider calling Mom but decide against it. There would be something soul destroying about going back home, my tail between my legs. It would like admitting that life is too much for me. That and I know Mom would insist on calling my aunt, who would beg Mara to give me something. And I refuse to give Mara that satisfaction.
Mom and I have a strained relationship. I never quite accepted her remarrying after my dad died. At age thirteen, the last thing I thought I needed was a guy like Karl waltzing in, thinking he could take my dad’s place. In retrospect, Karl wasn’t a bad guy; he just tried a little too hard to be what he thought I needed.
My eyes mist at the thought of my dad. Losing him was by far the worst period of my life. We were close. Every weekend, without fail, he’d set aside time to spend with me—just him and me. When we found out about the cancer, I went into denial. I couldn’t imagine life without him. I always felt like Mom was jealous of how close we were. Especially when our own relationship didn’t improve after he died. If anything, it got worse.
After another unsuccessful morning job-hunting through the newspapers, I take my search online. I shoot an email to Erren, the editor I reported to at the LA Times, where I interned for a few weeks earlier this year. I’m not holding my breath that anything has come up since I last emailed him, but it’s worth trying.
I’m soon distracted by Jess on instant messenger, who apparently just has to tell me about the guy she hooked up with after I left last night. I giggle and settle in for another marathon chat session. It’s becoming a nightly ritual for us.
Jess: He was so fucking hot, Char. Like you have no idea…And the things that man could do with his tongue would be illegal in some countries. Sigh.
Me: Less interested in men with talented tongues and more interested in finding a job. Things are getting desperate. Topless carwash kind of desperate.
Jess: Fake a résumé with event coordination experience and I’ll get you a job with me!
Me: So I can watch you swoon over your boss? As tempting as that is…You know how bad I am at lying.
Jess: Nope. I’ve moved on. I refuse to sit here wasting my life on a guy who isn’t interested. And isn’t lying all journalists do? :p Joke! Okay, so when you say you’re desperate, how desperate is desperate, exactly?
Me: I don’t even know how to answer that.
A link pops up in the chat window and I click on it. I have no idea what to expect when Jess sends me job links, but I’m nervous. My money is on porn or stripping, neither of which I’m willing to do. Well, not yet, anyway.
Jess: This is a legit job. I think you should apply.
I groan and click on the link, preparing myself for whatever is going to pop up on my screen.
Position Open.
Successful, attractive male requires full-time live-in assistant. This is no ordinary position. If voyeurism and explicit fantasies are likely to offend, please do not apply. The successful applicant will be female, attractive, and very self-confident.
I am not looking for a slave or a submissive. I’m after a challenge.
Fight me. Resist me and you will be rewarded…
I reread it again, convinced that it’s some kind of joke, but then I look at the website and recognize it as one of the larger job-search engines in the country. I’ve seen some pretty out there stuff on here before. Just last week I saw a position advertised for a dog psychic, and the week before that someone was advertising for a porn fluffer. I’m embarrassed to admit that I even knew what that was.
I pick up my phone and call Jess.
“You’re kidding, right?” I laugh. “Can you really see me doing something like that? No thanks. I’ll starve first. I mean, what kind of person puts out an ad like that, anyway?”
“Hear me out before you go all high and mighty on me,” Jess insists.
I sigh and wait for her to elaborate. I know Jess well enough to know there’s probably an entertaining story involved.
“So, my friend Terra gets to this interview, and she’s in shock when she meets this guy, because it’s Jaxon friggin’ Murphy.”
“Jaxon Murphy, as in the guy whose girlfriend disappeared a few months ago? The guy who was acquitted of her murder?” I gasp.
I studied him in my investigative journalism class. Nobody other than the police could get near the guy to hear his side of the story. He was acquitted after a poorly put together prosecution team all but ruined any chance of his facing justice. I’ve heard nothing about him since.
“Yup,” she replies gleefully. “Apparently he’s even hotter in person, if that’s even possible.”
“Who cares how hot he is?” I laugh. “The guy murdered his girlfriend!”
“In his defense, they never actually found a body,” Jess interjects. “And he was let off because the evidence against him sucked.”
“Okay, and why would anyone in their right mind want to work for him? Why would I? Especially as his personal sex slave, or whatever the fuck it is that he wants.” I laugh. This whole thing is way too weird and definitely not something I’m interested in. I don’t care how insanely sexy he is.
“Think about it, Char: Nobody got the scoop on this guy. Imagine how in demand you would be if you managed to dig up a story on him. Seriously, this is your big chance. Besides,” she giggles, “have you seen the guy? I’d fuck him for free.”
“I don’t know, Jess.” The whole thing screams “danger” to me. I’m stupid for even thinking about it. Holy shit, is that what I’m doing? I’m actually considering this? “What if he did kill her? If he could do that to his girlfriend, imagine what he would do to me if he found out I was only there fishing for a story.”
“He won’t find out,” she argues. “I’m not suggesting you rifle through the guy’s things. Just go in there and observe. See if anything feels off. Just think about it. Go for the interview and then see how you feel. I mean, you probably won’t even get the job.”
“Gee, thanks for your vote of confidence,” I chuckle, rolling my eyes.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. Terra told me hundreds of women applied. He’s only interviewed a few of them.” She pauses dramatically. “He is really ruthless with his selection criteria, apparently.”
“Won’t your friend be annoyed that you’re pushing me to apply for a job she wants?” I tease.
“She doesn’t want it. She’s too scared she’ll end up dismembered and buried in his backyard,” she cracks.
I roll my eyes, loving that it’s okay for Terra to be scared but not me.
“Anyway, I gotta go,” Jess sighs. “I’m supposed to be working. Call me later, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree with a laugh.
As I hang up, I ponder her words. I wonder what the cat
ch is. You don’t just wake up one day and decide to post an advertisement for a sex slave. I mean, is that even legal? I read over the ad again, finding myself even more intrigued. Jess is right about one thing: This could potentially be a huge story. My big break. Newspapers would be falling all over themselves to hire me.
God, it’s tempting…
And if I want a career in journalism, I have to be ruthless, right? Nothing in life is easy, and if you want something bad enough…These thoughts keep circling through my mind.
His missing girlfriend wasn’t the first time Jaxon Murphy was in the news. When he was fifteen, his mother, father, and younger sister were brutally murdered during a home invasion. Jaxon was spending the night at a friend’s house and arrived home the next morning to find the bodies. I shudder at the thought. How does a kid get over that? I guess that’s the point; he’s probably never gotten over it.
When he turned eighteen, he inherited his father’s multimillion-dollar fortune and became CEO of his business, Hamden & Murphy Enterprises, along with his father’s old business partner and lifelong friend, Ryan Hamden. For years he was completely out of the spotlight until earlier this year when his longtime girlfriend, Brynne, disappeared.
A half hour later I text Jess, who I notice is back on messenger.
Me: This would be an awesome story…
Jess: Oooh, you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?!?
I laugh and tap back a reply.
Me: Thinking and doing are not the same thing. I really don’t think I have the balls for this kinda thing. This is more your forte.
Jess: Hmm, I’m pretty sure our guy isn’t after a chick with balls. That’s a whole different fetish. ;) But seriously, what harm is there in meeting the guy? If you smell a story, go for it. If not, nothing lost, right?
She’s making all kinds of sense right now. Interviewing and sussing out the situation doesn’t tie me into taking the job, does it?
Me: I’ll think about it.
Jess: Good girl. Call me later, ’kay?
After rereading the ad for the hundredth time, I copy the email address, type out a quick message, and attach my résumé and the required full-length photo. I press SEND before I can change my mind and then slam my laptop shut. I’m already regretting it. I need to distract myself. I pick up my bag and grab my car keys off the kitchen counter, then head out the door to do the thing I love most: shopping. Not that I’m able to buy much, but I can dream.
I pull into the parking lot of the shopping mall and steer my red Jeep into the nearest free space. Removing my sunglasses, I place them on the dash and open the car door. The cool breeze hits my arm, making me shiver, so I reach behind me and grab my jacket. As I slip it over my arms, my phone beeps. I fish it out of my handbag, my heart racing.
Am I hoping it’s him, or am I hoping it’s not? I don’t know. I’m confused about whether I even want the damn interview.
I click on my email and see it is a reply from him. My hands shake as I click the message.
Thank you for your application. I’d like to meet with you at four p.m. today to discuss the role in further detail. If you are unable to attend, please be advised that no other times will be made available to you.
Sincerely,
J.M.
J.M. As in Jaxon Murphy. Holy shit, it really is him. My heart thumps at the thought of meeting him. I check my watch and see that it is almost three thirty. Is this a test of my ability to follow orders? I have barely enough time to go home, change, and get to the interview. I’m on the verge of saying “Fuck it” when I remember why I’m doing this in the first place. I owe it to myself to at least check it out. I decide to scrap the idea of going home and opt to race inside the mall for a fresh shirt and some makeup. Less than ten minutes later I’m on the highway, swerving through lanes as I attempt to freshen up my makeup. I narrowly miss driving up the ass of an expensive-looking blue BMW. I sheepishly lower my lipstick as the driver shouts abuse at me. I take a deep breath and focus on the road, because I definitely won’t be getting this job if I’m laid up in the hospital with broken limbs.
—
I’m not surprised when I see how beautiful the neighborhood is where Jaxon lives. Up in the hills, his mansion sits on the edge of an exclusive estate, on sprawling green lawns. The properties on either side of his are equally impressive and spaced far enough apart to ensure privacy.
I smirk: Jaxon Murphy would like his privacy.
As I stand at the entrance to his property, my heart races. I have no idea what I’m about to get myself into. I reach up and press the intercom button, my hands shaking as I glance at his house in the distance. I take a deep breath and try to settle my nerves, only I can’t, because I might be about to become someone’s sex slave. Focus on finding the story. Remember why you’re here.
“The front door’s unlocked. Please make your way down the hall to the left and wait in the living room.”
I jump, the little hairs on the back of my neck standing up as the smooth male voice booms through the speaker of the intercom. I’m not sure what it is, but something about that voice…His assertiveness intrigues me. Everything about this guy is intimidating.
I bet not many people disobey him.
In the back of my mind, a little voice mocks, Like the girlfriend he murdered…
So much for remaining impartial.
“Okay, thanks,” I mumble, and take a deep breath. Brushing a strand of hair from my face, I make my way through the gate and down toward the house, determined not to show my fear. I look around me, the full impact of the property hitting me.
The grounds are huge. The imposing three-story mansion sits atop expansive, lush green grounds. Its white exterior is cold and unwelcoming, in stark contrast to its beautiful surroundings. I make my way up the wide concrete steps, my breathing heavy as I near the door.
By the time I reach the double wooden front doors, I feel faint. How did I let Jess talk me into this? It’s so much easier to blame her rather than admit that part of me wants to do this.
Not only is this a potentially life-changing story, but I need to find out what his deal is. I spent so much time studying the guy, I feel like I know him. What scares me the most is that the closer I get to discovering his secrets, the more I find myself thinking up the dirtiest fantasies of what it will be like to work for him. Heat creeps up my neck as all sorts of nasty images enter my head.
If I am offered the job and I decide to take it, there is going to be sex. Kinky, fucked-up, off-the-charts kind of sex that little old me just doesn’t do. But that isn’t necessarily by choice, is it? My sex life up to this point has been very vanilla but, like every girl, I have deep, dark fantasies that I long to explore. The thought of exploring them with Jaxon Murphy…Oh, God.
One thing I can say about Nick is that he was anything but experimental. It was missionary, him on top with the lights off all the way. The few times I suggested spicing up our sex life with something out of the ordinary, like cowgirl style, he made me feel like some kind of sex fiend.
Seeing him fucking that bitch on our kitchen counter didn’t just hurt me, it annoyed me—because our own sex life had been so dull. I guess the lack of physical connection should’ve been my first hint that our relationship was in trouble.
I push open the door and let myself inside. It’s so quiet. I’m standing in what looks like a lobby, and down the hall I can see what has to be the living room. I make my way toward the light-filled room, passing various pieces of art that I’m guessing are originals. They must have cost a ton. I sit down on the edge of a thick leather sofa. I feel so uncomfortable. I’m surrounded by perfection: There is not a thing out of place and everything screams “expensive.” I’m pretty sure the couch I’m sitting on is worth more than everything I own combined.
My ears prick at the sound of a male voice in the distance. It’s him. I close my eyes and recall the newspaper clippings that showed his smiling face. Does he look better in person? Is that
even possible? Anyone who describes himself as attractive has to be pretty cocky, and the confidence he must have to place an ad like that scares me. I haven’t even met the guy and I’m already as intimidated as hell. I hold my hands together in my lap in a feeble attempt to hide their shaking. Over and over my mind is screaming, What the hell am I doing here?
I swallow nervously as the voice becomes louder, trying desperately to ignore the pang of nausea that fills my stomach. I look up as he enters the room, his phone to his ear, not even acknowledging my presence. Instead he wanders over to the bar and pours himself a drink. I’m not deterred, though. I take the moment to study him in all his beautiful, sexy glory. I can just tell he knows how to please a woman, and all thoughts of his potentially murderous past have taken a backseat. I blush, embarrassed by the thoughts rushing through my head because I’m not that kind of girl. I shift in my seat, trying to regain my composure.
His hair, short and dark, has a slight wave to it. In the natural light it looks almost black, but as he nears me I can see it’s more of a golden brown. The white shirt he wears is rolled up to his elbows, and I can just make out the end of a tattoo that wraps around his right forearm. His suit pants sit low on his hips, showcasing his athletic frame. With a body like that he must work out.
He is looking right at me. I realize I’m staring and look away, my cheeks heating. His eyes narrow as he mumbles into the phone something about calling them back. He slides the phone into his pocket and strides over to me, his fingers rubbing the soft stubble lining his jaw.
“Charlotte Lucas, I presume?”
He speaks in a low, husky tone as he stands in front of me, his gaze slowly moving over my body. I stiffen, hoping I made the right choice with my knee-length black skirt and light blue shirt. I can’t help feeling overdressed, especially considering what I’m applying for. I feel like I should be wearing a G-string and some hooker boots.
Resist Page 2
