Tame Me

by Natalie Rios

  “Oh, and Miss Kensington. You might want to find a cardigan before the meeting later. Unless, of course, you would enjoy having my brothers leer at you.” Leer at me? I can’t imagine Kyle ever leering. Tanner maybe. Brody definitely. But he hadn’t included himself in that assessment. “Make sure you close the door on your way out.”

  Rude, but I do as he says. I’m already off to a bad start with the guy and I don’t even know what I did wrong. Sitting at my desk, I turn on my computer and quickly realize I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing. I don’t have a list of job duties and I can’t remember what all Mr. Connors said back there.

  How to spend the morning...

  Since sitting behind a desk while staring at the walls for hours sounds absurd, I start looking at clothes I can no longer afford on Neiman Marcus’ website. When that gets depressing, I start planning my next trip. Because there will definitely be another trip, once my parents come to their senses. Bora Bora sounds cool. Ooh, or maybe Patagonia! Two extremes, but both new places.

  Satan leaves me to my own devices until 10:35. Even then, he can’t be bothered to walk out to my desk or so much as open the door separating our offices to holler at me. Instead, he calls me at my desk. On the phone.

  How exactly is one supposed to answer the phone at work?

  Shrugging, I go with how I usually answer my cell phone. “Hi.”

  “Don’t ever answer the phone like that again. Jesus Christ, what if it had been the bank on the line?” he demands.

  “How am I supposed to answer the phone? It’s not like my boss gave me proper instructions this morning. Shouldn’t I have been trained or something?”

  “Trained on how to answer a business phone call? Are you sure you’re from New York? Because I’m starting to think it’s closer to Mars.”

  “Ha ha ha,” I fake laugh. “You’re so funny, Mr. Connors. With all your charm and wit, I’m hard-pressed to find a single reason why all those other assistants quit on you.”

  There’s a pause and I briefly wonder if I went too far with that last jab. “Don’t push me, Miss Kensington. I’ve been patient so far, making allowances because of your circumstances, but I have no qualms with having the kid gloves come off.”

  “What circumstances?”

  “Trust fund baby being forced to work for the first time in her life. It’s not every day a socialite is cut off by her parents, forced to live among us common folk. I sympathize with your struggle. Oh, I’m sorry. Was that supposed to be a secret?” he continues over my stunned silence. “TMZ must not have gotten the memo.”

  Of course. The tabloids. They are like vultures, ready to surround and devour when one of the mighty falls.

  And boy, had I fallen.

  “Is there any reason in particular you decided to call me, Mr. Connors?”

  “I was checking to make sure you were alright.”

  “Oh!” Well, that’s actually kind of thoughtful and sweet of him. “I’m fine. The phone hasn’t rung all day-”

  “Excellent to hear you’re in good health. I was worried because it is now 10:40 and I’ve yet to receive my second cup of coffee. Since I specifically went over my coffee requirements first thing this morning, I assumed you must have fainted or fallen asleep.”

  Well, shit. I completely forgot about the man’s absurd caffeine schedule. “Right! I’m on it.”

  Hanging up, I eye my new foe, the coffeemaker. Last time, the coffee had been too strong. Likely due to too many grounds. This time, I put in the same amount of water (a full coffee mug’s worth) with about half as many grounds. Watching the liquid slowly drip into the pot, I try not be to too concerned with the color.

  Is coffee ever supposed to look like iced tea?

  Crossing my fingers, I let myself into his office and mockingly bow as I present him with the mug. “Your coffee, sir.”

  But Satan doesn’t take the cup. Instead, he makes the universal drink signal with his hand. “Try it first.”

  “What? I don’t drink coffee this late in the day.”

  “After the debacle this morning, I don’t exactly trust your coffee making skills. Drink up, I need to make sure you’re not serving me poison.”

  “You have some nerve-” Cutting myself off, I take a deep breath. Snapping at your boss on your first day probably isn’t a good idea. I just need to take one sip and then I’ll leave.

  One sip and I’m choking.

  “That bad?”

  “It tastes like coffee flavored water. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” I mutter, more to myself.

  “Dump it out in the sink and go get ready for the meeting with the bank. I’ll just wait to have my coffee there. And what happened to the cardigan I mentioned earlier?”

  What is it with him and this cardigan? Ignoring him, I run back out to my desk and dial Kyle’s cell. “Hey, Charlotte. How’s your first day going?”

  “I need a drink.”

  “That bad?” Kyle laughs. “It’s okay. Brody’s not as grouchy after he’s had his coffee.” Ah. Is that the trick to taming the beast? I see I’m going to need to master the coffeemaker, ASAP.

  “Quick question. Where can I get refreshments for a meeting with the bank?”

  “The café. I’ll text you their number. Ask for Mina. She’ll hook you up with all the goodies.” I thank him and hang up to dial the café.

  Mina seems nice, both over the phone and in person. Very cheery and pleasant, which is a good thing since she is supposed to be one of my new roommates. Though I don’t think anyone has shared that minor detail with her yet. When I introduce myself as Charlotte, she doesn’t seem to recognize the name or anything. In any case, we don’t get to talk for very long. The café is bumping with the lunch crowd and I still have a meeting to set up.

  Pushing a few tables together, I organize the refreshments so they’re situated at the center of the table. Since Satan only glared at me when I asked if he could help me carry some stuff, I end up making a second trip to the café to get cups, plates, and napkins.

  I’m just setting the last item on the table when Mr. Connors walks in, with two men and a woman trailing after him. The men are both wearing full suits while the woman has on a white button down shirt and a black skirt. I try to sneak my way past them toward the exit.

  Mr. Connors’ hand snakes out and grabs my upper arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  His voice is low, presumably to prevent the bank reps from hearing him. Lowering my voice to match his volume, I reply, “To my office. Back to work.”

  “You’re working right here. I told you earlier I need you to take minutes.” Minutes? I blink up at him. “Do you know what those are?”

  Asshole. “Yes,” I hiss. As a shareholder at Kensington Investments, I get them emailed to me after every monthly meeting. They’re kind of like taking notes for class. Which I haven’t done in ten years, but Mr. Connors would probably have a conniption if he knew that. “I just don’t remember you saying you wanted me to take them.”

  “You’re my assistant. Taking minutes for me is a part of your job description. Did you even bother reading the job description or were you just blindly applying for things?”

  Asshole.

  “Your brothers hired me on the spot yesterday and didn’t give me one.” A situation I need to rectify immediately. “So I suggest you go bitch at them. Or, here’s a novel idea, maybe you could have actually gone over my duties with me this morning. Made sure we were both on the same page in terms of expectations, maybe even provided me with some training. Instead of snapping your fingers and demanding I get you coffee.”

  Frowning, his gaze travels down the length of my dress. “I didn’t snap my fingers. What happened to the cardigan I told you to put on?”

  “I don’t have a cardigan,” I say through gritted teeth. Using my hand, I gesture at my torso. “This and a small purse are all I brought with me to work this morning. I don’t understand what your obsession with my wardrobe is.”
>
  “Not an obsession, but a concern,” he corrects. “Unless, of course, you enjoy having men leer at you.”

  There’s that word again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This dress got me nothing but compliments at the Cultural Arts Center gala last year.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he mutters, unbuttoning his jacket. Licking my lips, I watch his large hands work and briefly wonder what he would look like shirtless. With those shoulders? Rock hard and huge. I would take my time kissing my away across them, pausing only to lick at his thick neck. Man, what I would give to be able to press into the crook of his neck, that warm and cozy spot that seems made for nuzzling –

  Dear god, I’m drooling. Drooling over a man I don’t even like.

  “Here.” He holds out his jacket several inches from my face. “Put this on.”

  “Why would I wear your jacket? It doesn’t even fit me. You’re at least three times my size.”

  “It’s cold in here and you’re arms and legs are bare. You’ll be shivering in a few minutes.”

  “Is this about my dress again? Because this jacket will look like a potato sack on me and trust me when I say the bank people will find that way less appealing-”

  “Whatever. I’ll refrain from saying I told you so later.” He doesn’t take the outstretched jacket, instead walking back toward the bank people. The meeting starts shortly thereafter.

  Since I hadn’t known I was supposed to be taking notes, I left my notebook back in the office. I tear a few pages out of the one Mr. Connors has sitting in front of him. Both he and the bank reps glare at me the entire time, Mr. Connors in disapproval and the bank people in disbelief.

  The meeting drags on and I try to take notes as best as I can but a) I have no idea what anyone is talking about and b) about ten minutes in, I realize Mr. Connors was right about the room temperature. The air conditioner must be set on high because I have goosebumps all along both of my arms. Uncomfortable as all shit, I have a hard time focusing on what anyone is saying. I make the mistake of looking up at Mr. Connors, who cocks a brow at me, following that up with a smirk I want to smack right off his beautiful face.

  It’s so unfair. God must have been playing a trick on women when he created Brody Connors. How is one supposed to resist temptation when it looks like that? No wonder Eve went for the apple.

  I hold off as long as I can out of spite. No way am I going to admit defeat so easily. By sheer stubbornness, I last half an hour. Half an hour before I discreetly shrug into Mr. Connors’ jacket.

  And then I can’t concentrate for a different reason.

  I’m surrounded by his scent, a spicy smell that reminds me of the woods. Masculine and strong, yet refreshingly natural. No way did that smell come from a cologne bottle.

  The meeting ends with some handshakes and I text Kyle to ask if there is anyone available to clean up after us since we only have a couple of minutes to make it back to the office for the next meeting. Kyle gets back to me right away, promising to send over one of the housekeepers.

  Mr. Connors and I walk back to the office in complete silence. At my desk, I retrieve my notebook and try to return his jacket. Shaking his head, he shoves it back into my arms. “Keep it on the rest of the day.”

  “It’s too hot in here for that,” I lie. It isn’t too hot, but I will die if any member of the Connors family catches me doing something completely embarrassing. Like tugging the jacket closer to me so I can breathe in more of his Mountain Man scent. Maybe I should keep it on the back of my chair, just in case...

  “Your dress-” Mr. Connors stops talking when his brothers make their way into the reception area.

  Tanner’s arrival is an unexpected surprise. What isn’t a surprise? His attitude. Muttering a hello and walking right past us into his older brother’s office, he’s his usual sunny self. Kyle, however, stays back and smiles at me. “Hey, Charlotte.”

  “Hey, Kyle.” I emphasize his name as a dig at Mr. Connors. Everyone else around here seems to be casual. He’s the only one with a stick up his ass. “How’s the hotel side of things?”

  “Great! Bookings are up and Jodi, our new front desk associate, has a good handle on things. Fallon is thinking of organizing a dance-”

  “Save that talk for the meeting,” Mr. Connors interrupts. “Miss Kensington, please distribute the agendas.”

  “Right! It’ll be just a second.” Mr. Connors does not look pleased at the idea of having to wait, but he nods and retreats into his office. Kyle starts to follow, but I stop him. “Where is the copy machine?”

  “Around the corner there.” He gives me a strange look. “Brody didn’t show you?”

  Rolling my eyes in response, I turn the corner to find a huge break/copy room. In one corner is a huge copy machine and in the opposite corner there’s a fridge and microwave along with a wall of kitchen cabinets and counters. And a sink.

  I’ve been running to the bathroom down the hall to get water when there is a sink less than ten feet away.

  The copier seems easy enough to use and I key in for three copies before setting the agenda on the feeder. There’s a weird noise, followed by the tell-tale sound of paper tearing, followed by the machine beeping like crazy. A jam, the screen reads.

  Fuck my life. The first time I try to use the copier, it jams. What are the odds?

  Paper jams are the weirdest thing. First, you have to figure out where the jam is. In this case, I know it’s at the feeder, but I have no idea how to open said feeder. Turns out, the feeder has multiple openings. After locating the right one, I remove the part of the page I’m able to find.

  Only half a page. Which means there’s still half a page stuck in there somewhere. Where in the hell can it be? I’ve already opened all three feeder doors.

  “Miss Kensington. We would like to start this meeting sometime today,” Mr. Connors calls out from his office.

  “Just a second.” I feel that familiar burning sensation in my stomach, a warning sign of the monster churning that’s to come. Leave it to my anxiety to pick the worst possible moment to set in. I need to think clearly, but instead, I’m panicking. Opening compartment doors at random, searching for the lost half a page. The longer I look, the worse the churning in my stomach seems to get.

  “Miss Kensington.”

  Counting to ten, I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. My lungs hurt from the deep breaths I’ve been taking. I’m okay. There is no danger. The feeling will pass and there’s no use getting all worked up about it.

  Breathe in, breathe out. You’re going to be okay, Char.

  I had been seconds away from a full blown panic attack. Completely unacceptable. I haven’t had one of those in years and now isn’t the time to start back up again.

  Especially not over a copy machine, of all things.

  Marching into Satan’s office, I hold my head up high. Damn the consequences. The machine is broken and it isn’t my fault. I’ve faced far tougher crowds than Brody Asshole Connors. Taking the empty seat next to Kyle, I open my notebook to a blank page.

  “The agendas, Miss Kensington?” Mr. Connors impatiently drums his fingers along the surface of his desk.

  “The copy machine is jammed,” I stiffly reply.

  “And you didn’t clear the jam because...”

  “I tried. The machine’s broken. You might want to get it serviced.”

  A dark look briefly sweeps over him before his poker face returns. “Very well. Let’s begin with the activities scheduled for next week. Since Fallon couldn’t join us today...Tanner? Would you like to start?”

  As the meeting progresses, I slowly start to feel better. The Brothers meeting is easier to follow than the bank meeting. It’s more related to the day-to-day stuff going on around the resort and I actually enjoy hearing about some of their plans. The party Fallon wants to host sounds fun and I’m sure a lot of the guests will enjoy it.

  Discussions are also less formal, with the brothers joking with one another.
I sense some tension between Tanner and Mr. Connors, both seeming a bit impatient with the other. But even that isn’t blatant, just more of a tense undertone. By the end of the meeting, I’m in a much better mood.

  “Call me later and we’ll get you settled in with Fallon,” Kyle says, squeezing my hand and giving me a sympathetic look. “She was really looking forward to meeting you at this meeting, but one of our guides came down with the flu and Fallon had to fill in. Maybe we can all grab a drink after work.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good luck, kid,” Tanner nods at me. There is some concern in his gaze, too. What the hell? Why are they acting like I’m a dead woman walking?

  I follow the brothers out of Mr. Connors’ office, waving them off from my desk. Not even thirty seconds later, Satan appears at the doorway. “Follow me.” He doesn’t wait for me, marching right on back into the copy room. Just to spite him, I stall for a few minutes by pretending to rearrange things on my desk. Let him wait and stew a bit.

  “Well, I’m here,” I say when he doesn’t immediately speak. “Why exactly are we back here?”

  Arching a brow, he wordlessly begins pressing buttons on the copy machine. He then opens a middle compartment door I hadn’t tried earlier. There, between two thin rollers, is the missing half a page.

  Fuck my life.

  “We do not call to have the copy machine serviced when there’s a jam. The machine will tell you where the jam is and you clear it. Do you understand me?”

  I don’t like the way he’s talking to me, slowly stretching out each word like he’s talking to a child or the village idiot. Crossing my arms, I try to stare him down. Physically impossible given our height difference, but you know what I mean.

  “Cut the condescending attitude. I’m perfectly capable of understanding what you’re saying. I went to Yale.”

  “Oh, really?” Tone mocking, he peels his lips back into a sneer. “Did you really get into Yale or did the Kensington money grease the wheels?”

  Gasping with outrage, I fist my hand to stop myself from slapping him across the face. “I got in on my own merit. And where did you go, asshole? Community college? A state school with a 90% acceptance rate?”