Dirty Promotion

by Sky Corgan

  Life has bestowed many blessings upon me, but as the limo stops in front of a wrought-iron gate and I gaze out the window at the lion’s head crest while the gate slowly swings open, I wonder if this is one of them. There’s so much splendor and waste here. More space and things than any one man could ever need. It feels like I’m entering a land of excess.

  I expect the driver to walk me to the door, but he doesn’t. He simply sets my suitcase on the curb, and I carry it up the winding walkway. This place looks a lot more like a hotel than a house. The lawn is pristinely landscaped. The outside of the imposing two-story structure appears to have recently gotten a coat of fresh paint. There’s the faintest hint of chlorine on the breeze, which must mean there’s a pool nearby.

  I reach the doorstep and my gaze dances from the knocker to the doorbell. My habit of shunning modern conveniences makes me go for the knocker, even though I realize the house is so large that Mister Sanderlin probably won’t hear me knocking if he’s not already close to the front door. Not surprisingly, he doesn’t, so after a few minutes of standing in silence I still end up having to ring the doorbell.

  The door opens, and I suck in a breath as my eyes land on my boss who looks every bit the CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation in a suit that I’m certain was tailor-made for his body. I focus on that five o’clock shadow I’ve been so fascinated with. It hasn’t grown, which must mean he purposely keeps it trimmed down to give him that sexy slightly unkempt look.

  Oh my, I really need to get over how handsome he is. If I’m a nervous wreck around him all the time, how can I possibly expect to do my job efficiently?

  “Welcome to my home, Christiana. Come in.” He steps aside.

  For half a second, I wait for him to offer to take my suitcase. When he doesn’t, I quickly get moving.

  The inside of the mansion is every bit as luxurious as I had expected it to be. Priceless paintings adorn the walls, mostly of historical scenes. Some are so large that I have no idea how they were able to get them inside unless they weren’t framed until they were in the building. There are sculptures of metal and marble in the corners and in the little niches carved into the walls, figures of people as if they were immortalized while dancing. The floors in all the living spaces are made of a dark hardwood, while the floors in the kitchen and bathrooms are dark speckled marble. The whole place has an eerily dark ambiance to it, though again I think it’s more imagined than real. There’s plenty of lighting, and the walls are painted an off-white that makes the spaces seem bigger than they actually are.

  Mister Sanderlin takes me into a room that looks like it once belonged to a taxidermist. There are various animal heads mounted on the walls. Deer and boars and elk. There’s a bearskin rug on the floor in front of a sprawling desk that has a full-body lynx mount lounging across it. Next to a fireplace, a wolf and coyote stand sentry.

  Mister Sanderlin gauges my reaction to the room. I stare at everything inside in wonder, setting down my suitcase and stepping over to the lynx to run my fingers through its fur.

  “Is this your office?” I turn to ask him.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “It was my father’s office. I honestly wasn’t sure if it would offend you or not.” He joins me at my side to scratch the lynx between the ears.

  “Why would it offend me?” I gaze up at him. He’s smiling down at the animal fondly.

  Mister Sanderlin sucks in a breath. “A lot of women would find this morbid.”

  “Do you like to hunt?”

  “Not particularly.” He drops his hand to his side, and his expression darkens slightly. “I don’t really see the point.”

  “I think it’s more of a traditional thing these days.”

  “I’ll show you to your room, and we’ll get started.” He turns abruptly, leading me out of the room.

  I follow him up to the second story. There’s nothing lavish about the room he puts me in, but it does have its own bathroom, which is quite the treat. Never in my life have I not had to share a bathroom with someone. Come to think of it, never in my life have I not shared a bedroom with my mother. I’m not sure if I feel more lonely or liberated. This is such a large house for just two people. Or is it just the two of us?

  “Your father’s office is here. Does that mean he works here?” I ask curiously.

  “He passed away.” There’s a touch of solemness to my Mister Sanderlin’s voice.

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “This used to be my family home.” His eyes sweep the walls. “After my father died, my mother didn’t want to live here anymore, but she couldn’t bring herself to sell the place. When I turned eighteen, she gave it to me. I’ve been living here ever since.”

  I feel the desire to reach out and console him, but I keep my distance. He reminds me of a wounded animal. You want to help but know it’s probably dangerous. We’re not on a personal enough level for me to cross the space boundary with him that he did with me. I’m certainly not willing to risk my job over it.

  “Get settled in, and I’ll meet you in my office to begin your training. You remember which room that was, right? This place is pretty big.” He flashes me a friendly smile that sets my mind at ease.

  “I remember.” I nod. “And I don’t need any time to settle in. I’m ready to begin whenever you are.”

  “Well then,” he smirks, but there’s something behind his expression that I can’t quite place, “give me a few minutes to settle in. How about this, I’ll meet you in my office in fifteen minutes?”

  “Alright.”

  Mister Sanderlin takes his leave, and I sit alone with my thoughts, fidgeting as I watch the clock on the wall tick down. I’m already beginning to feel overwhelmed. His kitchen looked as big as the back of a restaurant. Cooking his first few meals is going to be like a game of hide-and-go-seek finding what I need. There are so many rooms in this house, I’m not sure how he expects me to keep them all clean.

  You’re overthinking things. You’ll get used to his kitchen in time, and with only two people living here, the house can’t possibly get that dirty. Unless he has guests over or throws a party. Surely, a man like him throws many parties. And you’ll probably be expected to serve his guests.

  I take a deep breath.

  Stop. Just stop. This is only day one. It can’t possibly be that bad.

  I head to Xan’s office five minutes early because being punctual is something I’ve always felt strongly about. As I approach the office, a strange sound makes me slow my pace. A few more steps and I’ve completely stopped. There’s heavy breathing and a...woman moaning. My cheeks instantly flame as I start putting the pieces together.

  My heart pounds against my ribs, threatening to break through them. I press my back to the wall, wondering if I should retreat. There’s no clock for me to check the time, but I know I’m early. Was this what he meant by settling in? Is he...

  I close my eyes and try to chase the dirty thoughts away, but they’re not going anywhere. The sound of an unfamiliar man’s voice tells me that Mister Sanderlin is not involved. The squeaking of box springs can only be coming from speakers because there’s no bed in the room. He must be watching porn.

  I hold my breath, my eyes shooting back down the hall from whence I came. I feel like I should return to my room to check the clock and make sure I give him enough time to finish up whatever he’s doing in there. But what will happen if I’m late? I don’t want to make a bad impression on my first day as his personal assistant.

  Apparently, he’s a lot less worried about making a bad impression on me. Surely, it has to be close to the time of our meeting. Did he even consider that I might come early? Or maybe, just maybe, he wants me to catch him in the act.

  No. I can’t force myself to believe that. It’s far too crude and inappropriate. In fact, it’s sexual harassment. I highly doubt that esteemed billionaire Xander Sanderlin would purposely chance having a sexual harassment lawsuit filed against him.

  Darn. Wha
t am I supposed to do?

  My anxiety spikes as I wait. Just when I’m about to surrender and head back to my room, Mister Sanderlin’s office goes quiet. I listen for a fraction of a second longer, then I count to thirty before taking the last few steps until I’m standing in front of his office.

  Mister Sanderlin is sitting in his plush office chair staring at the door with a smug expression as if he knows I was secretly standing there all the while. I knock on the door frame anyway, requesting permission to enter. Almost the moment I do, my eyes fall to something laid across his desk. I pretend to ignore it, knowing it’s not meant for me. The white lacy lingerie was probably purchased for one of his many flings that I’ve heard about. Maybe he even wants me to go deliver it to her. That’s the only reason I can think of why it wasn’t on his desk when he gave me the tour earlier.

  “Come in,” he tells me.

  I clasp my hands together, trying not to fidget or stare at the lingerie as I make my way to his desk and stand in front of it. I don’t really want to look at him either, though, because I have a pretty good idea of what he was just doing in here.

  “You’re nervous again.” Mister Sanderlin taps the top of his desk to get my attention.

  “I’m not,” I lie, following it up with a strained laugh. “Why would I be?”

  He stands, circling his desk to come to my side. Each step he takes causes my heart to beat a little faster.

  I steal a glance at the front of his slacks and wish I hadn’t. I can see the outline of his manhood pressed crudely against the material. It’s every bit as imposing as he is. He must not have finished, or else he wouldn’t be this hard.

  What makes it worse is that seeing him aroused is causing moisture to build between my legs. Every forbidden act I can think of is going through my head, and I can’t seem to stop them. When I meet his gaze, it doesn’t make things any better. Because the way he’s looking at me...it unsettles me in all the best and worst ways. His features are marred with desire. It can’t be for me? Can it? He couldn’t possibly want me.

  I’m plain and boring. I’ve always thought that my eyes are set too far apart, and my nose is a bit too long. Xander Sanderlin sleeps with perfect women with svelte bodies and tan complexions and large breasts. I have none of those things. I’m skinny at best with an awkward bust size too tight for an A cup but also too small to fill a B. That’s why I mostly wear sports bras that make me look as flat-chested as a boy.

  “Do you always button your collar up to your throat?” Mister Sanderlin thumbs the top button of the blouse I’m wearing.

  I pray that the heat I’m feeling inside hasn’t reached my cheeks to settle there.

  “I believe in dressing modestly,” I confess. My entire wardrobe is filled with the same outfits, long-sleeved white blouses that button all the way up and black skirts that go all the way down to my ankles. I’ve never had the desire to show off my skin. Everything is meant for my future husband’s eyes only.

  “This won’t do.” He shakes his head, making a tut-tut sound as he looks me over.

  “Sir?” My nervousness is back in full force. He’s standing way too close. I can feel the heat from his body and smell the masculine scent of his cologne. It’s making me dizzy, knowing he has so much power over me—knowing that I’m enjoying the subtle way he touches me. It’s wrong. I know it is, but I can’t force my feet to move to get away from him.

  You need this job. I try to remind myself. And besides, it’s not like he’s done anything to me. We’re just standing here. Just talking. It’s innocent. Only my mind is making it into more than what it is. This is all me. Not him.

  “Do you ever wear your hair down?” His eyes make their way to the tight bun that I keep my hair pulled back in.

  “I wear it up for religious reasons,” I quickly inform him.

  “What religion?” His gaze settles on my face with interest.

  “Christian,” I reply, still thinking of the bulge in his pants. There’s nothing Christian about what just went on here—about what’s going on right now.

  Calm down. He’s just asking you questions.

  “1 Corinthians 11?”

  My mouth falls open. “How did you know?”

  “Are you familiar with this part then? If a woman has long hair, it is a glory to her; for her hair is given to her for a covering. But if anyone seems to be contentious, we have no such custom, nor do the churches of God.”

  The fact that he knows any of the bible shocks me. The fact that he can quote it, even more so.

  “I did not take you to be a man of God,” I say in my most mousey voice.

  “I’m not a man of God.” He smirks. “I just learn what I need to know to get what I want.”

  Now I’m shocked for a completely different reason. “Excuse me?”

  “I’d like for you to wear your hair down here.” He looks at my hair again. “You should feel no shame about it.”

  I avert my gaze, not sure what I’m feeling anymore. I’m so confused and out of my element.

  “Shall I help you?”

  Before I have time to respond, I feel Mister Sanderlin’s fingers in my hair. He threads them into the strands at the base of my bun, using his grip to pull me closer. All the oxygen leaves my lungs in a whoosh as I lose my balance and crash into him. I try to press my hips back, but it’s too late. I felt him, and electricity shot through me, pooling in my depths.

  My eyes meet his, and I let out a shuddering breath, hating myself for being so aroused. His other hand reaches behind me, tugging at my hair tie until my long brown hair cascades over his fingers and my shoulders.

  It feels like my heart is caught in my throat. I’m looking up into the face of sin, and I feel powerless. Like Lucifer, he’s so unbearably beautiful; so horribly wicked.

  He holds me in place, tracing his tongue over his bottom lip. I follow it with my eyes, wanting to know what he tastes like. His mouth is silently beckoning to me, and all I can think about is being locked together with him in unholy congress.

  And then he speaks to me, the heat leaving his voice as he lets me go. “You’ll call me Xan when we’re in private from now on.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Xan,” I mouth his name, but no sound comes out.

  I’m frozen in place; sensory overload has gotten the best of me. No man has ever held me so closely. No man has ever seen me with my hair down since I came into womanhood. No man has—

  “Christiana.” Xan snaps his fingers to get my attention. Somehow, in the span of my distraction, he’s managed to make his way back to his desk. Now he’s staring at me expectantly.

  “Yes, Mister Sanderlin.” I shake my head as if coming out of a dream. “I mean Xan,” I quickly correct myself.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  The world stops spinning. It’s the cherry on the cake of unbelievable things that have happened since Xander Sanderlin walked into my life. I’m not even sure I heard him right.

  “Sir?”

  “Did I stutter?” He leans back, observing me, though there’s no amusement on his face. “I laid out your new work uniform for today.” He gestures to the lingerie on his desk.

  I blink a few times, hoping I heard him wrong but knowing I didn’t.

  “Sir, I can’t do that.” I take a step back, holding my palms out to the lingerie.

  “Does that go against your religion as well?” He scrubs his hand across his jaw.

  “You know it does.” I eye him seriously.

  “Well, unfortunately, I couldn’t find a passage about it being Godly to wear lingerie for your boss.”

  My anger flares at his mocking of my religion. “I’m pretty sure there’s a passage in the law about sexual harassment.”

  “Are you threatening me, Miss Miller?” Xan leans forward. If he’s fazed by my words, I can’t tell. His lips are twisted in amusement.

  “I won’t wear that.” I point at the lingerie.

  “And I won’t make you,” he tel
ls me, and I can feel the muscles in my shoulders and neck instantly relax. “But if you won’t wear it then you obviously aren’t meant for this job, so I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “I tried to tell you that I couldn’t do this job.” I look away, feeling a tendril of guilt for disappointing him, though I know I’m doing the right thing. “I thank you for the opportunity. I’ll return to my previous position tomorrow.”

  “Oh, you misinterpreted me.” He steeples his hands on top of the desk. “If you leave here today, you have no job. Not with me. Not with Checkmarks Scholarly.”

  “You’re going to fire me because I won’t take my clothes off for you?” I’m unable to stop the words from coming out of my mouth in all their rage.

  “Weren’t man and woman meant to be naked? Isn’t that what your bible taught you? Before Eve ate the apple, wasn’t that the purest form of man?” My anger doesn’t affect him, and that only upsets me more. This seems like it’s a game to him. Corrupt the virgin. How many women has he played this with before me?

  “But she did eat the apple,” I remind him.

  “I’ll make this easier for you.” Xan stands and walks around the desk. I sink back slightly, fearful that he’s going to take me by the arm and escort me out of his home.

  Instead, he stops in front of me, his hand moving up to his neck to loosen his tie. My jaw feels permanently hinged open as I watch him pull the tie from around his neck and toss it onto the desk before he slides his jacket down over his shoulders and discards it as well. Then his fingers pop open the buttons on his cuffs before moving to the collar of his shirt.

  I should ask him what he’s doing and sound indignant about it. I should, but I don’t. Because I know what he’s doing, and I secretly don’t want him to stop.

  I stare at him like a deer in the headlights while he removes article of clothing after article of clothing. I can’t even pretend not to be looking at him lecherously as his muscular chest is exposed to me. I hadn’t realized how tight his shirt was until I saw how flush the button was to his skin. The shirt practically burst open when it was unfastened, the ones below it giving slightly less resistance as they reveal a perfect eight-pack, his skin so taut against his muscular frame that I can see his veins snaking their way down into his pants.