by MJ Fields
I busy myself with answering more than my fair share of calls so that I’m not watching the clock.
But as the minutes pass, and then an hour, I start to get nervous for Julia. Those nerves get even worse when I see Sandra’s resting bitch face donning a smug smirk.
I’m not a violent person, I don’t get into drama at work or outside of it, but right now, I’d like to …
I swear if she said anything to put Julia’s job in jeopardy, I will do just that and to hell with the consequences! Stewing, planning, and plotting, I distract myself by checking my email and am shocked when I see one.
To:
[email protected]
From:
B.HawthorneCEO@
HawthorneResorts.com
Subject: Meeting
Your presence is expected on the twelfth floor at 12 p.m.
Lunch will be provided.
Be prompt.
B. Hawthorne
CEO of Hawthorne Hotels & Resorts USA
To:
B.HawthorneCEO@
HawthorneResorts.com
From:
S.Golden@ HawthorneResorts.com
Re: Meeting
I look forward to meeting you.
S. Golden
“Did you get called to the penthouse?” Sandra looks over my shoulder, amusement evident in her voice. “That’s where he’s working from. I had to stock the mini-fridge with San Pellegrino. Fancy, huh?”
I glance back, unamused, and nod.
“He’s very handsome, by the way.” She leans against the corner of my desk, finally making eye contact.
“Not something I look for in a boss.” I shrug.
“Tell me that after you see him, and try to do it with a straight face.” She legitimately swoons, her pale chest turning red.
I turn fully, remove my earpiece, and cock my head. “I wonder what’s taking Julia such a long time.” I look at her closely, trying to see if she’s done something to jeopardize her career.
Her resting bitch face returns as she shrugs. “Who knows and who cares?” She pivots and walks away.
I push my earpiece back in and take a call, swallowing hard before I can put on my happy voice. “It’s a beautiful day to book your Hawthorne Holiday. This is Sarah speaking. How can I assist you?"
Time moves quickly when two burly men walk through the door behind me and into the office behind the desk—Julia’s office—the one she shares with Ruthanne, the night manager. Oh, shit.
I look up at the clock and realize I have a few minutes before I’m supposed to head up to the penthouse. Shit shit shit!
I rid myself of the earpiece and make my way to the bathroom, where I quickly pee, send Julia a text, wash my hands, and fix the bun at the nape of my neck. It feels as if twenty minutes have passed as I wait for her to message me back, but the reality is, it’s only been a little over two. And if I don’t move it, I will be late.
Walking out of the bathroom, I notice Sandra shaking hands with one of the two men who walked into the office. The other is carrying a box and gives her a nod. She’s smiling from ear to ear.
I hurry back to grab my purse before heading up to my meeting and notice that there’s a frame sticking out of the box. I recognize it. I gave it to her with a picture I took of her and her daughter Layla—a gift to put on her desk when she was promoted to management.
No, no way could she lose her job this close to Christmas! She’s a single mom, and she needs this job more than I do. And she’s very good at it, too. How could they? And who the hell is this asshole boss?
Grabbing my purse, I look back as Sandra peeks out of the office. “Make sure you take your lunch after your meeting. And if I’m in my office when you return, let me know when you get back.” Her sing-song voice makes me want to strangle her.
I’m no longer nervous for Julia. Instead, I’m plotting a murder—Sandra’s.
Inside the elevator, I’m livid and trying to decide how I’m going to proceed. Do I walk in and throw myself over the proverbial railroad tracks to save Julia’s job? Or do I make damn sure I keep mine so that I can get rid of my tiny but cozy studio apartment and move in with Julia? She’s offered a hundred times. I would be able to help out with her bills until she found another job.
As the elevator to the penthouse slides open, I quickly realize that’s exactly what I need to do.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Golden. I’m Alfred, Mr. Hawthorne’s personal assistant.” He steps back and motions for me to follow him. His black suit is perfectly tailored, Irish accent unmistakable. Before I can think of Alfred anymore, my jaw drops as I enter this floor for the first time ever. The penthouse is beautiful, with large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Aspen. There is a kitchenette in the corner with stainless steel appliances and a beautiful living room filled with a cream-colored couch and two dark club chairs. We walk into what I assume should be the bedroom but has been converted to a conference room. A large glass rectangular table sits in the center, with twelve chairs around it. The windows look out to a perfect view of the mountains.
“This is Dante De Leon, Mr. Hawthorne’s lawyer. Have a seat, and we’ll get started.” Alfred takes the head of the table.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” I smile politely as I sit down across from the men. A folder is set in front of me, with my name written clearly on the front.
“Would you like a cup of coffee? Water? Tea perhaps?” Alfred asks.
I clear my throat. “No, thank you.”
“Perfect. We’ll get right to it.” Mr. De Leon points to the folder. “Before you meet with Mr. Hawthorne, we have some paperwork we’d like for you to sign. Please open to page one.”
On the cover page, my name is spelled out in gold lettering, and under it—Non-Disclosure Agreement.
My cheeks begin to burn because the only time in my life I’ve even seen the term NDA is in my steamy books. I look up at the two men seated in front of me and try not to squirm. They are very good-looking. And intense.
Alfred has about twenty years on me, but is at least six-foot-tall, is well built, has an accent and the whole silver fox thing going for him. Dante De Leon is closer to my age, and although he’s yet to stand, I can tell he’s athletic with broad shoulders, a perfectly cut jaw, and a dimple in each cheek. Oh, and did I forget to mention, he has a sexy Spanish accent?
What the hell is it about a man with an accent? I shift in my seat when a phantom tingle reminds me of exactly what it is about an accent and what started my borderline obsession with books involving multicultural couples: the Irishman.
“Feel free to read over the paperwork inside, but in an effort to speed this along, an email between yourself and Ms. Newhouse raised a red flag in the Hawthorne Hotels & Resorts system.”
I feel my face burn even brighter now as I slink down a bit in my seat. It couldn’t be.
He slides me a gold pen from across the table. “Please note that section A contains the policy in the employee handbook,” he pushes a paper across the table, “which you signed after reading when you took the job, stating that all emails sent and received from Hawthorne’s computers and on company time are subject to being monitored.”
Cancer may not have killed me, but I am certain I am going to die of embarrassment right now. I can feel the beads of sweat rising between my breasts.
“Ms. Golden, please initial at the green tabs so that all parties know that you understand.”
Swallowing hard, I write my initials, SG.
“Section B will cover the company’s fraternization rules.”
I don’t bother looking up. I keep my eyes on my initials, too afraid to see the look on their faces.
“Ms. Golden, could you turn the page?”
Further embarrassment has my hands turning numb. I can’t seem to even follow along. Still, I nod and turn the page.
“Hawthorne’s policy has just been drafted, and it goes into effect immediately. Employees are not to date anyone they work w
ith unless they have had previous relations with the other employee, regardless of the position in which they found themselves in.”
The humor in his voice causes me to look up quickly, and I swear his brown eyes are dancing in some sort of amusement.
Alfred clears his throat, and Dante gives him a slight roll of his eyes as he continues. “Meaning, it doesn’t matter who holds the most control. If the relationship is consensual, Hawthorne cannot be held liable. HR is to be notified by all parties of any relationship between employees.”
I quickly initial Part B.
“Part C is our sexual harassment policy.”
Not wanting him to go into another uncomfortable explanation, I quickly initial it as well.
“Excellent. Now just so we’re clear that you understand, let me give you an example. Let’s say for clarification purposes, Ms. Julia fell into a whirlwind love affair and decided to become partners in whatever sexual—”
I shake my head, rasping, “Dear God, it’s not like that. Not at all!”
“Dante.” Alfred shakes his head as if in warning.
“A man can dream.” Dante gives a devilish smirk.
“W-where is Julia now?”
They both look at me.
“D-did she sign this?” My voice shakes. “Is she still employed with—”
“Ms. Golden,” Alfred says soothingly.
I abruptly push back my chair wanting to outrun my mouth because…you know me and my ‘lesbian lover’ may find ourselves roomies soon if they fired her over a couple of emails. “I need to use the bathroom.”
Dante stands and smiles. “If you could sign the next page first, our business will be concluded, and I could make my lunch date.”
I quickly sign the paperwork and look around for the bathroom.
“It’s to your right, Ms. Golden.” Alfred points to the living room.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Golden. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again,” Dante calls to my back.
“Of course,” I reply, trying to keep it together as I stand. Walking as quickly as I can, I make it to the bathroom door, sliding in and locking it behind me. After several minutes of staring at myself in the mirror, plus a couple more messages sent to Julia, I finally get a reply.
The school nurse called. Layla has a stomach bug. Super-hot boss and sexy AF lawyer gave me the rest of the week off. We have lots to chat about, but all is well! Call me when you’re done with work.
~Julia~
All is not well!!! I want to text her in all shouty caps. SANDRA JACKED YOUR OFFICE!
But Layla is sick, and I will get to the bottom of this before worrying her about it.
I wash my hands and splash some water on my face to cool my burning face down, noticing I forgot to put my heels back on! Shit. I wiggle my toes before patting my hands dry. Me and my flip-flops can do this. I square my shoulders, keep my head up high, open the door, and as I take my second step out the door and look across the room where I see … the Irishman.
Chapter Eight
You’ll never plough a field by turning it over in your mind.
-Irish proverb
Beckett
“Are you all right, Ms. Golden?”
Her mouth gapes open.
No, your eyes aren’t lying. It’s me, and I intend on fulfilling your fantasy as I work out my need for you.
It’s only been a few months, but it seems like Sarah has gone through quite a change. She gained weight, her eyes look to fit her face more, her cheeks fuller, and she has a bit of a curve to her hips. All excellent changes. Except for one thing.
She doesn’t have that smile. I quite enjoyed her smile. Actually, she’s frowning.
And scowling.
But I swear to Christ she is beautiful. Still cute as a button, but...more.
“I’m.” She shakes her head as she looks at me like a deer caught in headlights. “Yes. I’m uh, I’m fine.”
“Please come back to the table and have a seat.” She squares her shoulders and walks toward the table. I nod to Alfred to pull out her chair and look down at the open folder with the signed NDA in front of me. “I think we have a few things to discuss.”
She looks at Alfred and back at me nervously. “I think we’ve covered everyth—”
“Sit down,” I order, cutting her off. I’m over a head taller than her and I must say, I like it. I remember how I towered over her when we met. My eyes trail down her body, and I notice she’s in flip-flops. Not for the first time I wonder why Americans are so...casual.
Her eyes dart between Alfred and me before she regains her composure. Finally, she takes a seat.
We hear a knock at the door, and Alfred excuses himself.
Sarah leans forward and whispers angrily, “What is happening?”
I lean forward and steeple my hands on the table. “Lunch is here. We’re about to eat.”
She rolls her eyes at me, which causes blood to flow south at an alarming rate.
“Why are you here?”
“I think you know why.” I lean back into my seat, settling in comfortably.
Her mouth opens and then shuts before she moves to the edge of her seat. “You’re the new owner?”
I tap the tip of my nose once.
She narrows her eyes. The amount of amusement I am getting from sweet little Sarah playing badass is insurmountable.
“Two henchmen cleared out Julia’s belongings. Sandra took her place. Your very… tall lawyer said Julia was given time off. Tell me the truth. What’s going on with Julia? She’s amazing at her job.”
I hold up one finger. “The two gentlemen who you saw moving her belongings are security.” A second finger. “Julia’s been reassigned within the company.” A third. “Sandra has indeed taken her place but is going to be working the afternoon and evening shift.” A fourth, I take a moment to settle myself down a bit, a cross between turned on by her sass and annoyed by it before continuing, “If Dante was inappropriate with you, I’ll have his balls.”
She swallows hard, obviously shocked, before Alfred pushes the cart over and announces, “Lunch is here.”
“Perfect, we’ll discuss the contract while we eat. Thank you, Alfred.”
“Of course, sir.” Alfred places Sarah’s covered plate in front of her as I push the red leather folder across the table and open the second, my copy, and begin.
“This contract is for voluntary total submission between the Dominant, Beckett Hawthorne, and the submissive, Sarah Gold—”
“Excuse me?” she gasps, her eyes widening.
I sit back and look across the table prepared to talk her through this. “The initial NDA you signed covers any issues with you and I having a legal sexual relationship with regard to your employment at my company. This one is to clarify what our relationship would entail, sets expectations, limits, and thwart off undesired —”
“Mr. H-Hawthorne,” she sputters. “I think you have the wrong idea about me, this, you and I. I am—”
“I assure you I have exactly the right idea about you. I’ve seen it written in your email to Julia.”
“And you assumed—”
“I never assume, Ms. Golden.”
She glances at Alfred, her face reddening further and her breaths getting shorter.
“Does this conversation make you uncomfortable because of Alfred's presence?”
She crosses her arms across her chest. “This conversation makes me uncomfortable, period.”
“I assure you. Alfred is privy to all my personal dealings.” I tilt my head to the side. Surprisingly, seeing her this uncomfortable is actually bothering me.
“Look,” she pushes back in her seat, “I signed the NDA for my employment at Hawthorne Hotels & Resorts.” She slides the folder forward. “I’m not signing this. It was one night. I had no idea who you were or what you owned. It just wasn’t that deep. I never expected to be employed by your company. Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne, and thank you, Alfred. But this conversation is done
.” She stands up and scurries to the elevator, pushing the button, and waits for its arrival.
I sit back in my chair, amused that she thinks this is over.
It’s not.
“Alfred, could you take your leave, please.”
“Of course, sir.” He nods and walks toward the corridor, toward his end of the suite. Passing Sarah, he says, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
I watch as she pushes the button again, several times. “You, too, Alfred.”
I wait until I hear Alfred close the door before addressing her further. “In order for this to work out—”
She turns around. “Are there stairs?”
I stand up and adjust my jacket. “There’s no need for stairs when we have two perfectly good lifts.”
She turns away, continues to push the button, and mumbles, “Well, obviously, this one isn’t working.”
I walk behind her and whisper, “Patience, Caile.”
Glancing back at me, she shakes her head. “No, Mr. Hawthorne. And I’m not sure who Caile is, but—"
I put my finger to her lips and try not to laugh. Soon, she’ll know exactly who Caile is. “Your email was clear and precise about what you want. I’m going to provide you with all the things you desire.” I push her hair over her shoulder so that I have access to her bare skin. She smells so good, like vanilla and flowers.
“The email had nothing to do with you. Not—”
“There will be no other men until our contract has ended.”
“I can’t do this. It’s not right.” Her voice is thicker, her desire evident.
I step back. “Turn around, Caile, and look me in the eye when you deny me.”
It takes her a moment before she does as asked, but when she sees me standing in front of her, her eyes drop to my kilt worn to feed her fantasy. Her tongue swipes across her lower lip quickly, and she looks up.
