I bit my lip. How long until he got tired of me?
"I can give you the highlights," he said after a moment. "As my personal assistant, you will be given a healthy salary along with a clothing and travel allowance. In addition to any administrative needs I may require, you will make yourself available as my submissive."
Submissive. The word sent a wave of longing through me. I'd always been curious about the lifestyle, the leather, the domination, the taboo. BDSM definitely wasn't a term I'd ever associate with Jacob Whitmore, though. I gave it all away, my features frozen in shock. His, however remained unchanged.
"You are familiar with the term submissive? With BDSM?"
He said it so offhandedly casual, like he was talking about weather that I couldn't help but chuckle. Uncomfortably.
"Yes. I mean, I do. I mean, I was..." I let my voice trail off and dropped my eyes to the plush carpet beneath my feet. So soft and pliant--a stark contrast to his coldly confidant request. His 'contract'.
"Good," he said, unaffected by my obvious discomfort. "That means your period of adjustment should be small."
I kicked at the carpet with my toe. I think he overestimated my ability to go with the flow. Fifteen minutes ago I was learning I should be seen and not heard and ready to be run like a gopher and now the CEO of the hottest PR firm in the country wanted to bring me on as his personal assistant and private...sub. My head was swimming and when I saw the salary, with all the zeroes tacked on the end, I nearly fainted. It was enough to easily pay off my student loans. In like, 3 months. I'd been budgeting for an apartment, but it would be easy peasy for me to qualify for a house in less than a year.
"I-Is this number correct?" I glanced back up at him. "It must be some sort of typo."
"The salary is correct." His voice darkened. "And don't worry, you'll earn every cent."
Gulp. "I, uh, as far as the interview?"
The smile at his lips didn't touch his eyes. "It's more of a...working interview. If you are prepared, we can begin now."
Now? I thought, panic making me grip the arm of the chair. He wanted me to submit here, with the secretary right outside?
He looked at me intently. "You are under no obligation to me yet, Leila. If you are uninterested in the position, you can sever your employment with Whitmore and Creighton."
I thought back to the frenetic, perfectly normal and unexcited job I'd started off this morning. "I couldn't go back to R and D?"
He clucked his tongue and slowly shook his head. "Oh no, Leila. We both know it was an extensive waste of your talent."
My nostrils flared at that. So I didn't have a choice. I had to do anything he wanted me to or it was back to want ads and disappointment. I was getting a bout of dejavu and his self-contentment made me slump. It was almost like he was challenging me...wanting me to prove that I could handle the unconventional bargain. His will for a hefty paycheck. I had a feeling I wasn't the first girl propositioned by the handsome billionaire and made an offer that was impossible to refuse.
"You know this isn't fair, right?" I said pointedly. "That you're giving me no choice?"
His eyes hardened to ice. "Of course you have a choice. You can submit to me and be paid handsomely for it, or you can walk back through that door without consequences."
I kept my eyes on him, trying to hold tight to my anger but I felt it slipping between my fingers as I mulled it over. Would it really be so terrible? This was my dream job. And how many times had I flipped through glossy pages, green with envy at shots of Jacob shirtless with some woman in St. Barts, or decked out at a movie premiere?
"O-Okay," I whispered, nerves making the word quiver.
"Look at me," he commanded. His baritone voice roped me in and his steely gaze held me tight. "I want you to say it again--and be sure."
I obeyed, even though a little part of me was screaming that this was crazy. But there was another part, a piece of me that was inexplicably drawn to him; that wanted more of him, all of him--and was begging me to say the word.
"I am sure. Yes." I'm not sure what magic helped me put one foot in front of the other and take the tablet and scrawl my name on the dotted line, but my signature shone up at me. When he took the device from me, his finger brushed mine and I shivered.
His face didn't betray a thing, but he did clear his throat and break contact before turning away. "Very well." He walked over to a minibar and opened the cabinet. He slowly poured a brown liquid into a glass and brought it to his lips. He wheeled back to face me and his eyes darted over me. Up and down, devouring every inch. Teasing me.
He took another sip then placed it back on the table. "Take off your clothes."
"Now?" I said, visibly surprised by his request. "Here?"
"I don't like to repeat myself, Leila," he said sternly.
For the briefest moment I heard my mother's voice telling me to always wear my 'good' underwear. Always be prepared. But I only had a few pieces of clothing that would qualify and naturally, today wasn't the day I picked to wear any of them. Maybe if I knew my boss was gonna make me strip...
I squared my shoulders and stood up tall, making sure I didn't lock my knees. Collapsing would be the cherry on top of a truly bizarre day.
My fingers worked down the front of my blouse, sliding over button by button until it hung open in the front. I hesitated then shrugged it off my shoulders. The cool of the office and his steely glare sent goose bumps over my flesh. I didn't have it in me to unclasp my bra so I moved to my skirt, unhooking the top then slowly sliding the zipper down, peeling off the layer of black polyester until it joined my shirt at my ankles. My hands dropped to my crotch, my cheeks a flame at the comic strip boy shorts I'd settled on earlier this morning.
When I glanced up I saw bemusement in his crystal eyes, but his lips were a firm line. "Continue."
I squeezed my eyelids shut and gave him a crisp nod before I roped my arm around and unhooked my bra. My br**sts bounced free and I quickly shimmied out of my underwear and tried futilely to slouch and cover my nakedness from him.
"Hands down." It was more of a moot point since he'd bridged the distance between us and physically brought my hands to my sides. I found myself simultaneously thrilled and terrified at what he had in store. Did he have a drawerful of odds and ends that he could taunt and tease and push my limits with? Or maybe he'd tie me up with that bolt of fabric at his neck and breathe in my helplessness before he took me.