CHAPTER THREE
“You’re fired.”
To be fair, Ronald looks grossly uncomfortable as he tells me the words I had a distinct feeling would be coming for me.
“But—” I begin quickly, ready to put up a fight.
Ronald holds up his hand to stop me from talking.
“Abby,” he says. “Please don’t make this any harder on either one of us. You are not good at being a barista. You should never be one again. Ever. Like really, ever. Go find something that suits you. In retail, maybe? You seem to have a good fashion sense.”
Ronald doesn’t seem convinced by his suggestion.
“I need this job.” My voice sounds small.
“I’m sorry, Abby,” Ronald shakes his head. “But you’ll just have to find another. I need someone here that knows what they’re doing. And it’s not just that—the other staff has been complaining about you not pulling your weight.”
“I’m trying,” I insist.
“It shouldn’t be so hard.”
“I can stay late—” I’m practically begging now.
“No,” Ronald shakes his head. “It’s over. I can pay you out for the week, but that’s it. I’m sorry.”
Ronald leaves me in the employee room, and I feel the sudden urge to either cry uncontrollably or shop myself to death. The problem is, I don’t have the money to do the latter.
I pick up my bag with as much dignity as I can muster and leave through the back exit. I don’t want to run into any of the other employees, and I know there really isn’t anyone who’ll be sorry to see me go. I welcome the cold air and rain when I’m outside and pull out my phone from my purse.
“Oui?” I hear Georgie’s familiar voice.
“I was sacked,” I tell him.
“Ahh,” he doesn’t sound surprised at all.
“Aren’t you going to ask why? Or defend me?” I prod.
“Non,” Georgie replies, sounding bored. “There is a reason why I avoid that coffee shop now.”
“Georgie!”
“Ma chère, being a barista is not your calling.” His voice is firm. “Now call Michael, who is a much better choice. He needs a PA and you now need a job. See how perfect it is?”
“It’s not perfect,” I counter. “It’s dangerous.”
“Oui. There is a possibility it will be difficult for your heart,” Georgie agrees. “But c’est la vie. Take a chance, ma chère. It’s the perfect time in your life to try it out. Think about all the changes you’ve been making. All the chances you’re taking. This is just another one.”
The way Georgie lays out his argument gives me a glimmer of hope.
And possibility.
“I’m hanging up now,” Georgie continues. “Call me after you speak to him. I’ll take you to dinner to celebrate.”
He hangs up before I can respond.
I stare at my phone for a long minute.
Take a chance, Abby.
I know if I give myself time to think about it, I’ll come up with a million reasons why I shouldn’t take the job, so I make my decision.
My heart beats a mile a minute at the thought of even calling Michael. Of hearing his voice. It’s pathetic really, how giddy I am over the possibility. I walk into the closest café and sit down at an empty table. My phone and I have a stare-off for a long minute before I throw caution to the wind and just go for it.
Since I can’t bring myself to actually call him, I text instead.
ME: Good morning, Michael. I hope you had a wonderful evening. It’s Abby, in case you’re wondering.
I press send and immediately feel hives begin to form at the thought of him not responding. I will die if I don’t hear back from him. Like crawl-in-a-fetal-position-under-my-dining-table-and-cry-myself-silly die.
Luckily, my phone pings a second later.
MICHAEL: I know who it is. I trust you’re well.
It’s like I can hear his mocking voice as he types the words. I know my text was stiff and formal—proper as he would say—but I didn’t know how else to begin. Then the thrill of texting with him for the first time washes over me, intermingled with my nerves, and I find myself trying to hide a goofy smile.
ME: I am, thank you.
MICHAEL: Is everything good?
ME: Yes.
Just ask the damn question, Abby, my mind shouts out in anger.
Now or never. I type away.
ME: This might come as a surprise, but I was wondering if the job is still available?
I don’t have to wait long for a text back as my phone immediately begins to ring. My heart is in my throat when I answer.
“Hi,” I say shyly.
“Where are you?” Michael demands in that sexy voice of his.
“Out shopping,” I lie.
“The job is still available,” he tells me.
My heart thumps against my chest.
“Can you come by my office?” he asks quickly.
Vanity kicks in and I think about what I’m wearing. Black jeans, boots, and a matching sweater. Is it cute enough? Sexy? I run a hand through my freshly washed brown hair.
You’re going in for a job interview, Abby, not to be his girlfriend.
“What time?” I ask throwing caution to the wind.
“Now.”
I’m surprised he has the time to see me so fast.
“I think I can make it work,” I force myself to speak. “Can I get your address?”
“I’ll text it to you,” he says quickly. “I’ll be waiting.”
He hangs up and I’m left reeling.
I’m going to see Michael Sinclair.
I’m actually going to take a job with my lifelong crush. What the bloody hell just happened? A few days ago, I couldn’t say no fast enough. Today… well, today I was fired, and now it’s a matter of survival, I tell myself almost defensively.
First things first. In order to calm my nerves, I’m going to need something fattening and sugary. I get up and stand in line at the cafe and order a large hot chocolate and a blueberry scone and instantly feel a calm sense of peace wash over me.
Food.
I love it.
Every part of it. It’s a constant battle with me to refrain from giving in and eating everything my heart and stomach desires. If my body could take it, I would. But God forbid, if I ever hear the words Flabby Abby again, I think I’ll die.
The hot chocolate and scone work like magic, and when I hail a cab to Michael’s office, I’m feeling infinitely better. My optimism stays with me until I get out of the taxi and reach the glass double doors that lead into headquarters of The Michael Sinclair Foundation. The building is eight stories high and crystal clear. It’s sleek and modern, just like the man whose name resides on the front door. I move through the crowd of people and reach a security desk, where two men are sitting.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” the silver-haired security guard asks with a smile.
“Yes,” I reply. “My name is Abigail Walters, and I’m here to see Michael Sinclair.”
“Of course. Please have a seat, Miss Walters, and someone will be with you shortly,” the man says as he motions toward a large waiting area with brown leather couches and rustic tables.
I walk over and sit down as I study my surroundings. The décor is a mix of modern and industrial. The open-air plan creates a raw and edgy atmosphere. It only takes a few minutes before a twenty-something pretty blonde comes over to greet me. She’s dressed casually in jeans and a sweater.
“Abigail?” she says in an American accent.
“Yes,” I reply, standing.
“My name is Jessica, and I’m one of Mr. Sinclair’s interns. I’ll take you up to his office.”
“Wonderful.”
I follow Jessica into the glass elevator and feel myself begin to sweat as we ascend. And that’s when the panic slowly takes hold.
What am I doing here?
I can’t work for Mr. Tall, Dark and Gorgeous! Am I crazy?
The elevator comes to a stop at the top floor, and I catch Jessica staring at me with a look I can’t quite decipher. As if she’s sizing me up like I’m some sort of competition.
“This way,” she says coolly.
I try my best to calm my nerves, following her out of the elevator through the office floor. The ground is cement and large industrial desks form a circle around an enormous exotic-looking indoor plant.
The employees are busy working, talking amongst each other: all look young and hip.
“This is the Think Tank,” Jessica tells me as we walk through the large room. “This is where we brainstorm and come up with new and innovative ideas to help the Foundation’s outreach.”
I nod in acknowledgment as we continue to walk to the end of the room where we come to a panel of dark tinted glass windows that you can’t see through. Jessica knocks before pushing the glass door open and motions for me to go inside. She stays outside as I walk in and she shuts the door behind me. And then I find myself walking into Michael Sinclair’s lair for the first time.
I am not surprised by what greets me.
The room is enormous and stares out onto the River Thames. He has a sizeable sitting area with plush brown leather couches and a large wooden table in the center with hardcover books placed neatly on top. A large glass caddy with what looks to be a full bar is placed next to the sitting area. Michael’s desk is simple with a huge glass top and round metal legs, resembling a piece of art. A brown leather chair is behind it along with a wall filled with black and white photos of animals and different places around the world.
My gaze finally moves from the photographs on the wall to the owner of the company.
Michael has been expecting me.
He’s leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, staring at me in silence. My pulse goes into hyperdrive at the sight of him. He’s wearing jeans, a navy sweater, and scruffy looking brown boots. His longish black hair is down and messy and all I want to do is run my fingers through it and pull those lips of his onto mine. God, what I wouldn’t do to have him.
If only just once.
I watch his brow lift and for a panic-filled moment, I wonder if he can read my mind. Calm down, Abby, I tell myself. Just breathe.
The silence is unbearable.
I look away from his knowing look and stare out at the Thames.
“Nice view,” I finally say as I gather my wits and try to calm my treacherous nerves.
“It is.” His voice is low and sexy and I can practically feel his gaze touching my face. “I’m enjoying it.”
I meet his sizzling gaze and try to act unaffected by his words. I try not to read into anything. God, it’s hard, especially when he continues to watch me in that smoldering way of his, turning me into Jell-O pudding with his silence.
I grip my purse.
“So you know why I’m here,” I say lamely as I ramble on. “I know it must be surprising, considering how vehemently I originally opposed the idea.”
“Actually I wasn’t surprised at all,” he replies arrogantly.
He continues to lean and stare in that toe-curling way of his. I shuffle uncomfortably.
“I was fired.”
I blurt the words out before I can help myself. Now I know my face is on fire. Why the hell did I just say that? Talk about TMI!
Michael finally smiles.
“I gathered as much.”
“Did you?” I whisper, horrified.
Michael shrugs, and I have the distinct feeling he’s trying hard not to laugh in my face.
“Well, I was,” I go on to my complete and utter mortification. Like I’m possessed by Abby’s evil twin sister who’s hell-bent on blurting out those truths that are better left unsaid. The mortifying ones like when you walked from one end of the campus to the other with your skirt hiked up underneath your backpack with your bum naked as the day you were born, all while a group of guys was behind you taking pictures the whole time.
Yes, it happened to me.
Yes, I might still need therapy because of it.
“Fired. This morning, actually,” I continue talking. “So I don’t have any references. And I’ve never done this sort of work before, so there is a good possibility I might be a complete mess at it.”
“Are you trying to make me regret offering you a job?” Michael’s grin is wicked.
“I’m just being honest.” My tone is defensive. “I want you to know what to expect.”
“A mess?” he asks.
“Possibly.” I shrug.
Way to sell yourself, Abby.
“You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of yourself.”
“That’s not the case at all. I’m just—I just want to disclose everything so you know up front,” I say, flushing with embarrassment even though he has every right to come to that conclusion.
He watches me silently.
“I’m perfectly capable. I think you should know I’m just new at this sort of thing,” I rush out to say.
“Working?”
I don’t miss the sarcasm in his voice.
“On second thought, maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I frown, crossing my arms. The last thing I want is to be subjected to comments intended to make me feel less adequate. He has every right to think them, but to actually voice them, now that’s a whole other story.
“I apologize,” Michael covers quickly. “I was only joking with you. It seems you’ve lost your sense of humor. We’ll have to work on getting that back.”
I force myself to meet his warm stare.
And it happens just like that. The ache below my belly. The lust that shoots through my veins. God, he’s hot. Just leaning there against a table, dressed casually and acting like he has no care in the world. He’s just too good to be true.
The air around us shifts.
“When can you begin?” His voice is low.
“When do you need me?” I reply.
“Now.”
My heart stops. There’s something about his voice. The urgency I hear that makes me dare to believe he’s as turned on as I am. That there’s more to this job offer than meets the eye.
Lord, I just can’t help it.
But I so want to believe it.
“Tomorrow, maybe.” My throat starts to close up, and I have the sudden urge to put some distance between us. “I can’t today.”
He watches me evenly. I think I see a flicker of disappointment, but I can’t be sure.
“Tomorrow it is,” he concedes.
“Wonderful.”
Michael tilts his head to the side and his eyes narrow as he watches me pensively.
“You haven’t asked me any questions about the job,” he says. “What it’s like to be my PA. What I expect.”
“I know you’re very busy and just assumed you’ll have someone train me,” I tell him with a shrug. “We both know why you offered me the job.”
“Why did I offer you the job?” he asks in a silky voice.
“Because I’m family,” I answer quickly.
“No.”
“No?” I ask in confusion.
“That would be a reason why I would refrain from hiring you,” he explains.
His response makes me laugh.
“Then why did you hire me?”
“Because I like you.”
God.
The way he says it. The way he looks at me—like he’s the Big Bad Wolf and I’m as tempting as Little Red Riding Hood.
“Oh.” I can barely speak.
His gaze is sizzling.
“And you’re wrong about one more thing,” he goes on.
“About what?” I ask.
“I’ll be training you myself,” he says as he studies me. “That way you’ll know exactly what I want and how I like it.”
I have the distinct feeling we’re not talking about the usual job duties of a PA.
“I want you to know how to please me,” he continues, his voice almost husky.
“Please you?” My mouth has gone completely dry—the lower half of my body, the exact opposite.
“Yes,” he smiles. “You’ll find that by making me happy, I’ll reciprocate. And you’ll be happy.”
My stomach drops through the floor straight to Middle Earth.
“I don’t need you to make me happy,” I all but croak out. “I just need a job.”
He pushes away from the desk and comes to stand right in front of me. His large body towers over mine. I have to tilt my head back to keep his gaze.
“I’m good at it.”
Holy cow.
“I’m sorry?” I practically whisper.
“Pleasure,” he traces the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip.
My body shivers in lust, instinctually reacting to his touch.
“I like to reward good behavior. You’ll find me to be very generous.”
It takes all of my power to step away from him as heat flushes my cheeks and nether regions.
“Your lack of humility is astounding,” I say in a shaky voice.
His grin is wicked.
“You and I are going to have fun together.”
Oh. My. God.
What am I getting myself into?
“Lots of it,” he continues on.
Before I can even think of how to respond, there’s a knock on the door. Michael keeps my gaze when he calls out.
“Come in.”
It’s Jessica again.
“The car is here,” she says coldly. I can feel her gaze move over the two of us and I know I must be the color of a tomato.
“I’ll be right down.” Michael says, dismissively.
Jessica lingers for a moment before she leaves us alone again.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Michael tells me in a no-nonsense voice as if nothing had just transpired between us. “Nine o’clock. Human Resources will go over pay and benefits with you. I’ll also need you to sign an NDA.”
“Of course,” I say hoping my face doesn’t betray my desire for him.
If there’s one thing I can be sure of it’s that I’m completely turned on. Like need-to-pleasure-myself-when-I-get-home turned on.
Use your feet, Abby. And walk the hell out before you throw yourself at him!
“Thank you,” I say, backing away and heading for the door.
“I’ll walk you down,” he stops me from fleeing the scene. “I’m leaving for an appointment.”
I remain silent and wait for him to grab his coat from the back of his chair. He walks me to the door and opens it. His physique, his height, his smell even—everything about him makes me feel so incredibly female.
We walk in silence through the office and I can feel a dozen curious eyes flicker over us. The elevator doors slide open as soon as Michael hits the button and we step inside. I move to the farthest corner, trying to put as much space between the two of us as I can.
Michael watches me with an amused look on his face. Like he knows he has me on edge. I watch his muscles bunch together as he slips on his coat.
“Where are you headed?” he asks.
Going home to masturbate, I think to myself.
“I have plans to see Georgie,” I lie to him instead. “We were going to grab something to eat.”
“How is Georgie?” Michael asks.
“Perfect as always.”
“I’ll drop you off.”
“No!” I blurt out fast. “There’s really no need. I’ll just grab a cab.”
The last thing I want is to sit next to him in an enclosed space. My hormones are raging and I might not be responsible for what I’ll do.
The elevator door swishes open as Michael chuckles.
“I’m driving you. There’s no need for you to grab a cab.” His voice is firm. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Since I know there really is no other choice for me, I nod in agreement and mumble a thank you. We head outside where a driver waits by a black Range Rover. He holds the door open for us.
“Thank you, Simon,” Michael says to the older gentleman, who is dressed in casual gray pants and a top.
I step into the car and glue my body to the opposite door. Michael gets in behind me and swallows up all the space in the car. He stretches his legs out and his knee actually rubs up against mine. I keep my face pressed against the window as I fight for control.
“What’s Georgie’s address?”
“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to stop off at home first to freshen up,” I say as I give him my home address. Simon takes off and Michael fiddles with the music and turns on Peter Gabriel.
Wonderful. As if it can get any worse.
Love ballads play the whole way to my house. I do my best and try to ignore Michael by keeping my gaze glued out the window.
“Who knew the view of the city streets could be so fascinating after so many years?” Michael’s mocking voice finally breaks the silence.
I give him an embarrassed smile.
“Just lost in thought,” I try to cover.
He raises a brow and smirks. Like he can see right through the lie.
“Would you like to be found?” he asks softly.
I laugh nervously and shrug. Luckily the traffic isn’t bad and we get to my home in record time. The car pulls up in front of my flat, and I can’t get out fast enough. Simon jumps out and opens the door before I can and to my surprise Michael gets out, turning to his driver and asking him to wait.
“You don’t have to see me up,” I argue.
“I insist.” He gives me that irresistible smile of his. “And to be honest, I’m curious to see your place.”
“It’s just a regular home,” I say.
Michael shrugs. “I’d still like to see it,” he tells me, then gives me a teasing smile. “Shouldn’t you be inviting me up for tea? After all, I am family and now happen to be your boss.”
“I thought you had an appointment,” I defend myself.
“It can wait.”
“Then by all means, please come in and have some tea,” I offer politely.
And just like that, my dream lover comes up to my home for the first time.
I think I might have heart failure.