“You should go with him,” Justine says slowly. “Your next client isn’t coming in for another twenty minutes.”
I turn my gaze on her, scowling. She rolls her lips between her teeth to stop from smiling. I see what she’s doing. A handsome man walks in, and she thinks I should spend time with him to get over my ex? Well, she wouldn’t feel the same way if she knew who he was. Who, as in Harrison’s father and a client I gave a hand job to. If she knew who he was, as in the CEO of Caldwell Enterprises, she’d no doubt push even harder.
“I don’t know…”
“I assure you, it’ll only be a moment,” Mr. Caldwell says.
“Fine,” I relent, having a feeling he won’t give up until I give in. “We can talk in the break room.”
“Sure.”
He follows me into the small room, and I shut the door before moving to the table but not sitting.
“Are you going to take a seat?” he asks.
“No, thank you.” I put my hands on the back of the chair to hold myself up. I should sit, but I feel more vulnerable that way. With the way he’s dressed in a thousand-dollar suit and looking all handsome and rich and powerful, and here I am in leggings and a t-shirt with messy hair and oily fingers, I can’t help but feel less-than.
“I’ll cut to the chase, Miss Sinclair. I’d like you to come work for me.”
I choke on my own saliva at those words, and it takes a moment for me to gain some composure.
“I’m sorry. Work for you?”
“That’s right.”
“Why? Doing what?”
“I’m in need of a personal assistant.”
“Personal assistant? I’m a massage therapist.” I gesture toward the reception area.
“And as my personal assistant, you would use those skills. Preferably weekly. Twice a week perhaps. Maybe more.”
There goes my stomach, getting all warm and gooey again. Just the thought of having my hands on him gets me all crazy. It doesn’t matter that I went home that night and took care of myself. I woke up the next day, needing more. I’ve never touched myself so much in my life. That whole situation, as horrible as it was, was the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to me. And I can’t stop thinking about it.
But Ineedto because it’s wrong. Working for this man can’t happen. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. I still don’t know why that happened at all. Blackmail is still at the top of the list.
I shake my head. “I can’t work for you.”
No matter how badly I want to.
“You can, and you will.”
My jaw drops as I stare at him. He’s so nonchalant about this as if it’s already set in stone.
“Why are you doing this?” I finally ask. “Why do you want me to work for you?”
“A father should mend the wrongdoings of their sons, don’t you think?”
My brows shoot to my hairline, and a strange sound leaves my throat.
Awhatshould dowhat? Is he insane?
“I’m sorry?”
He takes a step toward me, running a hand through his hair before saying, “My son told me what happened—”
So, I was right then. This is blackmail…
