Asher Caine.
My stomach flips. I should throw it away.
But I don't.
3
ASHER
"Wellness is at the core of what we do here at Sanctum."
I barely keep myself from rolling my eyes as my father drones on to the masses during our company-wide meeting. It's an annual tradition for this call to take place on January 2nd. My parents like to kick off the New Year with success affirmations and relaying the company's goals to all the employees. I'm on camera, or else my face would reflect my disgust with him.
But the prodigal son can't show a twitch of emotion.
I smile at the right times and nod when appropriate. When it's my turn to speak, I turn on the Caine charm and inflect on the right words, pretending someone from our PR department isn't sitting across from me.
When the call is finally over, I heave a sigh of relief as my office is cleared.
My brain circles back to the waitress from the other night. Ever since she walked away, all I've been thinking about is caramel-colored hair and plush pink lips.
I was ready to scold her for spilling my drink, a nasty trait inherited from my father, paired with the horrendous day I had. But when I looked up, there were tears brimming in her hazel eyes and her teeth were chewing on her bottom lip. She looked so young, so naive.So submissive.The anger faded away quickly, and in its place was a throbbing need to dominate.
She responded so well to my commands. Calming at them, even. It took everything in me not to offer her a contract right then and there. And then I overheard Candace firing her while she begged to keep her job.
Instantly, my head filled with images of her on her knees, beggingme.
My cock hardens at the thought.
So when I saw her walk out of Candace's office, tail tucked between her legs and eyes red, I couldn't help myself.
She needs a job, and I need a wife.
Not a real wife. A trophy that will appease my family and encourage my father to finally retire and hand over the reins of Sanctum International to me.
It’s a win/win, really.
She won’t be New York City poor, and I can finally claim my birthright.
I spin my chair and face the wall of windows. From my office on the 50th floor, I have a stunning view of the Manhattan skyline. I only admire it for a moment before I glance at my watch. It's 11:29 and Grace still isn’t here.
I wonder if she won’t come. Maybe she has no interest in hearing what I have to offer. Even if she’s only curious, she could still hear me out and say no.
Focusing on work becomes impossible as I wait for her. The minutes tick by until it’s 11:40 and I’ve begun to resign myself to the fact that she’s not coming. I open her file on my computer,sifting through the pictures and information my IT guy gathered one more time.
Grace Morgan, twenty-three, recent graduate from New York University. Moved here at eighteen from Michigan. I chuckle to myself. Midwestern girls love to move to New York with a head full of dreams that this city quickly crushes. I wonder what Grace's are…
The Creative Writing degree from NYC tells me she wants to be a writer, but zero books linked to her tells me she hasn't yet succeeded. And her only place of work since graduating is my brother’s club, Haven. Which she was fired from last night.
This is an expensive city to live in without a steady paycheck, and it seems like that's the thing Grace Morgan is lacking.
It’s 11:44 when Mel, my assistant, rings my phone to let me know Miss Morgan has arrived. I know, because the first thing I do is check the clock. Her lack of promptness grates on my nerves. If I was interviewing her for any other job, I’d tell Mel to send the woman home. Tardiness is a strict no-no in my books. Maybe it’s the image of her filling my memories, or my desire to get between her legs, but I tell Mel to send her in anyway.
Grace walks through my door with hesitant steps, her eyes darting around. She’s wearing a puffy winter jacket with a rainbow beanie that looks hand knitted and has a giant pom-pom on the top. I hate it.
“Didn’t Mel take your coat?”
My assistant stands behind her, holding the door open. She promptly opens her mouth to defend herself. “I did?—”
