Anything He Wants (3 page)

She
bypassed her office door and strode out the door of our office section to the
hall outside. I followed after her silently, afraid to ask what this was about
for fear of learning the whole building knew about my sexcapades the day
before. There was no other reason I'd be called out, and I doubt they'd take me
out of my section simply to fire me.

We
rode the elevator silently up a other four stories. My manager never once spoke
to me and was impossible to read - not that I tried too hard, afraid of what
I’d find. The moment the elevator doors opened however I knew I was in an
entirely different world. Gone were the lifeless narrow corridors: the elevator
opened into a wide passage lined with dark wood paneling that had the company
name "Hamilton" in bold letters across the wall. The wide entryway
led toward a reception desk in the opening of a large open room. Office doors
lined the walls and two large glass-encased conference rooms on either corner
of the large area. There was a rich old world sense about everything, dark
woods and gold accents mixing with modern lighting and artwork.

“Mr.
Hamilton is expecting us,” my boss said to the lady at the desk, who nodded and
picked up a phone as we passed.

I
stumbled at her words, my legs suddenly refusing to work.
Why are we in the
Corporate section of the building?
I'd never read up on the company; it was
a temp job, meant to be only a short-term employment gig, but I knew this
wasn’t any kind of business floor. It has a Donald Trump feel, more a reception
area than an office. There was no way however that they'd send me here if they
knew what I'd done.

Confusion
and trepidation continued to climb as I followed behind my supervisor at a
cautious distance. She headed toward one of the offices and knocked before
poking her head inside. “Mr. Hamilton will see you now,” she said, motioning for
me to go enter.

I
stood there, staring mutely at my manager for a moment, then slowly moved
toward the door. I gave her one last confused glance as I walked through, then
came to a halt inside as renewed horror washed over me.
Oh no, no no no...

“Thank
you Agatha, that will be all for now.”

Nodding
once, my supervisor pulled the door beside me closed as I stood, aghast, inside
the large office. My mouth worked soundlessly as I stared at the familiar
figure sitting behind the desk. My eyes fell to the name plate on the desk.
“Jeremiah Hamilton,” I said, body numb with shock.

The
dark haired man behind the desk raised cool eyes to appraise me. “Ms. Delacourt,”
he said in reply, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. “Please take a
seat.”

My
heartbeat sped up as I heard his voice, confirming my worst fears. Unable to
speak, I moved to the chair he’d motioned me toward, movements jerky and
hesitant, and sat down. He ignored me, running through something on his tablet
in his hand. As we sat in strained silence I glanced around the large office.
Windows covered the back wall behind the desk and CEO from ceiling to floor,
giving a panoramic view of the streets below. The desk was a dark wood and
sturdy, covered sparsely with a laptop computer, the name plate, and a Newton’s
Cradle, the steel balls unmoving. The chair I sat in was plush and thick with
rolling castors at the bottom making it easy to move around.

“Ms.
Lucille Delacourt,” the stranger said, startling me.
Jeremiah Hamilton
,
I reminded myself, still unable to get my brain around my current situation. “Currently
a temp data clerk out of the Executive Management Solutions employment agency,
hired one month ago by Agatha Crabtree. Correct so far?” At my jerky nod he
continued. “I see you used your passport as identification.” He glanced up at
me. “Passport?”

 Talking
was difficult with a suddenly dry mouth but I still tried. “I always carry them
with me.” A raised eyebrow and expectant expression probed for more information
but I only shrugged.

There
was a moment of silence before he resumed speaking. “Grew up in upstate New
York, went three years to Cornell University before dropping out. Menial jobs
since then and you moved to the City only three months ago. Why did you drop
out?”

His
words washed right over me; it was the pause that had me looking up into his
expectant face. “What?” I asked, completely missing the question.

“Why,”
he repeated, “did you drop out of college, Ms. Delacourt?”

His
tone demanded an answer but it was complicated and personal, bringing up
memories I still dealt with nearly three years later. The question was an
invasion of my privacy and I knew I didn’t legally have to answer, but I found my
lips moving anyway. “My parents died.”

There
was a long pause this time as I stared at my hands, trying not to cry – a
difficult task, given the nerve-wracking situation I’d gotten myself into.
Would
they be ashamed of where I am now?
I wondered, swallowing back tears. They
had sacrificed so much to let me get ahead, most of which I hadn’t discovered
until after their death and I was forced to live with their choices.

“I’m
sorry for your loss,” Jeremiah said after a long moment of silence while I
struggled to regain my composure. He cleared his throat, and I glanced up to
see him sit back in his chair. “What brought you down to Jersey City?”

I
thought I detected a note of concern in his voice but still couldn’t bring
myself to look at him. Even though the question was personal and none of his
business, I still answered. “I lost my family’s house and had to move, an old
college friend said I could live with her.”

“I
see.” Jeremiah scratched his chin for a moment, then sat back in his chair. “Do
you know why I’ve asked you to come, Ms. Delacourt?”

It
was the question I dreaded and couldn’t possibly answer. Swallowing, I raised
my head to meet his green eyes but my courage failed me. “No?” I replied, more
a question than an answer.

He
opened his mouth to say something, paused, then tried again. “Let me tell you
how your day would have gone today prior to our meeting.” He folded his arms on
the table before continuing. “You would have worked until half an hour before
closing, when Mrs. Crabtree would have called you into her office. She would
have explained that your temp work contract was terminated and today was your
last day. You would be given your last pay check and escorted out of the
building.”

For
the second time that morning, the bottom dropped out from under my feet.
“You’re firing me?” I asked in a faint voice, unable to believe my own words.
Anger bubbled up at the unfairness of my life. “Is this because we...”

Jeremiah
held up a hand to stop my words and shook his head. “The decision on the layoffs
has been planned for a week now, we no longer need most of the temps in your
department.” His eyes narrowed as he added, more to himself, “I signed the
directive earlier this week before I knew who you were.”

“Nobody’s
hiring,” I whispered, forgetting my looking for another job was supposed to be
secret.
No reason to hide that now.
The anger was difficult to sustain
as I realized I’d have to weather another blow after so many in my life
recently.

“I
looked at your file and you did excellent work,” Jeremiah continued as I
stared, numb, at the top of his desk. “We would give have an excellent
recommendation for any future job inquiries.”

At
a loss for words, unable to think what to say, I looked up and stared at the
CEO. “Why did you tell me this?” I mumbled. “Why bring me up here?”

“Because
I have another offer for you, a job if you’re interested. I’m in need of a
personal assistant.”

I
blinked several times, taken by surprise by the offer. I peered into his face
but it was like granite; I couldn’t tell at all what he was thinking. Suspicion
curled in my belly as I asked, “What kind of personal assistance?”

“Anything
I want.”

I
took a deep breath at the words, my mind taking me to all sorts of places
within that phrase.
He couldn’t mean, surely he’s not implying what I think.
But something in his eyes, despite the relaxed business demeanor, implied
it was exactly what I was imagining. His gaze promised all sorts of wicked
things – or maybe it was my mind trying to make my fantasies a reality. I
needed to be sure. “About yesterday, when we, um...”

Jeremiah
leaned forward and rested a strong chin on his fingers. “Yes,” he said simply,
the one word answering all my questions.

I
tried to get indignant at the proposition, tried to find some way to protest
and maintain some shred of dignity, but I was too practical. Right now I
desperately needed a job and here was an offer, and I couldn’t afford to let it
pass not knowing when I might get another. That didn’t mean, however, that I
was just going to say yes. “What are you offering?” I demanded, raising my chin
and hoping he didn’t see the flush that suffused my body.
I can’t believe
I’m actually considering this!

A
slow smile tipped one corner of his mouth. “Full benefits, a raise in pay, and
all travel expenses paid.” He wrote something on a small post-it note and
passed it over to me. “This should be sufficient for a starting salary.”

The
sum on the note made me faint – I could have my student loans paid off in only
a few months, and have more than enough money to go back to college within a
year. My jaw wouldn’t work as I fumbled for words, unable to think of what to
say.
It’s an opportunity,
part of me insisted while another part, the
one that usually sounded like my parents, screamed at me to
RUN!
I sat
in silence a moment, pondering my options, then drew in a shaky breath. “I want
this in writing.”

Something
told me that hadn’t been the answer he was expecting; he cocked his head
sideways and his eyes crinkled, the only sign I saw of humor. That gorgeous
face remained otherwise stoic as he nodded. “Very well,” he said, “but first I
need to interview you further for this position.” He leaned forward and set his
chin on steepled fingers. “Stand up, bend down and put your elbows on the
desk.”

4

I
froze, the earlier phrase
anything I want
echoing through my head. After
a tense moment where I warred with myself and lost, I rose to my feet and moved
toward the desk, bending down to place my elbows along the edge of the dark
wood. Nervous, I watched Jeremiah as he stood and came around the desk. “Stay
like this until I tell you to move again. How many words can you type a
minute?”

The
question surprised me, but I’d been drilling myself lately on questions for job
hunting and knew the answer. “Eighty.”

“What
are your strengths and weaknesses?”

He
disappeared behind me, breaking my concentration. I could turn my head to see
him but kept my gaze on the desk as I answered the commonplace interview
question. “Attention to detail, and dedication to get a job done no matter
what.”

A
chuckle came from behind me at the obviously rehearsed answer. “Where do you
see yourself in five years?”

I
started to reply but was startled into silence as a hand slid up my thigh, sneaking
beneath my skirt and over my ass before pulling away. I swallowed, my breath ragged,
but still managed to respond. “Finishing law school preferably, or in a job I
love.”

That
got me a “Hm” but silence otherwise. My pulse increased and I closed my eyes,
trying to keep myself under control. It was just like on the elevator – one
touch and I was lost, my body craving his contact.

“What
would you consider your dream job?”

Fingers
slid between my thighs, running along the thin cotton of my panties, and a moan
escaped my mouth. My hips pressed down seeking more contact but again the hand
disappeared and I bit back a groan. The respite allowed me to gather my
thoughts to answer, although it was difficult. “Some place where I mattered and
helped people.”

“Good
answer,” he murmured, then the hand was back pressing at the soft flesh between
my legs, turning me into a writhing mess. My palms pressed down on the desk,
nails digging into the cool wood as I felt a rush of heat in my belly. A hand
smoothed over my back and down one hip as the fingers continued to tease and
torment me. I kept my trembling arms on the desk as something hard pressed
against my backside. The fingers finally moved beneath the panties and pressed
inside me, sliding easily along the wet folds. I choked on another cry, trying
and failing for silence.

“My
office is sound proof and the door is locked,” he murmured, answering a
question I hadn’t thought to ask. Fingers penetrated deep inside me, causing my
body to quake. “Before we go any further however we need to get rid of these.”

The
thin cotton panties I wore were pulled down my legs and without questioning I
stepped out from them as they hit the floor. A shoe pressed against the inside
of foot, widening my stance as his hips pushed against my backside. The fingers
between my legs never let up their exploration; my breathing was rough as
Jeremiah lifted the skirt to bunch at my waist, his bulge thrusting against my backside.