ARROGANT MASTER (3 page)

Instead, he huffs like I’m some nobody who’s suddenly
invaded his personal space.

Well, excuse me.

I uncross and re-cross my legs the opposite way, turning back
toward the T.V. Some soccer game is playing, and I pretend it’s the most
engrossing thing I’ve ever seen. Anything is better than having a staring
contest with the world’s most arrogant stranger.

“I wasn’t done speaking to you.” His words slice through the
tight space between us. His need to control and dominate this conversation is
insulting.

“Pardon me?”

“I introduced myself, and then you said nothing and turned
away.” He lifts his drink to his full mouth, his eyes burning into mine as he
pulls in a sip. “It’s rude.”

My jaw falls, and I jerk my attention away. Any quick
fantasies I may have had about this man a few minutes ago have dissipated.

I stare at my drink, squinting one eye and estimating that
there might be a couple more ounces left to finish. A sigh escapes my lips when
I promptly remember I bought the whole bottle. I’m certainly no champagne
connoisseur, but this stuff doesn’t taste cheap.

I’m going to be here a while.

I can’t just skit out the door dragging my dignity behind me
like I did at RJM Corporation.

“My apologies.” I don’t mean it. I demolish the rest of my
drink like I’m an old pro and nod at Matt before turning to Dane again. I know
how to play this game. I know how to tell people what they want to hear to
bandage an awkward situation. It’s practically my way of life at home, and it
works like a charm with my father. “My mind must be elsewhere today. I didn’t
intend to offend you.”

“You didn’t offend me.”

He’s slipping under my skin with skilled finesse, arrogance
and all.

“Good to hear.” I slide my empty glass toward Matt. I want
another even though this one’s already snaking through me faster than I
could’ve anticipated. I’m two seconds away from telling him to bother someone
else if only there were someone else around for him to bother. “If you don’t
mind.”

I force a tight-lipped smile and nod toward the T.V., trying
desperately to ignore the obnoxious amount of power this stranger wields in his
unrelenting stare.

Matt refills my drink, pouring clear to the top.

Numb warmth invades my cheeks at the same time.

This must be what a buzz feels like.

“So what exactly are you celebrating today?” Dane asks. “Don’t
think I’ve ever seen a young woman drinking champagne at eleven o’clock on a
Tuesday.”

“New job.” I refuse to make eye contact. I’m disengaging and
hoping it’s only a matter of time before he takes the hint.

“Where?”

I swallow hard and clear my throat lightly.

Of course he would ask that.

“Mutchler Corporation.”

His head tilts and his lips jut for a second. “Ah. Working
for Randy?”

My heart sputters to a stop.

“Right.” I force
a coolness
in my
tone that implies I wholeheartedly believe my own lies.

“What will you be doing at RJM?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” My brows lift as my eyes dart
to him, desperate to gauge whether or not he’s buying this. “It’s not exactly
official yet. Nothing’s been signed. The terms and titles are private. You know
how that goes.”

He can’t argue the details if I give him none.

His palm rakes across the underside of his smooth, cleft
chin as the corners of his mouth lift enough to show a hint of dimples. “I know
exactly
how that goes. I know Randy
quite well. We run in the same…
circles
.”

My cheeks flood with red, and I tilt my head down just
enough that my hair covers them. Funny how lying could make me feel so powerful
and invincible a second ago, and then this man so easily flips it all on its
side.

“Randy mentioned he was going to be hiring a…
concierge
.” Dane holds a wicked flash in
his steely gaze. “What’s a girl like you doing taking a job like
that
?”

“It sounded like an interesting job.” I sweep my hair from
my shoulder and take another slow sip. “I guess I was the most qualified
applicant.”

Vagueness and ambiguity fuels this conversation though I’m
not sure how much longer I can keep this running.

“You don’t want to work for Randy,” he says, leaning into
me. He flashes a white smile, the first one I’ve seen on him since he walked in
here. My attraction to him, as much as I try to fight it, soars off the charts
for a moment. “Trust me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you should be working for me.”

I lean away, a laugh bubbling in my balled stomach. “You
don’t mince words, do you?”

“I’m a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to go
after it.”

“Are you proposing that I work for you instead?”

“I’m demanding that you not work for Randy.” His gaze floods
my veins with warmth and overruns my thought process for a moment. “You’re all
wrong for him. Believe me when I tell you that.”

“Are you offering me a job?”

I came to the city for a job. I’m determined to leave with
one.

At any
cost.

“It depends,” he says. “Can you offer me the same services,
terms, and agreements you were going to offer Randy as his concierge?”

“Of course.” I fight the rush of crimson that tries to consume
my entire
body,
never knowing it was possible to blush
from head to toe. My gut tells me I’ve no idea what I’m agreeing to, but I have
no other choice. Flipping burgers back home and babysitting for local
neighborhood families isn’t going to fill my bank account with the kind of
money I need to secure my future and ensure I don’t end up married off to Cortland
or any other polygamous asshole.

I need a
real
job,
and this man is offering me one.

“When can you start?”

“Just like that, you’re hiring me?” I try to hide the
excitement in my tone, but my words are rushed, and my lips are twisted into a
smile. “You don’t want to interview me first? Check my references?”

“I don’t need to check your references. The fact that Randy
Mutchler wanted you tells me all I need to know.” He leans back, cocking his
elbow against the bar. Our bodies are perfectly aligned though I’m not sure
about our intentions. “He’s a very particular man. I’m sure he’s run you
through a battery of tests.”

Now would be a great time to tell him I’m a dirty, rotten
liar.

“Can I think about it?” If I jump all over this chance, the
way I want to, he’ll call my bluff, and this’ll all be over.

“What’s there to think about?” His dark brow rises while the
other one
slants
.

“Salary. Benefits.”

Dane smirks. “Randy’s a cheap bastard. I can assure you
anything he’s offered you will be paltry compared to my compensation package.”

My heart races and then pounds hard until I hear it
whooshing in my ears.

“How much was he offering you?” His brows meet.

“Fifteen,” I say, meaning fifteen dollars per hour.

“I’ll give you twenty.” He doesn’t hesitate. “Twenty grand
per month to start. It’s not negotiable.”

My entire being tenses as I try to play it cool. I’m
screaming on the inside, jumping, flipping, and cartwheeling from here to the
Catalina Islands.

“Twenty is fine.”

“You’ll start Monday.” There’s finality in his voice as if
he’s signaling that this discussion is over, and it’s over because he says it
is. His grey-blue eyes flicker and settle before he rises from his bar stool.

“And what is it I’ll be doing for you exactly?”

“Everything you were going to be doing for Randy.” He
reaches into his left breast pocket and pulls out his card, our fingers grazing
as we exchange the thick cardstock embossed with his company’s logo. His other
hand works his wallet from his suit jacket. He turns for a moment to pull out a
crisp,
one-hundred
dollar bill and presses it into the
bar top. “Your champagne is on me. I’ll see you next week.”

BELLAMY

“I got the job.” I drop my bag on the kitchen island where
two of my three mothers are chopping fruit for what looks like a bowl of
ambrosia. My current state of excitement completely overrides the fact that I
have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into. “Just like I said I would.”

Summer, my father’s second wife, glances up at me before
shooting a look at my mother, Jane. She says nothing but her look says it all.
They disapprove of me wanting to work outside the house. The only reason my
father agreed was because I suggested I could work for a few months to save up
money for my future wedding, which he believes will be happening soon now that
I’m courting Cortland. Ultimately, my mothers’ ideas of a woman’s role involve
birthing babies and cleaning house while remaining faithful and loyal to their
dominant husbands.

“That’s great, sweetie.” My mom’s voice is as
fake
as the red lipstick she wore at dinner when Cortland
visited last week.

“You’re really happy for me, Mom?”

I know she’s not, but I want to hear her lie one more time
if only to prove that everybody does it.

“Of course.”

She’s definitely a liar. Not unlike myself today. That and
she
doesn’t
want to say something that could warrant a
private talk from my father after dinner about morals and sinning. It turns
into a whole church sermon by the time he’s done.

Those are annoying.

His talks require taking a seat in his den and listening to
him lecture while appearing agreeable and remorseful for having thoughts that
didn’t jive with the way he ran his family.

Kath, his third wife, had it the worst. She wasn’t raised
with the confines of AUB teachings. Polygamy was new to her. This religion was
new to her. She learned after the first year to stop questioning so much and to
just submit.

“Where are you working again?” Summer asks as if I haven’t
already told them a million times.

“Some corporation in Salt Lake City. I’m sure you’ve never
heard of it.” My mind goes to the script on the business card. “Townsend Energy
Holdings. They’re a renewable energy organization.”

Sadly, that’s the only thing I know. I’d Google him if I
could.

But I can’t. My father has a Christian
internet
filter installed on my laptop. I can only access religious and educational
websites.

“Oh, so like solar energy? Wind energy?” Summer dumps a
handful of chopped pineapple into a bowl of marshmallows.

“Exactly.” I nod, wearing the confident expression I
summoned from the depths of my liar-liar-pants-on-fire soul.

“Don’t get too attached to this job,” Mom says through
half-pursed lips. Her nose scrunches as she shoots me a look. “You know it’s
only temporary. Once you marry Cortland, he may not want you working outside
the home.”

These fools really believe I’m going to marry Cortland.

“Yes, I know. I’m just saving money for my future. For
our
future.” I lean my elbows against
the counter. “If it’s God’s will that I marry Cortland, we’ll have a beautiful
wedding and a nice war chest to start our life with. And this gives me
something to channel my energy into for the time being. I hate to be one of
those girls who obsess over their future husband, you know?
Like
Holly
Dwyers
from church.
Remember her? And that
man ended up deciding not to marry her in the end. That girl needed a hobby
outside of courting.”

“Cortland came into your life at just the right time. I’ve
been saying for months now that it’s time for you to meet someone, Bellamy,”
Summer
says. Her eyes light up and mist at the same time.
“No one deserves to be lonely.”

News flash, I’m not lonely. Finding a man is the least of my
concerns.

“I can’t wait for you to have babies.” Summer grins ear to
ear like my future is playing before her eyes on some imaginary movie screen. “You’re
so good with the kids. You’re going to be a great mother. I just know it.”

“I’m just glad she’ll be a first wife,” my mother interjects,
her eyes on me. “Firstborns are stubborn and headstrong. Bellamy would never do
well as number two or three or, God-forbid, four. Can you imagine Bellamy being
that far down the chain of command?”

“Is that how you think of us, Jane?” Summer leans against
the counter, her smile fading. “As numbers? Less superior than yourself?”

They bicker like sisters sometimes, though I suppose that’s
basically what they are: sisters with a spiritual bond who share a husband.

Totally normal.

Everybody does it.

Psh
.

“You know that’s not what I meant. I was simply stating an
observation about my daughter,” my mother fires back.

“
Our
daughter,”
Summer
reminds her.

I slip out unnoticed and trek up to my room to slip out of my
pencil skirt and button down. My hand traces the lines of the calendar hanging
above my desk. I lift a few pages until I get to August.

Four more months.

I did the math in the car on the way home.

All I need is four more months, and then I should be able to
afford a place for my eighteen-year-old sister, Waverly, and myself to stay
while we figure things out, because I’m taking her with me. If my father is
itching to marry me off, she’s going to be next. She’s about to graduate from
high school. I can’t leave her behind. And someday we’ll come back for the
others.

Four more months until my life is my own.

I’ll be able to give my body and soul and heart and mind to
a man of my choosing when I choose to do it.

I’ll belong to no one.

I’ll submit to no one.

Submission has never been in my DNA.