Weak for Him (3 page)

"But it's 2:00 right now. Please.
I had a flat and–"

"Let me phone the interview
panel."

My phone clicked to 2:01 p.m. Rude
Secretary waited on the phone, and I heard the mumbling of a husky
voice on the other line as she asked if I would be seen for the
interview.

"I am sorry Ms. Downs. Our
committee thanks you for your time and wishes you luck in all your
future endeavors."

My world crashed down. Every plan
I had crumbled.

How could a person's dreams be
flattened so quickly?

Tears welled in my eyes, and I
wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry on the floor.
Everything rested inside of the Simon & Fitch corporate office:
a career, and ultimate happiness. The most elite accounting firm in
the country denied me because I failed the simplest test: being on
time for an interview, one that was practically impossible to
get.

"Thank you. Good luck," the woman
muttered again, shooing me away. I took my cue to leave.

I found my way to the front of the
building and stared up at the whitewashed sky. Everything seemed to
blur. Always prepare for the worst was my motto and for the first
time, I hadn't.

Rejection.
I hated the way
it burned going down.

No taxi waited for me, and I had
no transportation to get back to the Bellagio. Instead of calling a
cab or Googling a service, I walked.

Maybe fifteen blocks in high heels
would make me feel better? Make me feel pain, make me feel alive,
and give me time to learn from the situation. Replay all the steps
I should have taken beforehand to ensure that it never happened
again. I would drive myself mad with the should-have
could-haves.

Maybe coming to Vegas was a
mistake?

No. I wouldn't give up
yet.

My feet ached. Fifteen blocks
turned into thirty.

And I cried until my face turned
red. I knew when I walked into the Bellagio, I looked like hell,
and the reflection in the elevator proved it.

My Vegas dreams came to an abrupt
halt, and I didn't want them to. I had enough cash to survive for a
while, but I needed something that would provide sustenance. No
dead-end jobs. I wanted a career, something that I could hold on to
that was consistent in a world that had no consistency.

Once inside the room, I took off
the stupid, sexy shoes that hurt my feet, and lay on the
bed.

My new life seemed exciting
yesterday.

Today it all went to
shit.

I couldn't handle another month on
the emotional roller coaster.

As I sat on the end of the bed, I
caught sight of the black envelope on the dresser.

I stared at it for a few minutes
then picked up the phone.

It was Vegas or Texas.

I chose Vegas.

Four

W
ithin minutes, Mr. Felton
returned my phone call and asked if I could meet him at his office
in the next thirty minutes.

Only one problem, I had no way to
get there.

"Sure. I'll be there as soon as I
can, but I have to call a cab becau–"

"No. I'll send Charlie, my driver,
to meet you."

Driver?

No use arguing. He wasn't the type
of man to lose an argument. I knew that, and didn't even know
him.

Instead of insisting, I thanked
him and fell back on the bed.

The soft blanket snuggled around
my body, and all I wanted to do was relax after my stressful day,
but instead, I stood, fixed my hair, and reapplied makeup to cover
up the puffiness in my eyes.

My hotel phone rang. The front
desk let me know
my
driver had arrived to escort me. I took
one deep breath, and grabbed my resume before leaving.

"Hello, Ms. Downs. My name is
Charles Harbrow, but you can call me Charlie." His grayish white
hair reflected in the sun, and he had a sincere voice.

"Hi. I'm Jennifer. It's a
pleasure."

After a firm handshake, he
escorted me outside. A black, glossy limo stretched across the
covered driveway. Charlie opened the door, and I smiled at him
before sliding across the slick comfortable leather. I could get
used to this kind of treatment.

Within minutes, it seemed, I made
my way up the sidewalk to a huge building, one larger than Simon
& Fitch.

Is it possible that I landed an
interview at another successful corporation?

"Ms. Downs, I'll escort you
inside."

I allowed him to walk with me to
the clear elevator. I had never ridden in one that was totally
glass.

"Once on the fifteenth floor, ask
for Mr. Felton. Good luck." And the glass doors closed.

I could see everything: the atrium
below, the small waterfall in the center, and windows to the
offices that lined the walls. I didn't know what kind of business
Mr. Felton ran, but it seemed legit, and corporate, and stable.
Everything I wanted.

When I arrived at the top floor, a
secretary, petite and pretty, escorted me to Mr. Felton's office.
In the center of the door hung an engraved golden plaque with
Finnley Felton in an elegant cursive script. Big curly Fs…
Fancy.

Mr. Felton stood facing the
windows in a neatly pressed suit. The black tie complemented the
black suit, designer from head to toe. His green eyes met my brown
gaze, and I smiled, but only received the ghost of one in
return.

Once the secretary left us, I
searched the room, trying to take in every little detail: abstract
art on the wall, a conference table in the back, and a lounge area
in the middle. The afternoon light cast a yellow glow in the room.
A large oak desk, which screamed business executive, had two chairs
tucked in front. The room looked comfortable, welcoming, but also
professional.

The red velvet curtains that
overlooked the atrium were jerked closed.

"Hi, Finnley. Thank y—"

"It's Mr. Felton."

My face flushed. How could I be so
inconsiderate and unprofessional?

I immediately felt
stupid.

"
Mr. Felton.
Thank you for
allowing me to interview. I've brought my resume and a list of
recommendations. I'd love to join your accounting team if you'd
allow me."

I outstretched my hand and he left
me standing there, awkwardly. The smile faded from my face as he
leaned against the wooden desk with his arms crossed.

"Take off your clothes." His voice
was low and silky.

"Excuse me?" The words hit me like
cool water.

I don't think so,
asshole.

"The interview has begun, Ms.
Downs. If you'd like to join my team, you will do what I say and if
you'd prefer not, you are more than welcome to turn around and walk
that tight ass through the door, and we can pretend as if this
never happened."

The fierce tone behind his English
accent made me cower. I froze as I calculated my next
move.

What the fuck?

The way he looked at me, exploring
my body as if he were undressing me, made my stomach flip. No one
had ever observed me that way. With a sprinkle of courage, I
searched the blank matter-of-fact expression that covered his face.
This man was all business.

As his long eyelashes hit the tops
of his slightly sun-kissed cheeks, I closed my eyes to regroup my
thoughts, then opened them quickly. I couldn't let my nerves get
the best of me. He moved his messy hair behind his ears, and then
sat on the desk, waiting, wanting, daring me to make my
move.

"Have you decided? Or are we going
to waste the good portion of my time daydreaming?"

I swallowed.

All I ever wanted to do was live
in Vegas among the lights and fast-paced city. How did I get myself
into this? Take off my clothes? I wasn't some cheap whore to be
bossed around. The thought of undressing in front of him disgusted
me… or did it?

My heart sped as he watched with a
lust and want so fierce I shivered. It was now or never, you only
live once, right?

I peered behind him and stared at
the Vegas strip in the distance. With perfect plump lips, and
straight white teeth, Mr. Felton smiled at me. In that very moment,
I decided to gamble. I didn't know why because I wasn't much for
risks. If anyone was a play-it-safe type of girl, it was me. But in
that moment, I wanted to be someone different. I wanted to know the
outcome of what waited on the other side. I played with lady luck
to see what hand she dealt. Maybe I would get lucky.

He saw me naked already, right?
Right?

I slowly unbuttoned the white silk
shirt from top to bottom. My breathing increased with each button.
The shirt slid from my shoulders and dropped to the floor in a
little, crumpled pile. Self-consciousness danced with crazy as my
breasts bulged from the top of my black lacy bra.

With steady hands, I unclasped and
unzipped the gray skirt from my waist. It fell to the ground and I
stepped from it, keeping my gaze to the floor. I paused and raised
my eyes to meet his. They gleamed with delight and lust as he
searched my body.

"Continue," he said in a gravelly
whisper.

I had never taken my clothes off
for anyone before. The being-sheltered-thing really made me feel
more aware of my naked body. More than anything, I felt
embarrassed.

I slowly released a breath with
hopes to calm my nerves as I unclasped the bra. On the count of
three, I told myself.

One.

I reached behind my back and
fidgeted with the clasp.

Two.

Only one more to go.

Three.

I slowly removed the straps. That
was it; the girls were free.

Completely exposed, I stood with
my head held high and tried to tell myself I didn't strip down to
bare nothingness in front of a stranger. But that's just what I
did.

I inched the thigh-highs from the
top of my legs.

"No. Leave those. But remove the
rest."

"The rest?" But that left only my
panties.

The black lace felt cold in my
fingers. I took my time inching them down my legs and dropped them
on my clothes.

"Shaven, completely. Not what I
expected from you. Not. At. All."

"Why? Do I not look like I take
care of myself or something?"

I stood, vulnerable in thigh-highs
and red heels, in front of a beautiful monster. But in reality, I
chose it, so monster was a bit harsh.

My breasts and sex were exposed to
all of Vegas, or at least that's what it felt like.

Have I lost my fucking mind? Am I
this desperate for a job?

A nagging voice inside answered
back...
Apparently, and yes.

Mr. Felton stalked toward me like
a tiger with smooth and fluid movements.

Behind me, he slowly pulled my
hair from its business professional bun until dark locks fell
around my shoulders and above my breasts. Inspecting every part of
me, he slowly circled around my body and let out a moan to let me
know that he approved of what he saw. All I could do was peer out
the window at the Vegas strip. What the fuck was I doing? I needed
to know.

I no longer wanted to look at him.
Instead, I focused on the little rays of sun that sprouted through
the cotton-clouded sky, so blue that I practically got lost in
it.

"Did you hear me?" He was speaking
to me, but I had traveled a million miles away.

"Sorry, Mr. Felton, what did you
say?"

"It's amazing.  Do you know
how many women try to accomplish what you pull off so naturally?"
The word
naturally
left his plump lips. Silence
lingered.

The blood rushed to my face, and I
could feel my cheeks turn pink.

"You're joking, right?" I tried to
pull the edge from my voice, act like I didn't care, but I
couldn't. I expected him to say something else. Something different
like, "fuck me now or get on your knees" by the way he looked at
me.

"You don't even know what you've
got, do you? You're fucking amazing, Ms. Downs. You don't try to be
beautiful... You just are. I have a handful of ladies that would
die for these legs, waist, and for"—he cupped my breasts in his
hands—"these."

I tensed, and he squeezed, but
immediately let go. He continued to stand inches from my body, and
I could smell him. Clean like soap and summer rain, and I almost
soaked up his scent. The edge of his suit brushed across my
nipples, and they were rock hard. My hormones, not whore moans,
went haywire.

"My business is built upon
confidence, Ms. Downs, confidence in whom you are, and with what
you have. You've got the body, the perfect ass and tits, pretty
face, the fierce attitude, but you seem embarrassed about your
body, and I can't understand why."