Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Opal
The hottest guy I’ve ever seen wants to speak with me.
Alone.
He perches on the edge of the desk. He's freaking huge.
Knee bent, he gently kicks out the chair facing him, the legs going bump-bump-bump across the threadbare carpet.
I go over and sit. I'm right in front of him, his huge hands knotted together between his knees, inches from my eyes.
I look up at him, inch by glorious inch, my lips slightly open as I take him in.
“Can you please explain what’s going on here?” I squeak.
He lets out a long breath and adjusts the cuffs of his shirt.
“Tell me,” he says with a measured voice, "do you like working here, Ms. Harper?”
“Answer my question first,” I reply.
“I can’t do that.”
I shift in my seat.
“Why?”
“Because my answer depends on your answer,” he says.
Oh. Okay.
He looks at me, sizing me up, his deep, enchanting green eyes connecting with my very soul .
He’s not going to speak first. He has the luxury of simply leaving if this conversation doesn’t go his way. I don’t. I’m a captive audience. He has all the power.
“No,” I finally say, hanging my head in shame. "I don’t like working here. It sucks.”
“I have an alternative,” he says, “one that will involve you never coming back here ever again.”
I swallow thickly and raise my head.
Is this the part where he says he wants to buy my virginity? Was Marilyn right? And is it wrong that I want to stick around and find out?
"Ten thousand dollars a week," he says.
The world seems to tip on its edge. I swallow around the lump in my throat, my mouth going dry. My brain feels like it’s floated to another plane of existence.
“I’m sorry?”
"Ten thousand dollars a week," he says, his voice a low, powerful rasp. "For exclusive access to you. No other callers."
I swallow hard, trying to maintain my composure even as my pulse hammers in my throat.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“I want you to work for me from now on,” he says, his voice dropping to a sexy rasp. “That means no other men. You answer the phone for no one but me. I am the only man you speak to. And you are never, ever going to come back to this place again.”
Surely, this man must have me mixed up with someone else. He isn’t looking for me. He must be looking for someone named Diamond or Ruby.
I huff out a nervous little laugh.
“That’s not really how this works,” I say. With shaky fingers, I grab a business card from the boss’s desk. “Call this number. You can talk to anyone you wish."
“No,” he rasps. “I only want you.”
Whoa. This guy is either totally insane, or I’ve just stumbled into a fantasy I didn't know I had.
I shift in my seat. His eyes travel over every inch of my flushed skin, making me imagine all sorts of things I might say to him.
Imagining all of the things he might say to me.
But there must be a catch. Something to induce this man into plucking me from this place and making me his own personal chat partner.
There’s something I’m not seeing.
Maybe he’s looking for something… more .
Men like him — powerful, wealthy, devastatingly hot — they always want something more.
"What exactly would I have to do?" I ask, hating how shaky my voice sounds.
His gaze drops to my lips for a fraction of a second before returning to my eyes.
"Talk to me. That's all. When I call, you answer."
"That's all? Just... talk?"
“Yes."
The word hangs in the air between us.
“No more of this call center bullshit. I’m serious about this.”
It’s like he’s seen inside my soul and knows what I want. Exactly what I want.
My heart twists behind my ribs and my mouth goes dry.
“But…”
“Please don’t try to argue with me on this.
There is absolutely no fucking way I am letting you come back here.
” He looks at the floor, and then his gaze flicks back up to meet mine, setting my heart ablaze.
“While under my employment, you will work from my offices. In addition, as long as you work for me, you will be provided your own private residence. It will be stocked with everything you’ll need. ”
My eyes flash to a stack of files on the desk. Mine is open at the top of the pile. Embarrassment heats the tips of my ears. He’s seen my address. He knows where I live and knows it’s in a bad area, hence the apartment. I’m not quite sure what to make of that.
“And for how long?” I say.
“For as long as I say,” he says, his temples pulsing as he clenches his jaw.
“So I can’t quit?”
“I am going to make it so you won’t want to.”
He pulls a small slip of paper from his pocket and hands it to me.
My eyes nearly bug out of my head. I have in my hand a check for ten thousand dollars.
“Do you think this is enough to pique your interest?”
I turn it over and hold it up to the light. This amount of money is ludicrous. Unthinkable. I shake my head and roll my eyes. Ten grand a week? I huff out a laugh. I think I know what this is. I’m being punked. Ashton Kutcher, get in here!
“No way,” I say, turning it over and holding it up to the light. “This is some kind of scam, right? There is no way that check is real.”
I'm not worth this much.
Maybe he’s expecting me to be some big-talking sex expert who’s going to blow his mind, but I’m not.
“I can assure you that this is the absolute farthest thing from…” he shakes his head and his brows contort, as though the words he’s speaking taste bitter, “a scam. This is real. Very, very real.
I’ve insulted him. Of course this isn’t a scam. He isn’t the kind of man who needs to plan and scheme and scam his way into getting people to
follow his orders.
And right now, I think I might be willing to do exactly that.
I look down at the check again to make sure I haven’t misread the amount, and my eyes go to the name at the top.
Julian Lennox
Holy shit. This guy is a big deal. His name is plastered on half of the buildings in this city.
Tycoon. CEO. Titan of industry.
Julian Lennox could bring the city to its knees with just a stroke of his pen.
He could send wrecking balls sweeping through the streets, send bulldozers through neighborhoods, knock everything down, and build it all back up from scratch.
I shake my head. This makes no sense. I hand the check back to him. I really don’t know what else to do with it.
“If this amount of money is not satisfactory, I will pay you ten times what you’re being paid here.”
"Technically, I haven't gotten paid yet. Ten times zero is zero. I guess this isn't the job for me. Bye!”
I push myself up and I’m about to run right the hell out of here, but Julian Lennox reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder.
His touch isn't forceful, but it is persuasive. He's touching me like I already belong to him.
Oh my goodness.
Maybe I want to belong to him.
His nostrils flare and his teeth clench as he rips up the check and lets the fragments flutter onto the desk. He takes his phone from his pocket and punches something in. He tosses it onto the desk and my own phone beeps from inside my pocket.
"Don't you think you should get that?” Mr. Lennox says.
"If this is a job interview, then no," I say, lifting my chin. "That would be incredibly rude and unprofessional."
"Then you shouldn't have had it on in the first place," he says.
"I didn't know I was walking into an interview."
"This is no longer an interview," he says. "You work for me now. And you answer your phone when I say you do.”
Holy hell. Why is this man having this effect on me? I've always hated bossy guys, because they always seem to be insecure and toxic. He's just different.
I take my phone out and try to not let him see how cracked it is.
On the lock screen is a notification from my banking app. The banking app I have been trying to avoid. The banking app that is a concrete display of how close I am to total ruin.
I eye Mr. Lennox skeptically.
"Go ahead and take a look," he says.
I slide my finger across the glass and open the app, hoping yet again that this isn’t actually some kind of sick prank.
But as I look at it, there's way more money in here than there was before. Like. Way more. And it's way more than the amount on that check.
I look up at the man who’s just swooped in to totally up-end my life, the answer before me becoming crystal clear.
The money is crazy. And for a man like this…I think I might actually want to do this. If I'm doing it for him, everything might come naturally.
This guy doesn't need me. He's a catch. He could get any woman he wants. He must be really lonely and really focused on something other than finding a girlfriend or wife. I think I might feel a little bad for him. He's clearly successful. Why is he so alone?
This is beyond anything I've ever done. The anonymity of this call center feels like a shield against intimacy, but with this guy, there's no shield.
There might not be any real feelings involved with Mr. Lennox, but this will be a very, very intimate relationship.
I'll know the person on the other side of the phone.
I'll be able to picture him when we talk.
I'll be able to imagine the sound of him snapping off his belt, pulling his zipper down, and taking out what I am quite sure is a huge dick.
And I'll be able to imagine what he'd do to me.
“Who would you want me to be?” I say, trying to sound confident. “A princess? Cocktail waitress? Anime character?”
He reaches out and puts his fingers under my chin, stroking my jawline softly.
“You,” he says. “I just want you to be you.”
When was the last time a man touched me like this? With so much tenderness and care? Never. I’ve never had a man touch me like this before. I’ve never wanted a man to get this close to me.
“Why me?”
His eyes harden into something more vivid. More intense.
“I heard your voice,” he says. “I liked it. And when I find something I like, I refuse to share.”
I clench my thighs together. His words aren’t even dirty, but they’re making me want to get dirty with him.
He exudes sex. His hair is scruffy and he has the vague appearance of someone who’s been out all night, not someone who stayed at home talking to some random girl.
No way. He looks more like a baller who stayed at work late negotiating billion-dollar deals and has a slinky little sex kitten of a girl waiting for him downstairs in a limousine.
For the life of me, I don’t remember his voice. Maybe I passed him off to another girl right away.
Why don’t I remember him?
“Can you remind me of what we talked about?” I say.
He exhales sharply.
“It doesn’t really matter,” he says. “What matters to me is how beautiful your voice is.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, pulling his hand back and clearing his throat.
“I don’t have time for games and I don’t have time for bullshit. Can you please just skip to the part where you say yes so I can get you as far the fuck away from this place as possible?"
He stands, the movement fluid and graceful. He towers over me, blocking out the harsh fluorescent lighting overhead.
My heart is glowing. My stomach is rolling over and over, making delicious heat swirl through me.
This is my lifeline. This is the solution. And if this sexy billionaire sees something in me, then who am I to tell him he’s wrong?
I can do this.
I have to.
I need to.
And for this guy?
It might not even be that hard.
I stand up and nod my head decisively.
“Is this a yes?” he rasps.
“Yes.”
He grins and grabs my hand.
“Then let’s get the fuck out of here.”