5. Ryker
5
RYKER
“ I am what now?” She looks at me as if she would like to say that she’d rather strangle me to death than spend a single minute as my subordinate. And to be perfectly honest, I would love for her to try just to get a chance to put her in her place.
Adrenaline is racing through my veins as if my body is preparing to fight a tiger. I haven’t felt like this in… ever, really. I mean, how often do you have to fight a tiger?
Getting to torment her as my employee in return for what she did yesterday would not only be what she deserves, but it would also double as a reasonable precaution to keep the board off my back. Hiring a PR consultant (one I can control) would send the right message and allow me to take care of the unavoidable exposing-myself-and-getting-tased-at-the-airport-scandal myself. No need to involve more outside people in my private life. It would seem that there are only advantages to this idea.
I sit up on the bed in an attempt to hide what is happening in my pants. She really doesn’t need to know about that. Though I should probably consider seeing a therapist about why this whole situation is turning me on. Again.
“Well,” I begin, “what would you say is your biggest strength, Miss…”
“Ms. None Of Your Business… and restraint, obviously. Otherwise, you’d have already accidentally tripped and fallen over that balcony railing.”
My cock twitches against the zipper. “For someone as gullible as you, you’re certainly quick on your feet every once in a while,” I respond and earn myself some rolling eyes. “What about your weaknesses?”
“Restraint, obviously,” she answers deadpan and without missing a beat. “Otherwise, you’d already have tripped and fallen over that balcony railing.”
I have to try really hard not to laugh at the insolence of hers. I also have to try really hard not to keep staring. It’s refreshing, to say the least. I mean, I, too, would like to throw her off that balcony, but I am starting to enjoy the struggle that precedes the fall. I’m just not sure yet what to do about all the other things I also want to do to her. “And where do you see yourself in ten years?”
Her murderous stare shifts to a questioning what-the-fuck-are-you-on-about-gaze before she closes her eyes, thinks for a second, and decides to play along. She replies in the most serious, glum tone she can muster, “In ten years? Well, in ten years, good sir, I am probably sitting in a confined cubicle in a cramped office building that vaguely smells of mold, asbestos and resignation.” She appears to imagine the scene before her eyes, her beautiful hair swaying softly through the air. “The clock on the wall is tick… tick… ticking my life away one second at a time. Such a sad little life. On my right is a framed picture of the man I married eight years ago. Only that he doesn’t look like that anymore. He came apart, kind of like the frame that is holding the picture, a crack in the bottom right corner, smudges on the glass, grime on top that no one cares to clean.” Her fingers trace the non-existent frame. “Egbert, my co-worker, winks at me from across the floor and sweeps the Cheeto dust off his too-tight, now off-white shirt. We’ve had sex at the Christmas party and for good measure once or twice after, and although I am disgusted with myself, for some reason, I don’t even regret doing it anymore.
Here I sit, in a worn-out office chair that is exacerbating my already existing back issues, writing video captions for eight-year-old influencers whose parents see them as a second chance at making it after messing up their own lives. I do mental calculations in my head about how much money I will make in the remaining 69 minutes of my shift. After all, I have to justify to myself that staying at a job that hardly covers my running expenses is somehow worth it.
I leave work with the same dull depression that I wake up with in the morning. When I get home, my husband is sitting in front of the TV. He’s not unemployed anymore since the government changed their definition of ‘the unemployed’ to people who are actively searching for a job, something he gave up long ago. The initial shared sense of commiseration has, over time, turned to resentment and bitterness. He angers me. I annoy him.”
I swallow hard as Sienna keeps acting her imagination out for me.
“The door of the fridge is broken. Food doesn’t stay fresh and water is leaking out the bottom. We don’t have money to buy a new one though, so once again it’s questionable leftover lasagna for dinner.
There are two different shades of white on the wall. Back from that one time we tried to fix things by literally slapping on a fresh coat of paint. We made it halfway through the living room and kitchen before other things came up.
A steady drip of water trickles from the bathroom sink. I can hear it in between my husband’s grunts as he is pumping inside me—four—five—six—while the drip of water continues, picking away at the cracked porcelain below.” Sienna looks up at me. “For a quick second, what could have been flashes before my eyes. What could have been if I had only been a bit more prudent, if I had been a bit more sensible, if I had only accepted that job offer and worked for Ryker Might As Well Call Him Saint Grayson.” She takes a deep breath and releases a long sigh.
I can’t help it; I am glued to her lips, enthralled by her story, captivated by whatever this is, whatever she is.
“But then I remember,” Sienna continues in a sudden, upbeat tone, “that I would most likely have ended up on death row if I had accepted to work for you and things seem a little less depressing.”
I swallow again and do my best not to stare at her piercing eyes, her provocative lips, and her puzzling presence. My thoughts are all over the place, making it hard to concentrate. For a moment, I think about what to say. Impromptu interview is what we were up to. I could finish it by finding out which three things she would take on a deserted island, but I already know she’s the type to bring three machetes. Instead, I try to throw her with one of those final questions that people don’t expect, and that Bruce likes to ask people: “One last thing: How do you deal with stupid people?”
“I mean, I’ve been doing a pretty solid job so far, haven’t I?” She sits down on a loveseat across the room and swings one leg over the other.
I don’t laugh. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Instead, I just stare. I know I am staring, and I know I should stop, but it’s like I am hypnotized. As she shifts in the seat, I catch a glimpse of what she’s wearing underneath. Something black, something with lace, something I have the urge to tear apart.
“Interesting.” I rediscover my ability to speak.
This might get a lot more interesting than I initially expected.
“You will start on Monday.”
“Start what on Monday?”
“Working for me. Have you not been paying attention?”
“Ah, so this was your way of conducting a job interview? Funny indeed, because I thought for you, job interviews look a lot more like the stuff we did back at the airport.”
Flashbacks rush through my mind as another surge of adrenalin makes me worry I might develop an unhealthy addiction here. “You shouldn’t talk like that to or about your new boss.”
“New boss…” she huffs and crosses her arms. “I would never come and work for you voluntarily. You’re the kind of person who… probably eats babies for breakfast.”
I huff back in response. “I really don’t see what my dietary choices have to do with this, but correct me if I am wrong: you need a new job. I have a job to fill.”
“I need a new job , not a new reason to off myself, which is definitely what I’d be getting if I were to work as your assistant.”
“I’ll pay you $1000 a week,” I say and make some calculations in my head. Offering her a monthly contract won’t be necessary. She won’t be able to endure working for me for more than a week or two. I’ll consider keeping her around for a little longer, depending on how bad the press is going to be about the inevitable airport scandal.
Now she’s the one huffing, not deeming my proposal worthy of an actual answer.
“$2000.”
“No.”
“Name your number then.”
“Is that all that I am to you?” She feigns outrage, then dramatically lets her head fall back onto the sofa. “Just another number?”
I grumble as quietly as possible. People don’t say no to me. If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s taking care of business, efficiently. I might not enjoy it, but I am good at it. And yet, here we are, at an impasse, something I don’t encounter all that often, albeit something that seems to be a common occurrence with her. I consider my options and double down. “You wouldn’t be my assistant. You’d be hired as a PR consultant. Would that be of interest to you?”
She looks at me for a moment, but averts her eyes quickly. Another of my questions goes unanswered.
“$3000,” I say.
“Why do you need a personal PR consultant, anyway?” she asks. “Too many Casanova stories? Fostered too many illegitimate heirs? Dead bodies in your closet quelling over? Did you kick a puppy on camera?”
“Say, what was the reason your last boss actually fired you? Did you get axed for being rude? Was it your problem with accepting authority? Or because you can’t follow rules? All of those would make perfect sense.”
“I got fired for having a backbone. Not that you would know anything about that, Mr. Hands… ful Who Eats Babies For Breakfast.” Sienna reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. She whispers my name while typing away, which inevitably forces me to think about her doing more than merely whispering my name.
“Here we go,” she finally says, then reads out loud. “First headline: ‘Ruthless Ryker - Successful But At What Cost ? ’ ” Her eyes glance over to me. “Second headline: ‘ CEO Of Grayson Holdings Likes Racist Tweet By Notorious Right- Wing Account’ . Yikes! Third headline: ‘Ryker Grayson Caught With His Pants Down. This Time Literally.’ ”
Fuck, it really says that? That was quick, although unsurprising.
She looks up from her screen and over to me, her eyebrows raised. “You want me to fix that ? It would probably be easier to just buy yourself a new identity and start over.”
“Lies and slander.” I wave her off. “Except that last one, and that is entirely on you.”
Sienna continues skimming through the never-ending headlines on her phone. “So you’re not a heartless asshole who does whatever it takes to make more money?” She shakes her head. “And you don’t go through ten assistants per week? Seriously, it would be easier rehabilitating Christopher Columbus. Half of this isn’t even about your company, it’s just about you and the shitty things you seem to do on a regular basis.” Sienna looks at me with what I assume to be disgust, and loathing, and contempt all at once.
“First of all, I run a tight ship at work. It is what it is, and it benefits everyone. My employees get paid handsomely every month because I’m good at what I do. Secondly, it’s all bullshit based on this dumb blog anyway. You shouldn’t believe everything—” I watch as she violently starts typing on her phone. “What are you doing?”
“Insulting my best friend,” she mumbles.
Despite her cattiness, she usually seems to have a sunny demeanor, at least when she isn’t talking to me. That has all but vanished now, her eyebrows are drawn together in an angry line.
I get up, stealthily adjust my pants a little (since I am still needlessly aroused somehow), walk over to the loveseat, and take the phone from her hands. In doing so, I accidentally press the send button.
Hey, instead of fighting with the psychopath that you locked in this room with me, I used the time to read your latest novel. Gotta say it’s very raw. Unfortunately, it’s the uncooked chicken kind of raw. Now let me out o
“Maybe they fired you because you have a temper.” I watch the three dots appear on the screen. “A bad one.”
“Yeah, well,” Sienna grumbles without even trying to get her phone back, “don’t tempt me to make that balcony thing reality.”
Olivia’s response is almost instantaneous.
Oh, quit whining. This is what great love stories are made of.
I can’t help but laugh. She is out of line, so I quickly type a reply and hit send:
Great love stories? You mean mediocre porn, right?
Well, I’m not surprised your mind would automatically go there. He is yummy, and it’s been a while since you’ve gotten laid, hasn’t it?
No, actually, it hasn’t.
Also, I’ve seen your latest review, @I3OliviaRay69. I know the book made you —and I quote— ‘horny-cry’. I’ll check back in with you guys in half an hour or so.
“And? What is she saying?” Sienna is lounging on the chair upside down now, her head hanging off the seat, her legs raised all the way up in the air, her butt pressing against the backrest, and her dress sliding down rather low. She has nice legs too. I try not to imagine myself nestled between them.
“She’ll let us out soon enough. We are supposed to give our speeches at dinner. She can hardly keep us locked up during those.”
Sienna extends her arm, demanding her phone back. While handing it to her, I stealthily slip my other hand into the purse next to her on the loveseat and steal a tiny vial of what appears to be her perfume. I don’t know why I do it, but it seems like the right thing to do. I let it slide into my pocket, then involuntarily catch a glimpse of her black lace panties once again. Not wanting to be a creep, I turn away and stare right at the mini-bar. Exactly what I need right now. So I walk over, take a glass and pour myself some overpriced champagne.
Sienna scoffs from behind me.
“Anything you wanna say?” I inquire.
“You like champagne?” she asks, sounding about as surprised as she sounds judgmental.
“Why wouldn’t I like champagne? It bubbles in your mouth like fireworks. It’s like pop rocks for grown-ups. Plus, this is getting me drunk, which, considering I am trapped in here with you, seems like a pretty neat idea.”
Sienna stops typing on her phone, looks over to me, and seems to consider my words for a second. “Hm, you’re right. That was a sexist thing for me to say. I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to make fun of you for something like that. Especially when there are so many other things to taunt you with. Like,” she holds her phone over her head with two hands now, then reads out loud, “Oh, this might be my personal favorite yet: ‘Billionaire Ryker Grayson Caught Cheating On His Affair. Girlfriend And Secret Second Girlfriend Not Happy.’ ” Sienna grunts and turns over in her seat. “Look, until yesterday, I knew nothing about you except for the two or three things Olivia had told me. And they were all positive, so I have to assume they were lies too. Now I just really wish I had a time machine, so I’d never have to meet you in the first place.”
You and me both.
She walks over to the bar, grabs herself a tumbler, and fills it with more whiskey than could be considered medicinal. Then she continues, “You are literally the personification of everything that is wrong with this world. You are filthy rich, yet fail to use that wealth for anything good, you are incredibly influential, yet only use that influence to your own advantage, you are regrettably handsome, yet have the personality of a mosquito,” her eyes look me up and down, apparently on the search for more things she could throw my way in an attempt to get a rise out of me.
She can try. But she won’t succeed. Her opinion means nothing to me.
“…and, on top of that, you aren’t even good in the sack.”