Chapter 7
Damien
“Well, if it isn’t judgement day,” Diego steps into my office bright and early. Actually, it’s not even bright. I got here before the sun came up in hopes that I could get some things situated before my new assistant came in for her first day. Toss that hope in the toilet and flush it away.
“Did you run every red light in the city just to give me shit?” I ask as I turn the blinds. Las Vegas is a never-sleeping city, which means it’s always bright as day, but dusk does seem to be the quietest time. Everyone is too hungover to make a ruckus.
“They were yellow, but yes. I was hoping to get good seats to the shitshow that is your never-ending search for the mythical perfect assistant. Day one is always my favorite,” he says with a grin as he takes a sip of his coffee.
“I really hate you,” I tell him as I scowl into the mirror.
Honestly, with how often I am in a bad mood, I am surprised I don’t have frown lines.
Luckily, being Basque and Sicilian, I have good genetics in the aging department.
My eyes are the color of dark chocolate except when something actually has the ability to excite me.
Then they lighten to a deep sunburst honey color.
My jawline has always been pronounced. My hairline is flawless even at the age of 38, with no receding in sight.
I’m in shape. I’m disciplined. And I hold others to these standards as well.
“I love you too,” he says. “So what time is she supposed to be here? Or are we taking bets? Because the last one was what…an hour late? Although do you remember that one…what was her name? Emily? The one with the Uma Therman haircut who showed up forty-five minutes early and spilled your coffee on your shoes and then cried. She was fun.”
“Don’t you have work to be doing? Your assistant should be here any minute now, right?” I snap as I glare at my alleged best friend in the mirror.
“Nah, she’s going to be late today,” he says casually.
“Did she call in?” I mutter.
“Nah. She’s still sleeping. I fucked her into a coma last night, and I think it’s safe to say walking will be a challenge today.”
“Jesus…” I shake my head, and he just laughs.
“What? She might be an idiot, but she’s great in bed. Eager and always horny. She’s got the drive of a seventeen-year-old boy, I swear to God,” he brags.
“You sure you can keep up?” I jab.
“Bet,” he snaps back, and I almost smile.
Just then, the soft sound of a female throat clearing interrupts our less than savory conversation.
I turn around to see Annelise standing in the doorway.
She’s wearing a black fitted dress that cuts off just below her knees, dips low enough to give a little tease of her breasts and tasteful black heels.
Her long blonde hair is pulled up in a wavy ponytail, and her makeup is understated.
“Shit,” Diego mutters, stepping around her. Once he is behind her, he gives me a goddamn look before I shoot him a glare and he disappears into his own office.
“You’re early,” I say.
“It’s my first day,” she tells me, and her velvety voice crawls its way up every nerve in my body.
Fucking hell, Graves. You’re going to have to pull it together if you’re going to see her every day.
“Right,” I nod. Then I make a singular come-here motion. “Don’t just stand there.”
“Of course, Mr. Graves,” she says as she steps into the room.
I look her over and let silence hang in the air for a moment before clicking my tongue. “Did you read the terms of employment?”
“I agreed to the six-month contract, yes. With the sign-on bonus, of course.”
The sign-on bonus. It was a last-second addition to the original terms. It’s not that I was desperate for her to accept the job. I’ve never been desperate a day in my adult life. But I also refuse to let her walk away, even if that does mean a little…persuasion.
“You’ll see the money in your account on your first payday,” I tell her.
“Yes, sir,” she nods. “And when…will that be? Sir.” Her voice is rushed. Urgent. She needs the money. I look at her expression, and while she’s good at controlling it, I can tell there’s anxiety behind it. She isn’t greedy. She’s desperate.
That will work to my advantage.
“Payroll clears the bank Friday mornings,” I answer, and her expression falters ever so slightly. “But if today goes well, it can be expedited.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stop in front of her and my eyes trail from her own eyes, down the bridge of her perfect nose, past her lips that curl even when she’s not smiling, over the roundness of her breasts that are honestly held back a little too tightly in that dress, over her hips and down to her feet.
“From now on, dresses and skirts only. No pants. No exceptions. Dresses should never be below the knees; tops should be form-fitted. This is Vegas, Annelise. Don’t be afraid of a plunging neckline.”
“Yes, Sir,” she says with a feathery breath.
I am standing close enough to smell her perfume. Flowers. And something else.
She’s wet.
“Say my name,” I tell her in a low tone.
She blinks slowly at the command. Her pouty pink lips part. And with her eyes locked on mine, she does as she’s told.
“Damien…”
Fuck.
I refrain from swallowing hard. I also refrain from altering that dress with my teeth right on the spot. “Very good,” I manage to say. “But from now on, you only call me by name when I tell you to. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she nods.
“Also, red or plum colored lip stains. Always.”
“Yes, sir.”
Good girl.
“Let’s go,” I say as I walk out the door.
Annelise follows as we ride down the elevator to the lobby. She follows behind me as I head to the coffee shop. The lobby is crickets save for the bellhops and the front desk, all of which greet me with a Good morning, Mr. Graves, to which I respond with nothing more than a small nod.
I turn and look over my shoulder at her. “Next to me,” I say. “You are to walk next to me. Not behind me.”
“Oh,” she nods and picks up her pace to fall into stride beside me. “I just assumed…”
“There are exceptions for my personal assistant. Remember, you aren’t just working for me. You’re with me.”
“Yes, sir,” she nods, and her words come out in nothing more than a breath.
“It isn’t important that you know my coffee order because the baristas know to have it ready on time every morning,” I say as we approach the counter.
“Americano, two raw sugar packets,” she says, and I look at her. After a beat of silence, her cheeks flush the softest shade of pink.
“You told me that. In the interview,” she reminds me.
“Glad to see you’re taking notes,” I answer as I mix the sugar with a wooden stirring stick. I lick it off and as I do, her eyes follow my tongue, her lips parting ever so slightly. Then, I flick it into the trash.
“This is Annelise,” I tell the barista.
“I go by Ellie,” she says, and there’s a momentary flash of familiarity. I’ve heard that name before. Of course, I’ve heard a thousand women’s names before.
“Ellie, that’s cute. What would you like, Ellie?” the barista responds.
“Annelise,” I correct both of them, and they stop. “No nicknames.”
“Right. Sorry Mr. Graves.”
I expect Annelise to be embarrassed. Unnerved. But instead, she looks annoyed. “I’ll take an iced vanilla latte, please,” she says.
Once we have our coffee, I show her the rest of the lobby.
“The front desk is manned at all times, with no exceptions. Security is discrete but also always in place. The bar is for hotel patrons only. No strip stragglers are permitted, no exceptions. Same with the dining room. We have a rotating menu with weekly specials. Special does not mean discounted; it means elite, and only VIP guests have access to that list. All our spirits are top shelf. Our bartenders have 272 cocktails memorized, also no exceptions. Are you taking notes?” I interrupt myself with the question.
“Yes, Sir,” she answers.
“You’re not writing anything down,” I point out the obvious.
“I don’t need to, sir,” she answers bravely.
“Photographic memory?”
“I’ve done research. I am familiar with the Redwood Hotel, sir. I also used to work–”
“Your employment history isn’t important to me. Only your performance. Which will be tested in the next day or two,” I state as we step back inside the elevator.
“Of course, Mr. Graves,” she says, and I swear there’s a tone there. Small. Discrete. Enough to brush my nerves.
She walks side by side with me down the hallway of the second to last floor, and I stop at a door in the corner.
It’s a large room with chic decorum more suited to the tastes of a woman than a man.
Bookshelves and floral art, decorative furniture and a white marble and gold desk.
There are also windows on two sides overlooking the entire city and a fish tank that goes floor to ceiling as well.
“What is this room for?” she asks.
“This is your office,” I answer, and she spins around.
“This…is my office?” she echoes.
“Is that a problem?” I ask.
“No. I just…it’s so…”
Luxurious? Over the top? Perfect? I know.
“You will have direct access to everyone you need to be in contact with in the hotel. You will also have a personal secretary for any needs that may arise, who works directly with me as well. I will introduce you to more staff tomorrow. For now, let’s get some of the logistics underway.”
“Yes, sir,” she nods, her eyes still sweeping the room. Unlike past women who have been in this room, she seems overwhelmed. Like she doesn’t deserve it. That’s new.
“You have a general idea of the day-job details. But as agreed upon, there are after-hours expectations as well.” I open the laptop on the desk and pull out the velvet, seashell-shaped roller chair for her.
Annelise isn’t the only one who did her homework.
Her social media was very private. But I did find her on Pinterest, and it’s safe to say I know her taste.
Her Bambi eyes and lack of words tell me I hit the decorum on the head.
“This document should outline everything you need to know,” I tell her. I stand behind her as she reads the words to herself, her cheeks flushing to a deeper rose occasionally.
You will present as my assistant, but also my partner.
You will remain monogamous to me.
Public displays of affection–kissing, petting etc., are expected and nonnegotiable, led by me.
Obviously, you are expected to be interested in me. Do not appear clingy or overly doting. Find the balance.
After-hours events are also mandatory. You will wear the appropriate attire provided by me.
You will not alter it in any way. During visits to the Opal Room, you will remain within two feet of me at all times.
No eye contact with any men other than me.
You will follow my lead, and while you will not be forced to do anything you do not consent to, a mutual agreement of what is expected will be made.
After-hours activities may take place any time of day at my command.
“This is…a lot,” she says.
“Are you capable of complying?” I ask. “Because if you’re going to back out, now would be the time.”
Annelise bites her lip and then, after a moment, shakes her head and signs the contract.
She lets out a shaky breath, and I swivel her chair to face me. Then I lower down to her, lowering my voice as well. “I will never harm you,” I tell her.
Annelise swallows hard and nods.
“Very good,” I whisper gruffly. Then, I brush my thumb over her lips. I want to kiss her. But I won’t. If I allowed myself that, I wouldn’t be able to control the beast in me that wants more. Needs more.
So I pull back and head to the door. “There is a dress hanging in the closet, there in the corner. That is for your night shift.”
“Night shift? Tonight?” she stutters, still shaken from the moment that is also jarring me.
“Yes. Is that a problem?” I ask.
“I just didn’t realize…okay. Yes, sir.”
With that, I walk out. I need to put distance between her and me before I get ahead of myself.