Chapter 14
Ellie
“Remind me again why we go running?” I pant as my sister and I jog around the indoor track at the gym.
As much as I love being on the second level of a building that smells like rubber flooring, spray tans, and sweat is a nice break from the blistering Nevada heat outside — it isn’t as rejuvenating as running outside.
But with blonde hair and fair skin, the sun has never actually been my friend.
“Because it’s good for us. Because it lowers cortisol levels and reduces stress,” Rachel answers as we round a corner.
“Are you sure? I’m pretty sure I hate running enough that my stress levels are probably going up right now.”
Rachel just giggles. “I’m also trying to lose another ten pounds before the wedding. I’m determined to fit into that Vera Wang trumpet dress, and nobody wants to be a frumpy trumpet.”
I slow to a walk, taking a sip from my water bottle. “Okay, first of all, sis, you’re not frumpy. Trumpet-shaped or otherwise. And second, I thought you were going for the classic cut. The one with the halter top.”
“I was, but I realized that one doesn’t show off my butt enough. I have done way too many weighted squats to waste my money on a dress that hides my toned glutes,” Rachel smiles, and I can only laugh at that.
“I feel bad,” I tell her. “I don’t even remember the trumpet dress.”
“Oh, I tried it on the day you were working,” she says. “But it’s okay. Courtney and Jen went with me.”
I frown a little at that and take a sip of my water to hide the pout that I’m sure she’s already detected.
“They’re my best friends, Ellie, and they’re going to be in the wedding too,” she says, pausing to stretch her hamstrings.
“I know. But I’m your sister. Your maid of honor. I feel like I’ve been too checked out or busy to help with any of it,” I tell her.
“You’ve got a lot on your plate,” she says. “New job. Mom chaos. By the way, how is the job going? Are you still loving it?”
“It’s…got its perks,” I answer. “The money’s good. And there are benefits…” I trail off.
“Well, that’s never a bad thing,” she says as we walk another lap.
“I’d do just about any job for a little more cash right now,” she says.
While I know she means for the wedding, I also know she’s referring to the IVF treatments that she and Chance are saving up to start.
Since they’re keeping that on the down-low, I don’t bring it up.
“It’s not all sunshine and roses though,” I add.
“No?”
I shake my head. “My boss is…difficult.”
“I remember you saying that. What did he do this time?”
What did he do? Now there’s a golden question. I think what should really be asked here is what has he not done? The broody, teasing man is more hot and cold than my twenty-year-old water heater.
“He’s just…unpredictable,” I try to explain. “One minute he’s happy with what I’m doing. Pleased with my work,” calling me a good girl… “And the next he’s criticizing everything I do or hardly speaking to me at all. I never know what it’s going to be.”
“Are there any incentives?” she asks. “You know, like rewards for good behavior?”
I mean, he allows me to come at the end of the shift.
“The job does have benefits,” I answer vaguely. “I won’t deny that. But it varies on a shift-by-shift basis, so there're no thanks.”
“I’m sorry, sis, but those paychecks you’re about to have rolling in sure seem like a thanks to me,” Rachel says with an apologetic though not necessarily empathetic look.
I feel bad complaining. She is right about the money.
Even though I can’t tell her, the “benefits” haven’t been so bad either, though I could do with a little less teasing.
The dressing room did get a little hot the other day.
I wasn’t expecting him to bend me over in the middle of a couture boutique, but I thought he’d at least kiss me.
If I’m being honest, the teasing isn’t really fair.
“I don’t know. I guess I can’t really complain. I don’t love working nights, though. I did say on my resume that I have a kid and my availability has to work around that. When he offered me the job, that part seemed to just slip his mind,” I say.
“Are you sure he knows?” She asks as we make our way to the locker room.
“How could he not?” I ask. “I was very clear about it.”
“I mean, are you sure your boss actually read your resume? Sometimes they leave application reviewing to someone else. A secretary or an assistant,” she says, stopping to look at herself in the mirror. Not that she needs to, Rachel was born perfect.
“You forget he hired me because he didn’t have an assistant,” I tell her.
“Still. People like him hire other people to do things like that,” she says, shrugging her shoulders.
People like him hire people for a lot of things.
“I guess that’s just how jobs are though,” she says. “There’s good and bad with all of them.”
I agree with her because I don’t really know what else to say.
The problem is there’s not much else I can say.
Not without revealing too much. It’s not like I can just be like, Hey sis.
Can you keep a secret? I’m banging my boss during the night shifts.
And also…I’m getting paid to bang him. Even if I wanted to, I’m bound by an NDA. Bound, gagged, and tied up.
Good Lord. I probably shouldn’t be saying words like that, even if it is only to myself.
Those are the kinds of things I may or may not have seen happening in some corners of the Velvet Lounge.
It’s wild to me. All of it. While the orgasms he gave me were some of the best I’ve ever had, it doesn’t change the fact that Damien’s mood is unpredictable.
The benefits clause of our contract implies that I have to be at his beck and call during normal business hours and the night-shifts.
That’s a little hard to do when I don’t know if I’m going to be working with Jekyll or Hyde.
“I have a loaded question,” Rachel asks while we freshen up in front of the locker room mirror. “Do you like him?”
“My boss? I mean, he’s your typical Vegas hotel owner. I suppose it could be worse. I could be working for Dylan,” I snort, but Rachel is still smiling inquisitively.
“I mean, do you like him?”
I turn and look at her. This is the kind of question where mirror eye contact isn’t enough. I need to really know that I heard her right.
“He’s my boss,” I say.
“And? People get involved with their bosses all the time,” she says.
“Like Dylan and his secretary?” I ask, and Rachel shakes her head.
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Damien Graves is attractive, and since you started working for him, you’ve changed.”
“Changed how?” I ask quickly.
“You’re more confident. You dress better. You’re happier,” she says.
“Well, yeah, I can afford to pay my bills, and I don’t have to eat peanut butter sandwiches and buttered pasta twice a week anymore,” I tell her.
“It really has nothing to do with wanting to look good for a good-looking boss?” she presses with a smile.
“Just because I am doing better does not mean a man had anything to do with it,” I say. But if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t be where I’m at if it weren’t for this particular man.
I suddenly realize that the night at the Opal Room followed by the grumpy cold shoulder the next day at work followed by the almost kiss in the dressing room and then the cold shoulder again is really taking a toll on me.
I really am putting my all into this job.
I do that with every job, but this one in particular, I’ve gone above and beyond.
That kind of effort deserves to be acknowledged.
Rewarded, as Rachel put it. Contract or no contract, the benefits should go both ways.
If he wants me to smile, dress a certain way, and devote myself to him, I’m going to need my stipulations as well, starting with that grumpy demeanor of his.
Most of all, I need more respect. I know he wouldn’t admit it, but Damien needs me as much as I need this job. He wouldn’t be paying me this much if he didn’t.