Secretary to the Orc (Indecent Monsters #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

ROSETTE

It’s a fine Thursday morning, and I’m excited to go to work today. I had a very good idea last night, and I can’t wait to try it out.

As always, at nine a.m., a black SUV pulls up to the curb in front of my apartment building. I open the back door and slide inside. Across the console sits my boss, Mr. Roth.

Vincent Roth is big, even for an orc, with dark hair cut close to his head and wearing an impenetrable pair of sunglasses.

His shoulders are so broad and square, his body so dense, it’s like he’s made of concrete.

His belly is big, but not in the way that makes him appear fat—it’s more a layer of protection over his thick musculature.

He must work out a ton to have a body like that.

Today, we’re on our way to get some coffee before heading to a prospective site.

The car pulls into the fifteen-minute parking zone, then I head in to grab our orders, which I placed online.

The drinks are waiting under Mr. Roth’s name.

I snatch them up before heading back out to the car.

He takes his, nodding and saying nothing as I get back in and the driver pulls away from the curb.

Not even a thank you. Silence, like always. But he does stare at me, his eyes traveling up from my belly to my tits, where I’ve left the top two buttons of my silk top open.

Once he’s finished eye-fucking me, he smirks, bringing his tusk up his cheek. They’re menacing, those sharp, white tusks, even more so when he smiles like that. I despise that smug look, when he sees through me.

Because he knows I like it. When I bend over to pick up a pen, he peers at my ass, just as I’d hoped.

While I lean forward to take a sip of my drink at lunch, his eyes drop to the collar of my shirt, appreciating my offerings.

Even when he interviewed me, I could feel his eyes all over my body.

I know I have great tits, and definitely a round, defined butt—especially so in my tight pencil skirts and silky work blouses.

He always looks. Peruses. Openly staring.

Mr. Roth only comes into the office for a few hours a week, and the rest of the time, I need to tag along wherever he chooses to go. He goes to bars, meets with clients there, then visits a work site. Then he meets with another client, only returning to the office to tidy things up.

All day, we travel side by side in the back of his black SUV, me with my notebook and phone, taking calls, making appointments, canceling them when a lunch goes too long and trying to reschedule.

All, of course, while Mr. Roth stares. While he undresses me with his eyes.

While he blatantly looks from my feet, up my thighs, to my skirt and tits before meeting my face.

But never once has he touched me. Never has he behaved inappropriately.

And that’s what I can’t stand. He objectifies me with his gaze while refusing to ever cross the line.

I don’t even think he’s brushed my hand by accident at a restaurant.

He’s certainly never pinched my ass or found an excuse to feel up my tits.

I haven’t even felt the brush of his hip in the car.

He always keeps a good foot of distance between us, even though he takes up most of the back seat.

And I’m tired of it. Today, I have a surprise for him. Maybe it will finally turn the tide.

When we reach the first work site, I hop out first with my notebook and pen ready to go, my blonde hair neatly tucked in a high bun. I go for a more natural look with my makeup to blend in.

Slowly the other car door opens, and Mr. Roth gets out. He has to stoop, but when he emerges, he towers above me.

“Come,” he says, tucking his hands into his pockets as we head toward the site.

The foreman comes out to greet us and starts showing us around.

I take copious notes. Mr. Roth is interested in investing in this new high-rise, but it has to make sense for the firm financially. I don’t handle that part.

Mr. Roth doesn’t need to tell me anymore what to write down.

I know what he’s interested in here—the vision, the exclusivity that would make these apartments more valuable than others in the city, the access and amenities.

Right now, it’s little more than an empty lot, but it could become something greater.

When we’re done here, it’s back in the car to the office for a meeting.

I go through the notes I took earlier and transcribe them, then email them to Mr. Roth.

I can see when he gets the message during his meeting, because he glances down at his phone, nods to me through the glass window, then turns his attention back to the CEO.

Afterward, we’re off to a client lunch where once more, I take notes as they talk, forgotten at the side of the table. When the waiter comes, Mr. Roth doesn’t ask me what I want to eat.

“A Caesar salad with grilled chicken for her,” he says, then moves on with the conversation.

I don’t object. I’ve never objected. Mr. Roth has ordered for me since the first lunch we ever had, asking for the same thing each time. Every restaurant has Caesar salad, after all.

Sometimes I think about telling him I want a sandwich, but I don’t. He also orders me the sparkling water, and then I don’t have to say a word for the entire lunch.

From time to time, a client will introduce themselves to me. I always shake hands and say my name back, but that’s the extent of it. Mr. Roth makes it clear that they aren’t to talk to me.

And then it’s back in the car, where I can feel his yellow gaze raking over me. He simply stares as we drive, occasionally licking his lips. I feel almost naked by the time we get back to the office.

Once Mr. Roth is seated, he turns on the phone and dials in to a conference call while I walk to the cooler for a cup of water. He watches me as he talks, unabashedly staring at my ass when I return to my desk. It’s time for my surprise.

“Please remind the shareholders once more that these are long-term projects,” Mr. Roth says into the speaker. “It will take some time for revenue to—”

As I navigate into my chair, I slide my legs apart. I didn’t wear underwear today, and I just gave him a full look at the goods underneath my skirt.

His eyes get bigger, but he manages to continue without interruption. “—start trickling in.”

The rest of the call is uneventful, but Mr. Roth’s eyes on me are like molten lava. I wonder if I’ve finally turned the corner.

But at the end of the day, nothing has changed when the car pulls up in front of my apartment. Mr. Roth’s eyes travel from my face, down to my chest, over my cleavage to my kept nails. I’m close enough to him that he could easily reach out and touch me if he wanted.

“Have a good night, Ms. Kristoff,” he says in that deep, booming voice. I don’t know if he’s spoken to me directly like this all day. But he doesn’t move his hand, either.

I nod as I get out, disappointed once again. “Thank you, Mr. Roth.” I close the door, and the car pulls away.

But then it’s time to get ready for my after-hours job, where I can finally have all the things Mr. Roth denies me.

I only work my second gig three nights a week—Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Sunday is my true day off, the one I take to get my nails done. I do a facial when I can, and every two months, I stop in for a new cut and dye. Then I go on a run and get ready for the week.

Tonight’s Thursday, which means the lounge will be quieter than it is on the weekends. Still, I have some regulars who come in specifically looking for me on our less busy nights so they can catch me before I’m otherwise occupied.

After showering, I head to Octavio’s. It’s a club on the top floor, with a bar area and dance floor. Downstairs, though, is a place far less well-known. That’s where I work, hosting gentlemen who are looking for a more lascivious activity.

Two other girls are in the dressing room when I arrive.

“Hey, Velvet,” they greet me. We all use pseudonyms here, and I always try to wear at least one piece of velvet on me as part of the gag.

Tonight, I’m in a scarlet velvet skirt barely covering my ass, garter belts holding up black fishnets, with a lacy black and red corset.

I ask one of my coworkers to tie it up for me, then spray on a bit of my favorite perfume before heading out onto the floor.

There are waiters working, but our clients always prefer it when we bring them their drinks.

I scan the lounge to see who’s here, recognizing only one familiar face: Elias, the manticore who comes in from time to time and likes when I serve him.

But he’s already occupied with Bunny, a tiny little Asian woman sitting on his lap with her bare tits in his hands.

Guess Elias won’t need me tonight.

Other groups of people are talking and drinking, already with women at their tables. I pass Veronica moaning as a man and a woman sit together, fingering her. Down the hallway, where the private rooms are, I can hear another one of my coworkers cry out in carnal bliss.

But no one flags me down as I pass. Unusual. So I head to the bar and check in with Matt to see who might be in need of my attentions.

“We have a new guy,” Matt says, pointing around the corner. “In the VIP section. You should go welcome him. Maybe pick up a fresh client.”

I like the sound of that. Making a first impression is how you get a regular, and it’s a bonus if it’s somebody rich enough for the VIP section.

With a quick thanks, I beeline around the end of the bar for the smaller VIP room. The bouncer nods at me as I pass.

It’s quiet in here, with only three people present—two old men drinking whiskey, and then one man with his back facing me. I nod and smile at the two men, who give me cursory nods back before returning to their conversation.

Not interested. My new guy must be this massive pair of shoulders in front of me.

Wait. I recognize those exact shoulders, that perfectly tailored suit.

Mr. Roth. Mr. Vincent Roth is in my place of work. And he hasn’t seen me yet.

I freeze in my spot, then start to back away. If he doesn’t look up from the menu he’s studying, then he won’t see me. I can get out of here, maybe pretend I’m sick, and go home before my boss even catches wind of it.

I can’t have him find out about this. Would he ever look at me the same way again if he knew this is what I do in my off-time? If he knew I let strangers fondle me, sometimes even take me away to back rooms with locked doors?

I’m almost to the entry to the VIP lounge when suddenly, Mr. Roth’s head shoots up. He turns in his chair, his nostrils flared—and just like that, his yellow eyes connect with mine from across the room.

Instantly, I stop moving, like a deer caught in headlights. I’m so fucked.

For the first time since I’ve met him, I think Mr. Roth genuinely looks surprised. I’ve never seen him caught off guard before, with his lips parted, his brows raised.

There’s nothing I can do now that he’s seen me, but I can’t react. This place is supposed to be anonymous, professional. I have to pretend that I don’t know him, that I’ve never seen him before in my life. I have to treat him like any other client.

Getting my wits back about me, I slide easily into customer service mode, approaching the table and then leaning forward over it to give him a good view of my cleavage inside the corset.

“Good evening, sir,” I say in a sultry voice, the way I would with anyone at the lounge. “I’m Velvet. Would you like a drink to start?”

Mr. Roth stares at me, his eyes never once straying down to my tits, which are still on display for him.

“Miss…” he begins, then stops himself. I pray silently that he doesn’t try to use my real name here. His eyes search mine, his thick eyebrows furrowed.

After a heavy moment, he finally says, “I would enjoy a drink, Velvet.”

I put a hand on his back, gentle and inviting. “Tell me what you want, sir, and it’s all yours.”