Chapter 1

For the hundredth time, I stared into the mirror, smoothing out the hem of my long skirt and checking the jacket to ensure it covered my loose blouse. Okay, Okay; I was ready. No nipples under my padded bra, nothing above my knee showing, and the flared jacket did double duty, concealing my chest and my hips. After a string of waitress and barista gigs, this was the first job where I would use my degree. And I sure didn’t want to fuck it up.

With a sigh, I adjusted the heavy, black-rimmed fake glasses on my nose. Most of the videos didn’t show my face, but better to be sure. My fingers picked at the strands of dangling blonde hair to frame my cheeks perfectly—yeh, right, the fucking things just wouldn’t stay. I don’t know why I listened to my friend: “put your hair up, it’ll make you look smarter.” Fuck, the company already had my school records. After flashing a tight grin and one last glance at the nervous woman in the mirror, I picked up my bag, trotted on my low heels and headed downtown.

A bus, a subway ride, and then another bus had me walking along the sidewalk amid the early morning, caffeine-deprived, grunting masses. Soon I approached the towering cylinder that would be my work home for the foreseeable future—if I didn’t fuck it up. With a sharp intake, I stopped and rolled my head back to stare up at the steel-wrapped glass column jutting into the blue sky far above. The sun was slanting down on it, giving the glass a faint purple-pinkish hue. As I moved inside with a rush of other droopy-eyed office workers, I stifled a chuckle. This was the first time I’d been inside of a giant penis instead of the other way round.

Still grinning, I walked to the security desk to get directions, and after handing me a visitor badge, the suit-wearing, very expensive suit-wearing, guard pointed me to the human resources department. Once there, with a blessing to the coffee gods, I wrapped my fingers around the hot paper cup and waited to begin. And we all know what that’s like. Would you like insurance? Life? No, I mean, the only family I had left was my sister, and she was doing well. Health? Abso-fucking-lutely, even though I had given up my most dangerous habits, living one oopsie away from medical debt sucked. By the time I filled out all the forms, had money pointed to my pathetic bank account, and had my picture taken for my own shiny new corporate collar, uh, badge, my stomach was rumbling.

But, just as I was turning to ask where the nearest food may hide, a heavy woman flowed from the elevator, took one look at me and strode closer. Dressed in a colorful Mumu, her eyes were narrowed over her reading glasses and her gray-tinged dark hair, though pinned back, was wild and flowed behind her.

“Naomi? Ms. Duncan?”

At her high-pitched call, I nodded and reached out to shake her outstretched hand. She had a firm grip and slapped a tablet into my fingers. As she tugged me alongside, she talked—a lot.

“I’m Mrs. Hutchins. I will be your supervisor, and I guess trainer.” She punched the elevator button several times in quick succession; her nails were short and rounded, chipped polish adhered precariously to the dabbing digit.

She added. “We’ve got a meeting up top and then I can get you fitted in.”

After the door opened and we lurched inside past a rush of people dashing out, she slapped the “120” button—the topmost button, again repeatedly, until the doors surrendered and closed. While I contemplated mentioning the “Close Door” button, I thought the better of it as she stared at her phone, muttering about us being late.

“Mr. Carlton. You know who he is, right?” she said.

“Um, uh ... isn’t he...”

She didn’t wait for me to finish. “He’s the boss. Ryan Carlton. Oldest son of the late founder. Young. Smart...” she paused and looked over at me, before adding as she peered over the top rim of her glasses. “Very handsome and very rich.”

“Uh huh,” I replied as my stomach grumbled once more—louder. Mrs. Hutchins’s eyes squinted as she turned away and stared at the rising floor numbers. I had the distinct impression I hadn’t provided the response she expected. With a shrug, I glanced down at the tablet she had handed me. The corporate logo gleamed up at me from the screen and I sighed.

Just then we lurched to a halt and my boss wasted no time wobbling through the doors even as they parted. With a gulp, I followed her into the cacophony of voices in the crowded waiting room before a long blond-wood and gold trimmed receptionist desk. Behind the pair of harried, though elegantly dressed and immaculately made-up young women answering and placing calls, the same gold-lined motif swept along the wall. Embossed golden lettering and an engraved replica, large replica, of the corporate badge was centered above them. This was the top of the top. Without looking up, my boss strolled past them to stand amidst the loud group clustered amongst several expensive-looking leather couches and chairs. Two double doors, same wood, same golden tracing around each, towered beyond us.

There was a sudden thump and one door opened to reveal a young woman, pretty face and long legs under a short, formfitting gray dress, rushing out. One hand slid her bra strap back up while the other clutched a matching jacket. Her makeup was smeared, her skin flushed and her hair trailed half in pins, the other half waving behind her as she staggered from the open door, between us and into the elevator. Just after stepping in, she looked back at the open door, her eyes wide, and licked her lips. That “I just got the shit fucked out of me” look ... Yeh, I recognized it. As the elevator closed, Mrs. Hutchins tugged on my sleeve and I joined the human herd pouring through the open door.

Once inside the enormous office, I gazed around, open-mouthed. It was appointed identical to the reception area, with gold trimmed light wood walls, but most of the “walls” were floor-to-ceiling glass panes that provided an unobstructed view of the city. A massive, deep brown wooden desk was in the center of the room, behind which was a tall-backed leather chair. In front of the desk were two comfortable looking overstuffed chairs. The herd and me, was heading to the large conference room on one side, while a cozy sitting area centered on a broad rectangular coffee table occupied the far side.

As we swarmed past the long, broad, polished wooden oval table, I caught a glance at this Ryan guy. At the head of the table, of course, he sat with his face down, reading something on his tablet, ignoring all the “good morning, sirs.” Tall, in a fitted dark gray pinstriped silk suit that clung to his solid, broad-shouldered build, he was crumpled in the slowly swiveling chair. As I walked closer, his rugged profile came into clearer detail. Classic pretty rich boy: chiseled jaw, strong cheekbones, and not a hint of fat on his hawk-like face. Capped by dark brown wavy hair that, despite whatever had happened at his morning fuck, was impeccably placed.

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