Amber Looks for a Job
by Max Swan
Copyright© 2026 by Max Swan
Erotica Sex Story: Now that Amber has an apartment, she sets about trying to find a job. But she's having no luck. So her ever-helpful landlord, Carl, suggests a friend, Rick, who is looking for a new PA. So, Amber goes to interview for the job...
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Coercion Heterosexual Fiction DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Spanking Exhibitionism Facial Oral Sex Voyeurism Big Breasts Nudism AI Generated .
Two weeks had blurred by in a haze of naive routine for Amber, her days filled with fruitless job hunts and the strange comfort of Carl’s ‘security checks.’ The apartment, once bare, now held a few thrift-store finds she’d scraped together with the last of her cash, but rent loomed like a shadow she pushed away, trusting Carl’s assurances that the cameras kept everything safe.
Her body still hummed with echoes of that wild night on the balcony—the raw stretch of him inside her, the hot flood of his cum, the shameful thrill that left her trembling in exhausted bliss. She hadn’t questioned the videos or the way he touched her during inspections; it all felt like part of proving she could make it on her own, his older hands on her skin a twisted anchor in the city’s chaos.
Carl knocked on her door that afternoon, his pot-bellied frame filling the frame as she swung it open, her bright smile masking the defeat weighing on her chest. She wore a tight tank top that hugged her 34DD breasts, the fabric thin and stretched, nipples faintly outlined from the chill of the AC. Her short skirt rode up her thick thighs as she bounced on her toes, pigtails swaying.
“Oh, hi Carl!” she squeaked, delighted despite the routine, her blue eyes wide with that gullible hope he exploited so easily.
“Hey, Amber,” Carl replied, stepping inside with a sly grin, his greasy balding head gleaming under the light.
He locked the door behind him with a decisive click, the sound sending a subtle shiver through her—familiar now, but laced with the vulnerability of being alone with him. His eyes roamed her body openly, lingering on the swell of her breasts, the way they strained against the tank top. The age gap hit him like always, her barely legal innocence a drug that kept his cock twitching in his pants. He was here for the ‘security check,’ but really, to indulge in her naivety, to worship those massive tits and measure her pretty mouth for his private collection.
As he began inspecting the apartment, shuffling from room to room with feigned diligence—checking the cameras he’d installed, peering into cabinets—Amber trailed after him, her big hips swaying unconsciously.
“Everything looks clean as a whistle,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with false warmth. He paused in the kitchen, turning to Amber, his gaze dropping to her chest. “But you, sweetheart, you’re looking even better than last time. Those tits of yours ... god, they’re perfect. Perky as ever.” His words carried that coercive tenderness, making her cheeks flush with a mix of pride and confusion, her trusting nature lapping up the praise as if it were genuine care.
Amber giggled, shifting her weight, her breasts jiggling softly with the motion. “Thanks, Carl. I try to keep everything nice for you.”
She followed him back to the living room, where she sank onto the couch, legs crossing demurely, but her skirt hiking up to reveal the curve of her ass. The emotional pull tugged at her—his attention made her feel seen in this big, uncaring city, even if it stirred that deep, shameful heat between her thighs.
Carl settled beside her, closer than necessary, his thigh pressing against hers. “Time for the mouth check, honey. Open up for security.”
It was the same line every visit, and she obeyed without question, parting her full lips wide, tongue peeking out innocently. Carl unzipped his pants with casual authority, his thick, veined cock springing free—already half-hard, the hairy base musky from the day’s sweat and piss. The age gap amplified his dominance, her youthful face so close to his older, predatory shaft. He guided her head forward gently but firmly, pressing the bulbous head against her soft lips, measuring the stretch as she took him in inch by inch.
“Mmm, that’s it,” he groaned, his free hand roaming up to cup one of her massive breasts through the tank top, fingers sinking into the yielding flesh.
He worshipped it roughly, thumb circling the hardening nipple, the coercion blending with her eager compliance. Amber’s eyes watered slightly as his cock filled her mouth, the salty taste coating her tongue, but she sucked softly, trusting this was all for her safety.
He pulled back after a few measured thrusts, tucking himself away but not before snapping a quick photo on his phone, the camera’s click a secret thrill. “Good girl. Your mouth’s still as tight and welcoming as ever.” Sitting back, he watched her wipe her lips, her face flushed and hopeful. “So, how’d the job hunt go today?”
Amber pouted, her lower lip jutting out as she leaned back, breasts thrusting forward innocently. “Another day, another bust,” she sighed, voice small and defeated. “I went to three places. The first guy just stared at my chest the whole time and said I wasn’t qualified. The second one had me sit on his lap to ‘relax,’ and he gave me this weird massage, but then he laughed and said no. The third was the same—nice hands on my shoulders, but nothing. I don’t get it, Carl. I’m trying so hard, but everyone just ... looks at me funny.”
Her naivety shone through, her hopeful eyes searching his face, unaware that her revealing clothes and trusting demeanor doomed her interviews. The rejections stung, chipping at her determination, but sharing with him felt like a lifeline, his presence stirring that confusing warmth low in her belly.
Carl nodded sympathetically, though his mind raced with opportunity. Poor thing, fresh out of high school, dumb as a post, but built like a pinup fantasy girl. He felt a pang—genuine, almost paternal—beneath the lust.
He thought of his old college buddy Rick, that sleazy success story, who went through assistants like candy, always hiring eye candy for ‘motivation.’ Rick would snap her up, even if it meant more coercion, more exposure. It’d get her off his dime, keep her in the city, maybe even loop him in for shares of the footage.
“Don’t worry, Amber,” he said, his hand resting on her thigh, squeezing the soft flesh. “I might have a lead. An old friend of mine, Rick—he runs a business downtown. Needs a personal assistant. You’d be perfect for it, with that sweet smile and those ... assets.’ His eyes dipped to her breasts again, the praise coercive, pulling her deeper into his web.
She perked up, clapping her hands excitedly, her tits bouncing wildly in the tank top, nipples peaking against the fabric. “Really? Oh, Carl, that’d be amazing! I promise I’d do anything to make it work.”
Her vulnerability hung in the air, seated there on the couch with legs slightly parted, the locked door sealing them in intimacy. Carl’s cock stirred again under his pants, watching her closely, the tension thickening as he imagined introducing her to Rick—more hands on her body, more naive surrender, her trusting soul his to maneuver.
Carl’s mind churned with the possibilities. The image of Amber’s naive body passed to Rick like a gift, her trusting eyes widening at new commands. But first, he needed to indulge, to feel that warm, eager mouth again, to drown out her job woes with the slick sounds of her submission. He leaned closer on the couch, his pot-bellied frame invading her space, hand sliding up her thigh to the hem of her short skirt.
“I need to recheck your mouth,” Carl said, his voice low and commanding, laced with that false tenderness that always reeled her in.
His eyes locked on her full lips, already imagining them stretched around his thick shaft, her innocence crumbling under the weight of his lust.
Amber blinked up at him, her blue eyes wide with that gullible trust, the defeat from her job hunt momentarily forgotten in the face of his attention. She nodded eagerly, shifting on the couch, her massive 34DD breasts heaving with the motion, nipples poking insistently against the thin tank top.
The coercion wrapped around her like a familiar blanket—his ‘checks’ made her feel useful, wanted, even as a confusing heat bloomed between her thighs. “Okay, Carl,” she murmured, parting her lips wide without hesitation, tongue darting out pink and inviting.
Her heart fluttered with a mix of vulnerability and strange comfort; in this locked apartment, with the city humming outside, pleasing him felt like her only anchor. Carl groaned under his breath, unzipping his pants once more, his veined cock springing free—fully hard now, the hairy base thick and musky, pre-cum beading at the slit.
He fisted her blonde ponytail firmly, the soft strands wrapping around his knuckles like a leash, pulling her head forward with coercive gentleness. The age gap hit him viscerally—her barely legal face so youthful, flushed, and innocent, contrasting his greasy, balding menace. He pressed the bulbous head against her open mouth, sliding in deep, her warm wetness enveloping him inch by inch.
“That’s my good girl,” he rasped, voice thick with hunger, as he began thrusting rapidly, keeping his hips still to use her mouth like a tight, slobbery sleeve.
Amber’s eyes watered instantly, the thick girth stretching her jaw, but she sucked eagerly, her trusting nature pushing her to please despite the choke building in her throat. Saliva dribbled from the corners of her mouth, coating his shaft and balls as he pumped faster, the wet gags filling the room.
She slobbered messily, tongue swirling instinctively around the veined underside, her big hips squirming on the couch as arousal leaked into her panties. The rejections from the day faded, replaced by this raw, urgent connection, her naivety blinding her to the exploitation.
Carl watched her with predatory lust, his free hand roaming to her tank top, yanking it down to free one massive breast. He worshipped it roughly, palm engulfing the perky globe, fingers pinching the hard nipple until she whimpered around his cock.
“Fuck, your mouth’s still so goddamn tight after all these weeks,” he moaned loudly, pounding faster, the suction pulling at his balls.
The coercion deepened his thrill—her obedience, her wide-eyed watering gaze looking up at him, tears streaking her cheeks, but no pause in her eager sucking. He could feel the climax building, a hot coil in his gut, but he held back, savoring the slobbery choke, the way her throat convulsed around his tip.
Amber gagged harder, drool spilling down her chin onto her exposed breast, but she didn’t pull away, her hands gripping his thighs for balance. Carl’s moans made her feel powerful in her vulnerability, even as her jaw ached and her lungs burned. Her pussy throbbed, untouched but dripping, the mix of degradation and praise twisting inside her like a knot of shameful pleasure. She trusted him utterly, her naive heart pounding with the hope that this would lead to that job, to proving she could survive without Daddy.
Carl’s breath grew ragged, hips finally bucking as the orgasm surged. “Fuck!” he moaned, yanking her ponytail to pull her off just in time.
His cock pulsed wildly, thick ropes of hot cum erupting over her upturned face—splattering her cheeks, lips, and forehead in sticky white strands. Spurt after spurt followed, painting her heaving breasts, the pearly seed dripping down the curves of her 34DDs, pooling in the valley between them. He panted heavily, chest heaving, the sight of her kneeling there, marked and obedient, sending aftershocks through his spent cock. With a final swipe, he wiped the softening head across her mouth and cheek, smearing the mess further.
“Clean me off now, Amber,” he sighed heavily, voice husky with satisfaction, releasing her ponytail but keeping her close.
She obeyed without a word, leaning forward to wrap her full lips around his softening member, tongue lapping gently at the cum-smeared skin. The salty bitterness coated her mouth, mixing with her saliva as she sucked him clean, her eyes fluttering shut in submissive focus. She licked every inch, from the veiny shaft to his hairy balls, until he glistened wet and clean, her cheeks burning under the drying cum.
“Good girl,” Carl moaned, his hand stroking her hair tenderly now, the coercion shifting to aftercare that kept her hooked.
He reached for his phone, stopping the camera with a discreet tap—the lens had captured every gag, every spurt, her naive surrender in high definition. Tucking himself away, he watched her sit back on her heels, face and breasts glistening, her tank top askew and skirt hiked up. The tension lingered, thick and electric, as he imagined Rick’s reaction to this footage, to her untouched eagerness.
“Now, about that job ... Rick’ll love you. But first, let’s get you cleaned up. Can’t meet him covered in, err, security cum.”
Amber nodded, wiping a strand of cum from her lip with a shy smile, her heart lifting despite the mess, vulnerability raw but hope flickering brighter in the locked room’s dim light.
Amber stood up slowly from her knees, the sticky remnants of Carl’s cum cooling on her skin, a faint salty tang lingering on her tongue. Her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and that odd warmth from his praise, her naive heart clinging to the hope that this ‘help’ from him was her ticket to making it in the city.
She trusted Carl completely—his greasy smile and pot-bellied frame felt like safety in this overwhelming place, even as her pussy still throbbed with unfulfilled ache from the rough mouth-fucking. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, she glanced down at her cum-streaked breasts, the white seed dripping slowly into the valley between her 34DDs, and bit her lip shyly.
“Go wash up in the bathroom, sweetheart,” Carl said, his voice softening with that coercive tenderness, eyes still hungry as they traced the mess he’d made on her.
He adjusted himself in his pants, the age gap thrilling him anew—her barely legal body marked by his older seed, so vulnerable and eager.
“Then we’ll get you dressed for Rick. He’ll eat you up, but in a good way. Trust me.”
Amber nodded, her ponytail bobbing as she hurried to the small bathroom, the locked door clicking behind her. She scrubbed her face and tits vigorously, the warm water rinsing away the evidence, though her nipples hardened from the friction, sensitive and perky. Dried off, she emerged, tank top pulled back into place, her big hips swaying innocently as she returned to the living room where Carl waited, a pile of clothes laid out on the couch like a predator’s lure.
“Here, try these on,” Carl instructed, holding up the tight white pencil skirt, the fabric sleek and unforgiving, a high slit up the side promising glimpses of thigh.
His gaze lingered on her curves, the coercion subtle in his helpful tone, but his cock twitched at the thought of her parading for him before handing her off to Rick.
“This’ll show off that ass and those legs. Pair it with this sheer baby blue shirt—buttons might strain a bit on those big tits of yours, but that’s the point.”
Amber’s eyes lit up, the defeat from her job rejections fading under his attention. She loved how he noticed her body, the breast worship in his words making her chest swell with pride, even if she didn’t fully grasp the lust behind it.
“Okay, Carl! Thanks for helping,” she chirped, stripping off her tank top and skirt without a second thought, her naivety blinding her to his stare.
Naked now, her hourglass figure on full display—perky 34DD breasts bouncing free, pink nipples erect in the cool air, wide hips flaring to her bubble butt, and smooth, bare pussy lips peeking between slim thighs—she stepped into the skirt. It hugged her like a second skin, the hem barely skimming past her ass cheeks, the slit riding high to expose the curve of her hip with each step.
Next, she slipped on the sheer baby blue button-up, the thin fabric whispering over her skin, doing little to hide the dark outline of her areolas or the jiggle of her massive tits as she fastened the buttons. They strained immediately, gaps forming between them, threatening to pop open and reveal everything. Carl’s breath hitched, his hand subtly rubbing the growing bulge in his pants, eyes devouring the way the shirt clung to her curves, her innocence amplified by the slutty outfit.
“Now the thigh highs and pumps,” he added, voice thicker, handing her the white stockings.
Amber sat on the couch edge, rolling the sheer fabric up her Barbie-doll legs, the tops gripping mid-thigh, accentuating the soft flesh above. She slid into the grey pumps, the heels lifting her ass higher, making her 5’1” frame arch provocatively. Finally, she gathered her blonde hair into a high ponytail, the signature style that Carl loved yanking like a handle.
Standing tall—or as tall as her heels allowed—Amber spun for him, her skirt riding up to flash the bottom of her ass, tits bouncing wildly against the sheer shirt, nipples poking like beacons. “How do I look, Carl? Do you think Mr. Richards will like it?” she asked proudly, hands on her hips, popping them out in an eager pose, utterly unaware of how the outfit screamed fuck-me to every man who’d see her.
Carl leaned back, openly stroking his cock through his pants now, the hungry approval in his eyes like fire. “Fuck, you look perfect, Amber. Those tits are begging to burst out, and that skirt—Rick’s gonna want to bend you over his desk the second he sees you.” He groaned low, the age gap and her trusting display fueling his coercion, imagining sharing her videos with his old friend. “Go get ‘em, girl. The office is on Elm Street, sixth floor. Don’t be late.”
Amber beamed, clapping her hands in excitement, her breasts heaving dangerously against the buttons. “Yay! Thanks, Carl—you’re the best!”
She grabbed her purse, the grey pumps clicking loudly on the floor as she headed out, nervous butterflies in her stomach, but eager to prove herself. The city air hit her as she stepped outside, the tight skirt constricting her strides, forcing a sexy sway to her hips, the slit flashing thigh with every step.
She navigated the bustling streets, heels echoing off the pavement, dodging crowds while her sheer shirt drew wolfish stares she mistook for friendly interest. Her heart pounded with hopeful vulnerability—maybe this job would be it, no more rejections, no more relying on Carl’s ‘checks’ to feel wanted.
Twenty minutes later, sweating slightly from the rush, Amber pushed through the glass doors of the office building with five minutes to spare, her ponytail swinging. The receptionist—a stern woman in her forties—looked up from her desk, eyes narrowing judgmentally at the barely legal blonde’s outfit: the slutty skirt hugging her ass, sheer shirt translucent under the fluorescents, massive tits straining the fabric.
“Name?” the woman snapped, gaze raking over Amber like she was trash.
“Hi! I’m Amber, here for Mr. Richards,” Amber replied with her bubbly smile, oblivious to the disdain, her naive trust shining through.
She shifted, the pumps making her legs look endless, pussy lips rubbing slickly under the tight skirt from the walk’s friction.
The receptionist huffed, picking up the phone. “Your appointment’s here, Mr. Richards.” Hanging up, she pointed to the elevators. “Sixth floor, last office on the left. Try not to distract everyone.”
Amber nodded eagerly, unfazed, her wide blue eyes hopeful as she clicked toward the elevator, the judgment rolling off her like water. The doors dinged open on six, and she made her way down the hall, heart racing with nerves and excitement, knocking lightly on the door marked ‘Rick Richards - Executive.’
“Come in,” a bored voice called from inside.
Amber pushed the door open, stepping in with her usual bright smile, the sheer shirt doing nothing to hide her heaving breasts as she stood in the doorway, vulnerable and unaware of the predator she’d just walked into.
Shut the door.” Rick’s voice cut through the air, stern and commanding, his mid-40s boredom cracking just a fraction as he sized up the blonde vision in his doorway.
He leaned back in his leather chair, eyes narrowing on her submissive frame, already picturing how easily she might bend to his will. The age gap hit him like a rush—barely legal innocence wrapped in that slutty outfit, her sheer baby blue shirt straining over those massive 34DD tits, nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric like invitations he planned to accept.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Richards,” Amber replied obediently, her voice sweet and eager, turning to push the door shut with a soft click.
The motion gave Rick a perfect view of her ample backside, the tight white pencil skirt hugging her big hips and bubble butt like it was painted on, the high slit flashing a sliver of white thigh-high skin as she shifted. Internally, Rick groaned, his cock stirring in his slacks at the naive sway of her ass, so trusting and exposed in his domain. She was a treat, alright—Carl’s gift, probably, knowing that sleazy landlord. The coercion potential here was thick, her naivety a drug he hadn’t tasted in months.
“Take a seat,” he motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk, his tone clipped but laced with the calculating hunger of a man assessing prey.
Amber immediately complied, her grey pumps clicking softly on the hardwood floor as she lowered herself into the chair, clutching her single sheet of paper—the resume—like a lifeline. Her hands trembled slightly, fingers twisting the edges, her wide blue eyes fixed on him with that hopeful vulnerability that made his pulse quicken.
The skirt rode up her thighs as she sat, exposing more of those sheer stockings, and Rick’s gaze dipped to the way her tits heaved with each nervous breath, the buttons on her shirt gaping just enough to tease the soft, pale cleavage beneath.
He noticed she only had that sad little paper and her small purse—no portfolio, no references, nothing to back up whatever skills she might claim. Even fresh college grads came loaded with bullshit credentials. “Is that all you brought?” he asked, stretching out his hand expectantly, his voice dripping with feigned professionalism while his mind raced with dirtier questions.
“Um, yeah. Sorry, was there more to bring?” Amber handed over the resume with a contemplative frown, her ponytail bobbing as she tilted her head, now second-guessing herself.
She wondered if that’s why all those other jobs had turned her down—maybe she’d forgotten some important paper. The rejection stung in her chest, a mix of defeat and desperation bubbling up, but sitting here in Mr. Richards’ office, with his steady gaze on her, she felt a spark of emotional pull, as if he might finally see her potential.
Rick didn’t answer right away, instead scanning the pathetic sheet: her name, contact info, high school graduation date, a laughable GPA, and ... zilch. No jobs, no volunteering, no skills listed. He peered up at her over the paper, wondering if this was a prank—her blank, earnest expression screamed she was dead serious. His pen scratched across the back of the resume, jotting pros and cons in neat columns.
Pros: Massive tits straining that sheer shirt, begging for worship; obedient ass wiggle when she shut the door; naive eyes that screamed easy coercion.
Cons: Zero experience, which meant he’d have to train her from scratch—but fuck, the thought of molding her into his personal sub made his cock harden fully, pressing against his zipper.
“Amber, have you had any job before?” he pressed, his eyes roaming her body openly now, lingering on the way her breasts rose and fell, the sheer fabric doing nothing to hide the perky swell of her 34DDs.
He imagined palming them, pinching those hidden nipples until she whimpered, the age gap amplifying the power rush—her barely legal body yielding to his mid-40s dominance.
“No, this would be my first one,” she admitted, her voice small but steady, leaning forward slightly in her eagerness, which only thrust her tits closer to the desk’s edge. The motion made the buttons strain harder, a gap widening to flash a hint of areola, and Rick’s throat tightened with lust. “Oh, but Mr. Richards, I promise I could do so well as your personal assistant! I really need a job, and Carl said you’re like a super-nice boss. Please give me a chance. No one has hired me, and I’ve been trying for like ever to get a job. Pretty please?”
Amber begged openly, her voice trembling with raw desperation, hands clasped in her lap now, knuckles white. She had no idea how her pleading came off—like a sub offering herself up, voice quivering with that mix of fear and hope that twisted something deep in Rick’s gut. The emotional intimacy of her vulnerability hit him hard, blending with the unflinching view of her body: skirt hiked to mid-thigh, stockings whispering against the chair, tits nearly spilling out as she leaned in.
Unaware of his lustful appraisal, she bit her lip, eyes wide and pleading, her naivety making her exposure all the more intoxicating. Shame flickered in her chest at the rejections, but here, begging him, she felt seen—hoped he’d take pity, not realizing he wanted to take everything. Rick couldn’t help but stare, the smirk tugging at his lips as he jotted more notes: Begging—pro; voice like a needy slut—pro.
He mused aloud, “Well, I don’t know any of your skills as you have none listed.”
His pen tapped the paper, but his mind was elsewhere, imagining her as his compliant sub—kneeling under his desk, those full lips wrapped around his cock, her massive breasts bouncing as he fucked her mouth in this very office. The public exposure risk thrilled him; the receptionist outside, the building’s glass walls—coercing her into submission here would be perfection.
No good lay in ages, his last assistants too stiff, too vanilla. Online subs cost money he wouldn’t pay, but this girl? Free, eager, and exploitable. Carl had primed her, no doubt—videos probably already circulating. If she were open to ‘extra duties,’ he’d lock her in as his assistant, body and all.
He set the pen down, leaning forward, his eyes locking on hers with predatory intent masked as consideration. “Tell me, Amber, what makes you think you’d be good at this? Be honest—I’m looking for someone who can ... handle special tasks.”
“Oh, well, I did cheerleading and gymnastics in high school, so I always have a positive attitude, and I’m flexible. I can clean. You can ask Carl because I have to keep my apartment spotless since it’s also his showroom apartment.”
Amber ticked off these items on her perfectly manicured fingers, her voice bubbling with that innocent enthusiasm that made Rick’s cock throb harder in his slacks. The way she leaned forward to emphasize her points pressed her massive 34DD tits against the edge of his desk, the sheer baby blue shirt stretching taut, buttons straining as pale cleavage spilled into view—soft, creamy skin begging for his hands, his mouth. He could almost feel the weight of them already, the age gap fueling his hunger, her barely legal naivety a stark contrast to his mid-40s control.
“Carl checks your apartment often?” Rick raised a brow, his voice casual but probing, eyes flicking from her exposed cleavage back to her wide, trusting blue eyes.
He couldn’t believe that they were in a relationship, as Carl would’ve bragged about it, and also, looking at her next to him ... Well, Carl didn’t have the kind of money it would take to make sense. But the thought of that greasy bastard already dipping into this prime pussy? It twisted jealousy with arousal in his gut.
“Oh, yes! Every day, he comes by for inspections and security. He also has the cameras on so he can show people the place whenever he needs to.”
She smiled as if this was perfectly normal information, her ponytail swaying with a little bounce that made her tits jiggle again. Rick wondered if this girl was really so dense as not to know why a man like Carl would install cameras in her apartment.
“He has cameras in your apartment? In every room?” Rick asked wide-eyed.
“Of course, silly. How else would Carl be able to properly give a virtual tour thingy to anyone who wanted to see?”
Amber giggled at Rick’s question, the sound light and airy, her cheeks flushing pink with what he assumed was embarrassment at her own silliness. He, in turn, let out a small chuckle, but at the girl’s expense, his mind racing. If she believed all that, what could he convince her of? She never had a job before. She was clearly naïve and gullible. She was desperate for a job. He could train her to be a perfect personal assistant—a very personal one at that.
Rick drummed his fingers on his desk while concocting his plan. He would take a few slow steps, test the waters, and find out exactly how gullible this blonde bombshell really was. The coercion would be easy, wrapped in the promise of employment, her emotional need for validation making her pliable.
“I will give you a trial period today, Amber. If you pass today, then I will extend that trial run to a week. If you pass the week, then you will have the job.”
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