The Billionaire's Contract (His Submissive 1) (3 page)

"T-That doesn't matter," I said, taking a step backward. "What matters is-"

"It happened," he said savagely, his voice building in candor until it filled the room. "It won't happen again. And that’s the end of it!"

I licked my chapped lips, just needing more. Needing something. "But Jacob-"

"You will address me as Mr. Whitmore,” he growled over his shoulder. “And we're done."

I watched him go, throwing open the door and stomping away in a huff. I wanted to yell after him. Lay it all out and screw the consequences. Jesus--five minutes in his arms and I was ready to throw it all away.

But Mrs. Delacourt came in and gave me a look that gave me pause. It was one of sympathy, and it opened a box of worms I wasn't prepared for. How many women found themselves alone with him, laid bare and tossed out like trash?

She cleared her throat and held the door for me, wisely changing the subject before either of us could dwell on what was behind her stormy gray eyes. "Come--let's get you squared away."

****

I paused to take a breath, glad that I'd opted for flats for my first day instead of the pumps that Mom kept trying to force onto my feet.

They'll elongate your legs
, she insisted.
And they're slimming
!

Considering the manager of the research division must have been Wile E. the Coyote in a past life, tennis shoes would have been one better. I'd run the circuit around the expansive research and lead development office so many times I was surprised I hadn't worn in the fibers. And then there were coffee orders and breakfast bagels and dashing in and out of the Whitmore building. Going up and down in an elevator should have been less work but I huffed and puffed like I took the stairs.

I hadn't the time to meet my fellow grunts, but I did know that the manager, Christy, snapped her finger at a mousy girl with inky hair and cleared her throat at a middle aged man with spiky blond locks and a bright blue tie so I’d affectionately named them Snap Girl and Spike. When Christy and I spun back into the room with our cart of outgoing mail, both looked at me with pity before turning back to their work.

Christy turned to face me and there was no pity on her hawk like features. "Come along, Lily."

"It's ‘Leila’,” I cut at her, smoothing it over with a smile when she frowned at the correction.

She waited for me to catch up before continuing to a wall lined with lcd screens. Each was filled with documents and memos and the names and documents changed every couple of seconds or so.

"I know it looks complicated," Christy said, eyes on the screen. "But it certainly doesn't take an Ivy League education to figure out." I bristled at the jab and she stopped to give me a hardly sympathetic smile before continuing. "Now, if you'll take a look at-"

Snap Girl cleared her throat behind us. "Uh, Mrs. Moore-"

"If it's a page for me just hold it until I'm done with, Lauren,” Christy snapped.

I opened my mouth to correct her, but someone beat me to the punch.

"It's Leila."

Both of us whipped our heads to face the smoky voice.

"You!" I gasped, my eyes locking onto him. Jacob looked like something out of GQ in a charcoal gray suit that fit him like sin. A pale blue tie against his white shirt made his eyes glitter. "What are you--why are you-"

"Mr. Whitmore!" Christy said quickly, pushing in front of me like I was some royal embarrassment. "I wasn't expecting-"

Her babbling became an unpleasant buzz in my ear and then it was nothing, nothing but his eyes smoldering and every inch of me humming with awareness of him. My whole body tingled--my shoulders beneath my silk blouse, the area at the back of my knees, my toes. I couldn't help but imagine throwing my arms around his sturdy neck and feeling his hands run against the curve of my bottom as he lifted me up. I couldn't help but wonder if his swell would thump and dance for the freedom we both crave.

My secret desires must have been all over my face because the side of his mouth curved upward slightly and he broke the trance, turning to Christy.

"I'm afraid I owe you an apology, Mrs. Moore."

She looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "You do?"

"You'll be down an associate until a replacement for Miss Montgomery can be found."

Great. He was firing me? My throat was dry as sandpaper. I was so close. I couldn’t lose this job. An alarm went off in my head and I opened my mouth to beg, grovel if need be, but he held up a finger, silencing me.

"I have another position that would be perfect for our new employee."

Now I was the one looking at him strangely. "You do?"

"Yes. Come with me."

I hesitated, not missing the look of disdain behind Christy's dark eyes before I hustled behind my boss. I had so many questions, but as I watched his muscular frame move beneath his slick suit, everything melted away except for his body. My gaze washed over his shoulders then down the muscular expanse of his back.

Stop it
, I chastised myself, looking away. He told me to never speak of that day again.
Clearly he thinks it was as big a mistake as I do
.

We pushed into the elevator and I stood awkwardly beside him, chewing on my lip. The quiet, the not knowing, along with the close proximity of him was maddening.

"I'm being considered for another position?" I let out hoarsely.

"Yes."

"What position?"

"A highly paid one."

I cocked my head at him. "And what highly paid position am I being considered for?"

"Personal assistant." He adjusted his tie. "My personal assistant."

I opened my mouth to protest, but remembered my whole spiel about 'scrubbing toilets'. After all, from mailroom clerk to personal assistant in four hours was pretty impressive. It probably didn’t hurt that I’d let him fondle me yesterday. Ashamed, I swallowed the rest of my questions and dropped my head. I still felt his eyes dance over me.

"You worry that this promotion is due to our time together, don’t you?"

I didn’t respond, looking forward stubbornly as I remembered how he snapped at me when I dared to bring it up. I had a feeling he already knew the answer, but I nodded anyway.

"A verbal response would be appreciated, Leila." It wasn’t a request.

Red gripped my cheeks, but indignation made me whip to face him. "I don’t know--are we talking about it today? Or is it still our dirty little secret?"

His body tightened at my snide remark. “Answer the question, Leila. Do you think I’m promoting you because of what we did together yesterday?”

“Yes,” I said, barely above a whisper.

"I see."

The cabin came to a stop and the doors pushed open and the wow that rose in my throat came spilling out. My guilt over how I secured my position faded away as I took in the posh executive suite. While the lobby had wooden statement pieces and glass sculptures and the other floors were lined with mahogany with postmodern desks and Pollock paintings, the suite employed less is more with crisp white walls and marble floors. The only color came at the end of the corridor, the secretary's desk a soft sandalwood.

We took stock of each other, she perching a brow at my ensemble and me craving the white shift she wore.

"Hold all my calls, Natasha."

The surprise on her face spoke volumes but she managed a 'yes sir' and I gave her a smug look before following Jacob into his office.

The elegance that permeated through the rest of the building blossomed in Jacob's abode. Wood carvings hung on the white walls and splashes of color were found in the chaise in the corner, and a minibar on the opposite side. Behind a cherry wood desk, all the colors of the bustling city sparkled behind the floor to ceiling window. I felt the life pulsing through the glass, so close and vibrant that I could reach out and touch it. He didn't even break his stride, immediately moving to retrieve something from his desk.

He handed me the device and when I pressed the button to bring the screen up, I saw a scanned electronic contract.

He walked to the front of the desk and leaned against the edge. "Feel free to read through it in its entirety. A copy was also emailed to the address we have for you on file."

I was far from fluent in legalese but when I scanned over it, words like non-disclosure agreement stuck out at me. Made sense. For all the pictures determined photogs snapped of him and his flavor of the weeks, none of the women ever gave a tell-all account.

I bit my lip. How long until he got tired of me?

"I can give you the highlights," he said after a moment. "As my personal assistant, you will be given a healthy salary along with a clothing and travel allowance. In addition to any administrative needs I may require, you will make yourself available as my submissive."

Submissive. The word sent a wave of longing through me. I'd always been curious about the lifestyle, the leather, the domination, the taboo. BDSM definitely wasn't a term I'd ever associate with Jacob Whitmore, though. I gave it all away, my features frozen in shock. His, however remained unchanged.

"You are familiar with the term submissive? With BDSM?"

He said it so offhandedly casual, like he was talking about weather that I couldn't help but chuckle. Uncomfortably.

"Yes. I mean, I do. I mean, I was..." I let my voice trail off and dropped my eyes to the plush carpet beneath my feet. So soft and pliant--a stark contrast to his coldly confidant request. His 'contract'.

"Good," he said, unaffected by my obvious discomfort. "That means your period of adjustment should be small."

I kicked at the carpet with my toe. I think he overestimated my ability to go with the flow. Fifteen minutes ago I was learning I should be seen and not heard and ready to be run like a gopher and now the CEO of the hottest PR firm in the country wanted to bring me on as his personal assistant and private...sub. My head was swimming and when I saw the salary, with all the zeroes tacked on the end, I nearly fainted. It was enough to easily pay off my student loans. In like, 3 months. I'd been budgeting for an apartment, but it would be easy peasy for me to qualify for a house in less than a year.

"I-Is this number correct?" I glanced back up at him. "It must be some sort of typo."

"The salary is correct." His voice darkened. "And don't worry, you'll earn every cent."

Gulp. "I, uh, as far as the interview?"

The smile at his lips didn't touch his eyes. "It's more of a...working interview. If you are prepared, we can begin now."

Now? I thought, panic making me grip the arm of the chair. He wanted me to submit here, with the secretary right outside?

He looked at me intently. "You are under no obligation to me yet, Leila. If you are uninterested in the position, you can sever your employment with Whitmore and Creighton."

I thought back to the frenetic, perfectly normal and unexcited job I'd started off this morning. "I couldn't go back to R and D?"

He clucked his tongue and slowly shook his head. "Oh no, Leila. We both know it was an extensive waste of your talent."

My nostrils flared at that. So I didn't have a choice. I had to do anything he wanted me to or it was back to want ads and disappointment. I was getting a bout of dejavu and his self-contentment made me slump. It was almost like he was challenging me...wanting me to prove that I could handle the unconventional bargain. His will for a hefty paycheck. I had a feeling I wasn't the first girl propositioned by the handsome billionaire and made an offer that was impossible to refuse.

"You know this isn't fair, right?" I said pointedly. "That you're giving me no choice?"

His eyes hardened to ice. "Of course you have a choice. You can submit to me and be paid handsomely for it, or you can walk back through that door without consequences."

I kept my eyes on him, trying to hold tight to my anger but I felt it slipping between my fingers as I mulled it over. Would it really be so terrible? This was my dream job. And how many times had I flipped through glossy pages, green with envy at shots of Jacob shirtless with some woman in St. Barts, or decked out at a movie premiere?

"O-Okay," I whispered, nerves making the word quiver.

"Look at me," he commanded. His baritone voice roped me in and his steely gaze held me tight. "I want you to say it again--and be sure."

I obeyed, even though a little part of me was screaming that this was crazy. But there was another part, a piece of me that was inexplicably drawn to him; that wanted more of him, all of him--and was begging me to say the word.

"I am sure. Yes." I'm not sure what magic helped me put one foot in front of the other and take the tablet and scrawl my name on the dotted line, but my signature shone up at me. When he took the device from me, his finger brushed mine and I shivered.

His face didn't betray a thing, but he did clear his throat and break contact before turning away. "Very well." He walked over to a minibar and opened the cabinet. He slowly poured a brown liquid into a glass and brought it to his lips. He wheeled back to face me and his eyes darted over me. Up and down, devouring every inch. Teasing me.