Mary has had a rough time working as the personal assistant of her rich, demanding, and ill-tempered boss. She stumbles upon a scene she should not have witnessed and learns her boss' secret that drives his craving for sex and blood. Mary must learn to serve the CEO's twisted, sexual needs or suffer the consequences
This 6,173 word story is the first part in the "Servicing the Billionaire" series!
The baritone voice of the White Group CEO boomed through the heavy-set, oak doors. Mary cringed at the sound of his voice. What now? She had given him an intercom so that he could simply push a button and ask for her assistance instead of screaming through the door. Mr. White had surveyed the device over his customary glass of whiskey and waved it off, saying that he was too old-fashioned and that he didn’t bother with such frivolous inventions. Matthew White was only thirty years old.
She jumped out of her office seat as if a fire had lit under her ass. She took a moment to compose herself and smoothed over her pencil skirt. Don’t give him attitude, don’t frown. Just do whatever he asks.
She opened the door. “Mr. White, how can I help?”
The shades in his office were drawn and the room was cast in almost pitch darkness except for the laptop on his desk which illuminated his young face in a ghostly blue hue. One hand clutched a glass of dark liquid that he always kept at his desk.
Matthew White, handsome billionaire CEO of Whitefield Malls: nothing more than an alcoholic. Mary mused to herself. Though it wasn’t exactly fair, Mr. White wasn’t exactly an alcoholic. He didn’t come to work reeking of liquor.
His eyes narrowed at her as if he was displeased with something she had done. His brown hair fell haphazardly into his eyes, which he brushed away impatiently.
“Miss Kramar, so nice of you to join me at last,” he snarled with a sardonic grin. The ugly look on his face marred his otherwise handsome features. “I’m a very busy man, Miss Kramar. You are being paid as my personal assistant. I expect you to come running when I call your name. I throw. You fetch. Are we clear?”
Why is he such a prick? Is it to punish all women? “Yes, Mr. White,” she intoned.
He frowned in a disapproving manner and beckoned her with a gesture. “Come here,” he said acidly.
Regret flooded her chest as she approached his desk. What did I do now? Mr. White had a way of making someone feel as if they had done something horribly wrong, and her knees trembled as she stood beside him.
“I said, come.”
Mary gasped as he grabbed her wrist in a firm grip and pulled her closer. She could not bring herself to meet his angry gaze. With his other hand, he gently lifted her chin until they were almost nose to nose. She could feel his cool breath on her face and smell the musky notes of his cologne. All she had to do was lean in slightly and their lips would touch. The thought of such a brazen action made heat rush through her veins.
“I don’t appreciate your tone, Miss Kramar. I’ve given you a great opportunity to serve me. Should you chose to leave this job, I will give you the recommendation I feel you deserve. Keep that in mind.” His eyes bored into hers as he awaited her response.
Was that a threat? Her heart was beating abnormally fast—she realized that there was more at stake here. She wouldn't just lose her job; he would make sure the only job she would ever get was at the local diner. She put on a face of appropriate remorse. “I am very sorry, Mr. White. I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate this job. I really do. I want you—I mean—I want you to be pleased with me.”
He smiled at that and gently stroked her cheek with the hand that held her chin. Then he relinquished her and paused, looking up and down her outfit, silently appraising her. A shiver ran down her spine as he examined her.
About Adriana Rossi
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Published July 27, 2012
Erotica, Literature & Fiction.