His Under Contract Page 3

  I in the mirror I see it, my mother looking back at me. Closing my eyes, I call myself an idiot. It wasn’t fair to her that I hated the way she was so subservient to my father. She liked her life the way it was, wouldn’t know what to do without my father. If she was happy, then I needed to be okay with it. The thing is I don’t really look like my mother, a member of the Blackfoot tribe, I’m definitely a blend of my parents. My father is a walking, talking, ad for a Nordic god. It’s our eyes that are mirrors of the others. Shaking off my troubled thoughts I focus on getting ready. After brushing my teeth I apply moisturizer, I don’t do makeup. Finished, I head for the El that will take me from my Wrigleyville neighborhood to Ethan, in the Gold Coast, in the Watertower building.

  When I go in, they remember me from Amelia’s introduction yesterday, and give me a key and swipe card for the elevators that Ethan left for me. I go up to the fifty-fourth floor, once again awed by how far up the massive condo is. Letting myself in, I check my watch to see it’s one minute until six. No lights are on and none are needed with brilliant sunshine streaming in through the floor to ceiling glass windows. With a longing look to take in the beautiful view of the lake, I head to the kitchen.

  This condo is gorgeous, at almost three thousand square feet it’s nicer and bigger than any house I’ve ever been in. Rich dark hardwoods run throughout, with thick plush carpets to break up the spaces. His office is insane with silky, soft leather on two walls and the others filled with books and a freaking Picasso painting. Whoever had decorated, liked marble, a lot. The kitchen counters are in marble, as is the backsplash—there are matching marble countertops in the bathrooms as well. I remember Cora’s words of annoyance, they were a bitch to keep clean.

  Per Cora’s instructions, I take the bottle of water out of the refrigerator and let it sit while I turn on the burner for the silver pot that will make Ethan’s morning espresso. I was surprised there wasn’t a massive gleaming machine for it, but Cora said Ethan preferred the pot, as the simplest way tasted the best. He was also a bear without it in the morning. With that thought in mind, I make sure I follow her instructions to the letter. I measure in exactly one and a half scoops of the coffee beans into a shimmering small, stainless steel food processor. Once I’m done grinding, I pour them into the tiny silver basket. The water is filled to below the hole on the pot. I attach everything and set the timer on the stove, a massive six burner in gas that looked like something out of a restaurant.

  Finished cleaning out the food processor, I go to the walk-in pantry that’s the size of my bedroom, and grab the organic peanuts, raw honey, along with the fresh wheat bread bought every week at Whole Foods. Back at the counter, I pour in the peanuts up to the 1-cup line, grinding them again, and again, until they are fine. Then I add one teaspoon of honey to the mixture and buzz them again. The timer goes off, I cut the temp by half on the silver pot, then drop the slices of bread into the toaster. Coffee done, I move the silver pot off the burner, putting it on a cold burner.

  Reaching into the cabinet, I pull out a small plate and cup for his coffee. The toast pops up. Holy freaking crap! It’s burnt. Not a little burnt I can scrape off, it’s charcoal. Fuck! I adjust it to where Cora said he preferred it then drop in another two pieces of bread. Damn it, Cora had warned me the toast setting was often moved by the cleaners who came in. I pour the coffee from the silver pot into one of the pretty pieces of china he preferred.

  “Your first day and you have me working out on an empty stomach. Yesterday you said anyone with a below average IQ could manage this. What is your IQ?”

  “Coffee?” I offer weakly. Holy shit, he’s panty-meltingly hot in a plain white shirt stretched to its limits by his muscular chest. Does he have tattoos? Tattoos are not a turn on, holy fuck... they are. Terrified I’m starting to drool, I drop my eyes to a spot on the floor in front of him.

  His answer is a death glare.

  “I don’t understand the big deal. The toast will be done in a minute. It usually takes you fifteen minutes to finish your coffee and toast.” I’m talking to his pure white shoes, refusing to look up.

  “If you know that, then you know I expect the toast and coffee to be waiting for me. I have a schedule and I stick to it. You need to as well, if you want to keep your job.” He slams out of the condo.

  The second he’s gone the toast pops up. I wilt onto the counter, squeezing my eyes shut against the picture of him which is ingrained onto the back of my eyelids. Stop it, Holly, get it together. Remember, he’s an asshole. A massive asshole who just threatened to fire you. The moment of weakness disappears immediately. Fuck, only the first day and I’m already threatened with being fired. Why does everything have to be so perfect with him?

  My stomach grumbles, reminding me I haven’t had breakfast. I say fuckit and sit down to eat what’s already been made. The toast is good with the homemade peanut butter. I’ve never had coffee, espresso, whatever, made this way before. After a lot of sugar and half-and-half, it’s perfect. Finished, I clean up and begin making his actual breakfast.

  I make the protein shake he has on the way to work first, then put it away in the fridge. After I wipe down the kitchen, I set out the pan for the poached eggs. His breakfast is a version of eggs hollandaise without the hollandaise or ham. The base is a toasted and buttered English muffin with smoked salmon, fresh leaves of spinach, topped with a poached egg. I get out all the ingredients, thankful I really only have to cook the poached eggs and English muffin.

  Considering I’ve never poached an egg before, I start a few minutes early. It’s a good thing I do. I screw up the first egg, there hadn’t been enough vinegar in the water. When he comes in without saying a word, he goes down the hall to shower and get dressed. I start the coffee all over again.

  I’m setting everything down on the table when he comes into the dining room. The Tribune is on the left, the Wall Street Journal on the right. His only acknowledgement of me is a nod. Swallowing the urge to bow and call him sir, I haul ass back to the kitchen.

  Cleaning the kitchen, the place is dead silent as he eats. I long to turn on the radio for noise. Three minutes before he’s due to leave, I take his shake in to him and set it at the side of his plate. “Amelia texted to tell you she doesn’t want to have lunch at Sherman’s. If you are commandeering her lunch break, she wants Giorgio’s.”

  Instant frown. “Giorgio’s is farther from work. Fine, I’ll talk to her at work.”

  I say nothing. I’m pretty sure I’m not expected to. Waiting until he leaves, I rub the same spot on the marble kitchen counter top for almost two minutes. “There are three suits that need to be taken to the cleaners. They should have at least two to give back. Here’s your employment contract, read it carefully before you sign.”

  I’m nodding to an empty spot as the front door closes. When he’s gone, I collapse onto the cool counter-top, with my cheek taking in the cold for a long minute. Holy shit, it’s a twelve page document that covers everything from listing my every single duty, to the time I could leave, to how he mentioned if he called, I was always to answer. The amount of pay was covered, as well as a bonus at Thanksgiving if I’ve done a good job. I’m limited to the time I can be on the phone and computer. I get two weeks of vacation that he has to approve at least a week in advance, with up to forty hours I could use for doctor’s appointments or personal errands. I want to set fire to it, only I don’t have a choice. I sign it at the bottom.

  Going into the dining room, I pick up his plate, empty cup, and papers. The papers go into recycling, and I clean the kitchen for the third time. Before I begin, I put on another cup of the yummy coffee and turn on the radio. Once it’s as clean as my father would have demanded I go down the hall to his bedroom.

  I had been shown the place yesterday with Cora as she took me through her day, and still find it hard to believe he lives here. The place doesn’t feel lived in, it feels like a high priced hotel. Everything is in its place, without many personal items out. There
are his and her walk in closets, with islands in the middle that hold accessories like ties, watches, pocket squares, and belts. Unbelievable, the man has so many clothes he uses both, one for suits and business casual and the other for actual casual. I give in and count, forty-five suits, the man has forty-five suits all of them cut to fit him. His shirts are all soft and silky, in varying colors of the rainbow, with white and different shades of blue his favorites apparently. I’ve never heard of it, but Cora said all his shirts were made to fit as well, and from the feel of them, I don’t even want to guess how much they cost. At least he doesn’t just throw his stuff everywhere. Even his closet is immaculate; the suit jacket he wore yesterday is at the top of his open hamper. I pick it up remembering how stunning he looked in it. Now there is a cloying perfume on it.

  Never mind, I tell my knotting stomach, this is how it’s supposed to go, the fat girl doesn’t get the guy.

  *****

  I’m crossing the street with the two suits from the cleaners when my phone rings. Checking the display, I see it’s Amelia. Presuming she’s calling to check on my first day, I’m taken aback by the screech of my name. “Oh my god, I told you! I told you that you were perfect! You aren’t just what Ethan needs, you’re what I need. I swear he went down on his knees in apology for the way he’s treated me when we worked together. Even though he believed he was helping, he saw where he was hurting my career. He promised he would meet with the other partners and let them know he was going hands off.”

  “That’s great! Right?” Why did she sound like she was crying?

  “Yes, you shouldn’t have blabbed, but it is good. I’m just still kind of emotional, Ethan was such a sweetheart. He apologized for thinking of me as his baby sister—except I am his baby sister. It was how he had thought of me for so long it was going to be hard not to think of me that way. However, when it comes to work I’m not a baby anymore. It’s just we’ve always been close. I would never have left, not really, I was thinking out loud. Now I feel bad. I know it hurt Ethan for me to even consider leaving the firm.”

  The doorman ignores me, even though I saw him only twenty minutes ago. I glare at him as I open the door and go into the building. “I’m sorry slash happy for you?”

  “It’s good, really. Ethan and I needed to have the conversation, just not in public with me weeping like a teenager. Thank you, it wouldn’t have happened without you.”

  “I’m glad I can help.” I’m juggling the suits, the key, and the phone as I try to get back into the condo.

  “So, how is your first day going?”

  “Ehh, I burned his toast for his protein snack before his workout. He threatened to fire me after that. Apparently breakfast was fine, no threat then. I took suits to the dry cleaners and now I’m back with two. I’ll start on cleaning up his bedroom and bathroom. Then hook up with his work secretary to get coordinated. It’s a good thing he gave Cora a new phone for his schedule and email. Mine is barely a step up from a flip phone, it moves slower than molasses. I’m going to keep trying not to screw up, especially after this morning. He wanted a seamless switchover, it didn’t happen. Even if he did threaten me, at least he didn’t blow up on me.”

  “Ethan doesn’t blow up, he gets all quiet, then gives you a look that draws blood.” Amelia assures me.

  Hanging up the suits, I exhale slowly. She is not helping. “Okay, well, I’d better let you go, and get started on his room.”

  “Good luck, thanks again, Holly!”

  I hang up with a shake of my head. His massive bathroom is already cleaner than my own. I’ve only seen bathrooms like this in magazines, a huge walk in shower with body jets and a bench that looks like it would seat half a dozen people. The bathtub makes me downright jealous, it’s on a step up and built for four with swirling jets and a temperature setting. Thoughts of stealing an hour away in a luxurious bath float through my mind. I firmly ignore them to concentrate on cleaning.

  Countertops are bare except for hand soap, I wonder where the scent is coming from. I can smell him in here. A mix of sandalwood, amber and is that wheat grass or moss? As I finish, I consider buying one of those little masks, because holy crap, I’m wet, there, for him. Crap, crap, crap. Stop this, stop wanting what I can’t have. Sex hasn’t been a part of my life in over three years, I’m pretty sure my hymen has grown back.

  My inner snark goes up in flames as I remember how beautiful Ethan is and how it will never happen. Even as I tell myself it doesn’t matter, it’s fine, I wonder if it will ever happen with another man, period. I miss sex, I really do, but more than that. I miss the illusion that for just a moment I’m wanted, desired as I am. Fuck.

  I sink onto the floor, weak and overwhelmed from longing I haven’t felt in years. No matter what I am feeling, I have to forget it, life had taught me again and again what I was feeling would end in pain. My mind flashes to my first lesson, Bobby Dillard. I haven’t thought of him in over seven years, haven’t let myself think of him.

  Bobby was my first fuck, not lover, not boyfriend, just a guy who won a bet he could fuck me. Winning half the bet by making it past my Staff Sergeant father and two large burly brothers. For almost a month, as he wooed me like something out of a romance novel, or at least Cosmo, I was a giddy teenager instead of a somewhat adult twenty year old. With two big brothers, the boys didn’t try in high school. Then when I graduated and there still was not the slightest bit of interest, it hurt not being wanted. Bobby made me feel wanted and pretty.

  While he was no pin up, he was cute enough. We had the same likes, we shared the same values, or so I thought, we both wanted to get out of Jacksonville. I thought I had hit the jackpot. Someone who liked me for me, thought I was funny, smart, and didn’t care about my weight.

  I believed I was in love, he swore he was, too. Then came the day. We were downstairs in his basement bedroom. Hadn’t it been long enough—almost an entire month of hand holding and kissing? Didn’t I love him? Didn’t I want to be with him forever? He wanted to show me just how much he loved me, too, it wasn’t all about him. On and on it went. I was scared, I’ve never done that, I whispered. It’s okay, he promised, we would go slow, he doubted it would even hurt.

  Finally, I gave in, and damn, was Bobby Dillard a good fuck. For hours we were like bunny rabbits, the first time hadn’t been very good so he was making it up to me. And boy did he make it up to me. I must have had five or six orgasms in three hours. Then he showed me how to please him. I did it and I actually liked it. He talked dirtier than I’d ever heard, considering I lived on Marine bases my whole life that was saying something. He was inviting, pushing me to talk as dirty, and oh, what naughty fun it was.

  We fucked in every position I had ever heard of, and some I hadn’t. This was a part of me I never even knew existed. Before, I had kissed a few boys, I hadn’t even enjoyed being felt up. There was astonishment I had waited so long for something that felt so good. Sex was amazing, and I wanted more and more. I couldn’t get enough of his cock, I told him with a giggle, as I caressed him.

  He rolled away and off the bed. Smacking my ass as he told I had had enough of his cock. For a moment I went still as I heard the shower come on, he hadn’t really been as harsh as he sounded for a minute. It was almost time to get me home. I’m sure he was afraid of me breaking curfew. He had been since we began dating. He didn’t want to anger my father.

  When he came out of the shower only a few minutes later, I was proven wrong. “What the hell, Holly? Get your fat ass up. Go take a shower. I can’t take you home smelling like a whore, with jizz on you. Although, I gotta say, I doubt anyone who would make me pay for it would give up as much as you did. Horny, little slut hidden behind that shy fat girl. I guess what they say is true, a fat chick will do anything to make you happy. Today is my day, man, I just earned a hundred bucks. Guys couldn’t believe I’d take the bet, but I did and won. I managed to fuck the Staff Sergeant’s fat little girl.”

  He sounded so proud of himself. Every wor
d was a cut along my skin until I was weak with the loss of blood. Only, I couldn’t see the blood. How could there be so much blood, yet I couldn’t see it? Looking down at the ravaged king sized bed, with the smell of sex heavy in the air, rage fired through me. This fucker had used me, used me, with malice and intent.

  Still drying his hair, his towel over his head, he didn’t see the blow coming. Picking up the guitar he had used to serenade me with some silly song earlier, I aimed the butt of it at his head. Broken now, I dropped it and reached for his baseball bat, and sent it into his middle as he lay on the floor. Snatching the towel off his head, seeing the tears and the side of his face already bruising filled me with satisfaction. “Where is it you bastard? Where is the camera?”

  Bobby was crying as he pointed toward the closet. Thank god, he hadn’t run it to his computer, it was just a simple camcorder. I tossed it on the floor before taking the baseball bat to it until it looked like a Lego set. He was still on the floor, bawling. My hand went into his hair, yanking his head up. “If you ever tell anyone, and I mean anyone, what happened today, I will use the bat again on your legs and you will walk with a limp for the rest of your life. You’re afraid of my dad and brothers, but they are nothing compared with what I will do to you if I ever see you or hear anything about today from you again. Do you understand?” He only continued crying. I shook his head again, this time harder. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes!” He sputtered out. I pushed his head back against the floor, letting him go. I grabbed my clothes and went into the bathroom. The bathroom was filthy. My shower was quick. I dressed even quicker. I was numb by then, no anger, no sadness at all.