Page 8 of His for Christmas
“What about tomorrow?”
“Do I show up to work?” Anger rose up in me, even if I didn’t have the right to feel it. “And you could maybe tell your HR department not to bother with the background checks and all that if you only want people working here for one day.”
His eyes flashed, and I remembered exactly why I’d thought he looked mean. He looked more than mean; he looked terrifying. My heart pounded in my chest, so heavy it felt like it must be visible through my clothes—but he wasn’t looking at my chest anymore. He looked directly into my eyes.
“What did you say?” His voice was deceptively soft.
“I said…” My accusations faltered. He may have done something callous, but I had no right to call him on it. I should walk away with my head held high and count this as a lesson learned. And I would do those things, but I felt myself breaking down under the stress of the past few months. And years. Living on the streets, getting caught, prison. And then after, wondering if I’d made it this far for nothing, if I’d starve before the New Year even came. That orgasm had unwound something in me, something vital, something that made me lash out. “The HR person said this was a two-week job. I don’t have anything else lined up.”
“The HR person,” he said, his voice sounding strangled.
“This was the only job I’ve found in weeks. I know it’s not your problem, but rent is due. And my fridge is empty. I need this job.” Bitterness shadowed my voice. “And it turns out you only wanted me for one night. For this.”
He walked stiffly to the window and looked out. His silhouette was tall and imposing, even against the impressive backdrop of the city.
“I worked hard today.” I didn’t know why I was explaining myself to him. It seemed important that he understand. I was willing to work hard. “I can do this job while your secretary is out. I won’t screw it up if you let me stay.”
“Christ,” he said.
My chest tightened with humiliation. And fear for what I’d do next. Was this what I’d been reduced to? Someone to get called in, to fuck and then discard? Was this my life now? My throat felt thick, and I had to force the words out. “I’ll just go now.”
Leave, like he’d told me to.
“Wait, Angel. Is that your real name?”
I turned back, my hand on the door. “Yes, Angel Cole.”
He looked pained. “Ms. Cole. I’ve made a mistake. A big mistake.” The words sounded so rusty I knew he hadn’t used them often. He probably hadn’t made a mistake in years.
And I still didn’t know what he was talking about. “Sir?”
He turned and gave me a half smile. Or a snarl. “You weren’t supposed to go through HR. You were supposed to be sent by the discreet agency. A very expensive, very exclusive agency with a stable of girls who are trained to do what I tell them to. But you weren’t, were you?”
I shook my head silently.
A rough exhalation of air. “You weren’t sent for me to use. Not like that.”
From the guilt on his face, I knew he meant what he’d said. He had thought I was some kind of escort sent for him. And he really didn’t know about my criminal record. My secret was still safe. “It’s…it’s okay.”
He grimaced. “It’s not okay. I forgot my secretary was going on vacation. It wasn’t planned, so I didn’t… I just saw you standing in my office and assumed…”
Because I looked like an escort, apparently. Heat flooded my cheeks. “So can I keep working here?”
He faced the dark windows, and all I could see was his reflection, almost haunted. “It’s late,” he said finally. “Go home.”
“And tomorrow?”
He glanced back. His gaze met mine, eyes as flat and cool as the glass behind him. “Tomorrow I’ll figure this out.”
Chapter Four
I barely slept that night, very aware that he could figure me out come tomorrow. Figure out who I was, figure out that I’d lied. And then the fact that there’d been a misunderstanding in his office would only be foreplay for my return journey to prison. Wham, bam, and thank you, ma’am. Lying on an application may not be a crime… but lying about my criminal record was a crime.
There was something else that kept me tossing and turning: complete and utter humiliation at my reactions to him—all while he’d thought I was a prostitute. The temp job was only for two weeks, but I’d managed to make a mess of it in a single day.
Or maybe he was as embarrassed as me. Maybe he’d pretend the entire thing never happened.
By four a.m. I gave up on sleeping and got dressed. At least I could actually finish that stack of files Christy had left for me before Mr. Thompson figured me out and fired me. At least my security badge still worked. The floor was still dark when the elevator opened at five a.m. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city skyline still dark with night. The walls were smooth—no light switches—but the glow from my computer monitor gave me enough light to work.
