Notes from the author:
Hello again. Good news and bad news on this chapter. Bad news is there is no sex. And it's a little shorter than I wanted it to be. The good news is that it's hot. Be advised that this chapter does feature some humiliation and degradation, which you can generally expect to be up there on my list of favorite things and it will often shine through in my stories. Those who have read my first series See Through Me will understand. ;)
Love to all my fellow kink fans, and let me know what you think in the comments.
--J
*****
Chapter 2
Good God, that man. All I could think of was how hot he was. Just, how
hot
.
I was certain I had to be blushing to my ears after hours alone in a huge house with a devastatingly gorgeous rich bachelor. How I'd held it together was entirely beyond me. Even more concerning was how I would continue to keep it together, now that we had an agreement and I was officially handling this man's project.
I couldn't back out now. This was a huge opportunity to expand my portfolio and client base in a wealthy area like Glencoe. I had to focus on the tasks at hand.
Research. Propose. Execute.
If I focused and worked hard enough, I should be able to keep my cool and maintain a professional distance. Not that he would even be interested in me to begin with.
Curt was so mature, so cultured, so wealthy and debonair. He was in his prime, and likely had dozens of equally gorgeous women lining up around the block. Women that probably had authentic designer purses, unlike the knock-off I had, which was already in dire need of replacement after less than a year.
I needed to get myself together. Curt was probably old enough to be my father for God's sake. But damn if he wasn't sexy. My ego clung to the memory of that moment when he had first opened the door. I had been stunned by the fucking Adonis that stood before me, but even more shocked by his reaction.
His eyes had widened when he saw me, and roamed quickly but thoroughly over my body. I saw his gaze linger just a moment at my chest, and then again at my legs. Thank God I had worn my ruffled silk blouse, or I would instantly have given myself away.
I saw desire in his eyes. Immediate desire. For me. Or so I would choose to believe in my impending late night fantasies. I had never looked forward to touching myself with more urgency than now, as I sped home in my trusty Volkswagen Jetta.
Glancing at the speedometer, I realized I needed to calm down. I really didn't need hundreds of dollars in traffic fines just because of my raging hormones. It was difficult enough to get by with all the student loans, car payments, phone payments, and, the major downfall of being one's own employer, health insurance.
It was rough. But it was the price of doing what I loved. What I was destined for. And despite my sparse portfolio, I knew I could do it better than most others. This project would be my big chance to prove it.
Mr. Donovan would need to remain Mr. Donovan. Not Curt. Although neither title made me any less wet between my legs. Both belonged to a tall, sexy, hunky, rich specimen of man with golden brown eyes.
I hadn't looked into many men's eyes, but the few I had were enough for me to know that I couldn't make a habit of looking into his. I would be falling all over myself trying to make myself more interesting, more appealing to him. An impossible task. He was so freaking sexy. So out of my league.
Calm the heck down, Beth. God, you really just need to get laid don't you?
Yes. I needed to get laid. I had needed it for a long time. My whole adult life I had needed it. But I had been raised in a strictly religious household, and only left home to attend college. Classes were excessive enough in the time they required, but a thirty-hour a week position at the K-Mart left very little time for anything leisurely. On a good day, I would get about six hours sleep.
My parents had warned me that if I didn't keep my grades up, I would have to move back home, and I wanted my freedom. Desperately. So I had to work. Hard. I was taught to work for everything I had, and it had given me the backbone I needed when I graduated with my degree, only to find that the economy had tanked and there were no jobs available in my field. At least for someone with no experience.
That left me with either a titillating assistant manager position at the K-Mart in Des Plaines, or starting my own design firm and marketing the heck out of myself.
I chose the latter, in spite of all the risks it entailed. Of course I continued to work at K-Mart part time until I had enough regular leads to get by. Money was still very tight, but at least I got to do what I loved. Design. There was no better feeling in the world than helping people improve their lives through design. Or as Margot put it, "decorating."
I sighed as I pulled up to the old bungalow I had called home for the past few years. Mrs. Hathaway, a sweet older lady owned the place, and rented one of her spare rooms out to me. She was very nice, and the rent was extremely reasonable, but she allowed no parties, no smoking, no men...no nothing. It was a small price to pay for competitive rent, but it was yet another barrier to an active social life.
My close friend Kate had long since moved to the city after getting a considerably better paying job with a pharmaceuticals company. How I wished that I had been the academic she was. I would be on easy street, working a similarly stable job in Chicago or New York or somewhere else glamorous. But anything non art related had always bored me to tears. I had made my decision, and was dealing with the trade-offs. I just needed to make it big. And Curt...Mr. Donovan's house was my first real opportunity. I couldn't wait to get started.
As I shoved the front door open, I was greeted by Mittens, Mrs. Hathaway's cat. He was very old, but she loved him dearly, and he didn't cause me any trouble. I just couldn't leave any of my fabric samples around him, as they would quickly end up in shreds.
"Oh hello dear," Mrs. Hathaway called from the sofa, QVC blaring in the background. With all the home shopping network television she watched, I was astonished that the house was not packed to the brim with random novelties and costume jewelry.
"Hi Mrs. Hathaway," I greeted. "Just so you know, I'll be making a few phone calls in my room. I'm sorry in advance for the noise."
"Oh that's quite alright dear. I can't hear much of anything anyway," she laughed. "Will you be joining me for dinner? I'm making beef stroganoff."
"I wouldn't miss it!" I smiled. Her stroganoff really was excellent, and if I was honest, it reminded me of home.
"And I'm happy to announce that my rent check will not be late this month, or next. I just signed a huge project in Glencoe!" I was brimming with excitement.
"Oh I'm so glad to hear that sweetie," she beamed. "You'll be making the big bucks soon, and won't have any need for this tiny house, an old lady and her cat. I'll miss you!"
"Hey, I'm not rich yet," I laughed. "But when I do make the big bucks, you can bet I am remodeling your kitchen!"
"Woohoo!" she cheered. "I want double ovens and a walk-in pantry...oh, and granite countertops!" she added.
"We'll see," I grinned. "Anyway, I have to get on those phone calls. See you for dinner."
"It should be on the table about five thirty dear," she called, just before I slipped into my room.
One thing about the design field is that one's office is always a mess. And right now, my "office" consisted of about three quarters of my small bedroom. Another glaring reason not to have any friends over, plutonic or otherwise.
Shoving the papers on my desk aside, I plopped down in front of my laptop and got out my phone to call Rick.
---
It's funny how a solid night's sleep can give one such clarity. Waking up on the dry side of the bed this morning, I realized the significant risk in hiring Bethany. After only a couple hours alone with her, I had been reduced to a wanking adolescent. How could I possibly expect to last around her for an entire month? Or more?
