Jaspers Education Ch 01

He knew he was going to fuck her the second she walked into his office.

It took him some time to figure out why, exactly, she had that strong of an effect on him. It wasn't just that she was beautiful, although her appearance did keep him occupied for several seconds. Atop a lean, muscular runner's physique was a striking face with full, sensual lips, high cheekbones, and large almond-shaped eyes framed by incredibly long lashes. According to her application, she was all of nineteen years old. Once she was sitting across the desk from him, he could see that those big, long-lashed eyes had irises of a unique silvery color, with a ring of black around them. That and her fair skin made for a dramatic contrast with her jet-black curls, which hung nearly to her waist in a glossy waterfall that he immediately wanted to plunge his hands into.

But beauty alone wasn't enough to faze him. He'd fucked plenty of beautiful women, and he was well aware that a pretty face was no more and no less than that. It didn't guarantee a satisfying sexual experience, nor was it safe to assume the personality matched the packaging. No, it was something about the way she moved, and spoke, the look in her eyes. At first blush, her personality seemed to have the same rather stark contrasts as her looks, which made her a little harder to read than most. That was intriguing. She came across as quiet and shy, her posture designed to take up as little space as possible. She had difficulty meeting his eyes at first, and he caught the faint blush when they shook hands. Yet when she answered his questions, she was confident and articulate, her gaze frank and serious.

The gravity and self-awareness seemed at odds with her age; the confidence with which she spoke seemed at odds with the way she kept catching herself fidgeting. There was a distinct guardedness to her, highlighted by the fact that she answered his professional questions thoroughly and his personal questions minimally at best. Everything about her screamed "emotional walls."

He couldn't remember the last time someone had sparked his curiosity like this. Looking down at her resume, he said, "Jasper Mason. I confess, I was expecting a man."

"I get that a lot."

"Where are you from, Ms. Mason?"

"Texas, originally."

He waited a beat to see if there was more coming, but there wasn't. She gave him exactly what he asked for, no more, no less. "I take it you're attending NYU on a scholarship."

There was the briefest pause, and he saw something flicker in her eyes. Was she offended? Whatever it was, she covered it up quickly. "Yes, I am."

"What are you studying?"

"I'm in the Carter program. Have you heard of it?"

"I have." He looked at her more closely. "That's a very prestigious program. Not many people even know it exists. How many languages do you speak?"

"Four, in addition to English, obviously. French, Mandarin, Russian, and Spanish."

"Fluently?"

"Yes."

"Prouve-le."

She gave a slight shrug. "Qu'est-ce que tu veux que je dise?"

One corner of his mouth moved in the slightest of smiles. "Impressive. Do you plan to go to law school?"

"I haven't decided yet."

At that, he leaned back in his chair and studied her.

Jasper studied him right back. Something about Jonah Parker put her on edge, and it wasn't just the gorgeous fucking face -- though if she got this job, that would be problematic. Working for someone so frankly beautiful would have been bad enough on its own, but it was a live-in job. That kind of constant proximity was going to make it harder to hide her reaction to him. It was a shame he wasn't middle aged, overweight, and balding. Mid-thirties and muscular with blonde hair and dazzling green eyes was going to make it difficult to concentrate. Jesus. He belonged on a magazine cover, not behind a desk.

Still, that problem aside, there was also the fact that those dazzling green eyes were absolutely blank. There was a remote coldness to his expression, to his entire vibe, really. She couldn't read him at all. Sociopath, she thought, and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. But she didn't think he was, really. It seemed calculated. There was some subtle undercurrent to it that she was having a hard time putting her finger on. It was a faint hint of amusement, perhaps mocking. It made her think she was being tested, and there was a part of her that was irritated by that. Why didn't he just ask whatever it was he wanted to know? Wasn't that the whole point of an interview? She resented that the intensity of his gaze and clipped nature of his questions was making her want to squirm in her seat. It wasn't like she'd never been in a situation where she had to perform under pressure, but Jonah Parker seemed very talented at getting under people's skin quickly.

"Most people in the Carter program are ambitious," he said finally. "The types who have their lives and careers mapped out from preschool. How is it that you got accepted into one of the most selective and difficult programs in the country, and you don't even know what you want to do with it?"

"Knowing what I wanted to be when I grew up wasn't a prerequisite," she replied evenly.

The corners of his lips moved briefly upward again. Shy, not spineless. Good to know. So where was the vulnerability he was sensing? Because that's what it was, he suddenly realized; that's what was drawing him to her so strongly. There was an intense vulnerability about her, though he couldn't have said what exactly was giving it away.

He let his eyes move down her frame, not caring to be discreet about his inspection. She was wearing jeans, albeit nice, dark ones, with simple black flats and a green blouse. The clothes were decent quality and fit her well, but they were far from expensive. Her nails weren't manicured, her eyebrows plucked instead of waxed, and she wasn't actually wearing makeup. In his personal opinion she didn't need it, but it was still a marked difference from the women he was used to being around -- waxed and manicured and facialed to within an inch of their lives, their hair always fresh from the salon, their makeup looking professionally applied, and their outfits worth thousands. This girl didn't come from money.

"What do you do now?" he asked.

"I've been working part-time in the campus bookstore. Before college, I spent the last two years of high school working at a law firm. Part time during the school year, full time in the summer."

"What kind of law did they practice?"

"Name it. It was a small firm, only three attorneys, but they handled everything from family law to personal injury to business torts."

"State or federal court?"

"Both, but the vast majority was state."

"What exactly did you do there?"

"It started with filing and answering phones. By the time I left, I was doing legal research and drafting pleadings. I was also doing the majority of their translating. They had a lot of Spanish-speaking clients."

"So, if I told you I needed you to draft a 12(b)(6) motion..."

"A motion to dismiss in federal court. Yes, I know what it is, and I've done it before. I'm guessing that your cases tend to be a lot more complex than the ones I've handled, though. The ad said you were mostly looking for someone to do your filing and research. If there's drafting involved, I'm happy to do it, but I'd be concerned that my work isn't up to your standards."

He stared at her a moment. "You're telling me you don't think you're qualified for the job."

"In terms of already having experience that's relevant to the types of cases you handle, that's exactly what I'm telling you. I know I could do it; anything I don't know, I can learn, and I tend to learn quickly. I'm just saying, there would be a learning curve, and you don't strike me as the type to be patient with mistakes. If you're looking for someone you don't need to train in any way, I'm probably not it."

Interesting. Anyone else would have been sucking up to him, singing their own praises, desperate to impress, willing to lie even about their skills and experience. And here she was flat-out telling him she wasn't good enough.

"Did you bring a writing sample?"

She pulled it out of her messenger bag and handed it to him. He scanned it quickly, flipping through the pages.

"When did you write this?"

"My senior year of high school, so two years ago. I would've preferred to bring you something more recent, but I haven't been doing legal work."

It was a research memo involving a question of contract law. It was concise and well-written -- and her conclusion was correct. He tossed it onto his desk. "All right, we've established that you have some legal experience, write well, speak several languages, and are probably intelligent enough to pick up whatever you don't know before I have a stroke over your incompetence." She smiled slightly. "So do you want it or not?"

The smile disappeared. "The job? Are you offering me the job?"

"Am I holding a tray of hors d'oeuvres? Yes, I'm offering you the fucking job."

She blinked at his language, startled but not offended.

"I curse a lot, I drink a lot, and I'm rude and short-tempered. Basically, I'm very unpleasant to work for. But I pay well. You'd work Monday through Saturday morning, with Saturday afternoons and Sundays off. No visitors and no phone calls during working hours, which are 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. It'll be long days and you'll hate me by the end of the first week."

"What's the pay?"

"$750 a week, plus free room and board. And food - you don't have to buy your own groceries; you can help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen. Which it'll be your job to stock. You'll be making our lunches because if you don't, I'll forget to eat and then I'll be even more irritable. But I won't expect you to make my breakfast and dinner. A maid comes once a week, so you won't have to clean either, but you will run my errands."

Jasper thought it over for a minute or two, though she already knew she was going to accept. It was more money than she'd ever made, and with no bills to pay, she could put every penny in the bank. It would make a nice nest egg when she went back to school. The coming semester wouldn't be nearly so hard financially, and she'd have a fantastic reference to put on her resume. Maybe if the summer went well, he'd be willing to hire her again at some point in the future.

"You're wasting my time," Jonah said, glancing at his watch.

"I accept."

"Good." He stood, held out his hand. Her handshake was firm. "You can move in this weekend. Let me show you the room."

Jasper couldn't help glancing around as he led her through the house. It was huge, the furnishings obviously expensive. You could tell you were in a nice place when things could be described as "gleaming." The hardwood floors, the spotless windows, the polished and dusted decor -- everything shone with a halo of cleanliness and good taste.

The room he led her to was on the west side of the house. It was the opposite side from the ocean, but it overlooked the impressive gardens. Jasper looked down with surprised delight at a riot of colorful blooms and winding paths. There were tiny bridges over tiny rivers, and an abundance of shaded arbors and decorative gazebos. It was lovely, but seemed far more fanciful than she would have expected from Jonah.

Apparently reading her mind, Jonah said, "The previous owner was a landscape architect," with icy amusement. "I don't pay attention to the garden so I haven't bothered to change it."

Jasper looked at the room itself. It was large, luxuriously furnished, with a four-poster bed, vanity, dresser, writing desk, its own walk-in closet, and an adjoining bathroom. The bathroom had a free-standing tub sitting in front of a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out on a beautiful section of the gardens. Jasper had lived in houses smaller than this bedroom, and she'd never in her life had a space this opulent to call her own. There was a cozy looking window seat -- a thing she'd only read about in books.

"Will it do?" Jonah asked as she emerged from the bathroom.

He was leaning against the door jamb with his arms folded over his chest, and she had to look away, not sure she could control her expression.

She couldn't. Jonah caught the brief look of helpless lust, and one corner of his mouth curled upward.

"I mean, it's no dorm room, but it'll do," she answered, and flashed him a quick, nervous smile.

"Good." He pushed away from the door frame. "I'll see you on Sunday then."

He walked her back down to the front door, and stood watching her walk down the driveway. A slow frown gathered on his face. Stepping onto the porch, he called, "Hey, Mason!"

She turned.

"How the hell did you get here?"

"I walked from the train station."

"For fuck's sake." He went inside, reappeared a second later and threw something at her.

Jasper reached up and caught it reflexively. It was a set of keys. She looked a question at him.

Jonah nodded towards the garage. "The black one. See you Sunday."

"Whoa! I can't take your car, I-"

"Wasting my time again." The door slammed shut behind him.

Jasper looked down at the keys, then over at the garage. "Fuck it," she muttered, and went to see what the black one was.

*

It was definitely easier, moving her things from the dorm to Jonah's house with the help of his Escalade. She didn't have many belongings, but it would've been a hassle trying to drag all of them onto the train. Her clothes, books, and artwork fit snugly into the trunk, and it was glorious being able to listen to the radio instead of some greasy stranger try to hit on her. It had been a long time since she'd driven. She enjoyed the two-hour drive immensely, and reached Jonah's place in high spirits.

It felt a little weird walking through the front door without knowing, as though she owned the place, but he'd texted her and told her to do exactly that. She carted her boxes and bags up to her room and unpacked quickly. She familiarized herself with the layout of the house and the contents of the pantry. There was an indoor swimming pool, a full gym, a theater room, formal and informal dining and living rooms, an honest to god library, and the most amazing kitchen she'd ever seen. She looked eagerly through the cabinets, checked out the expensive gadgets. Cooking was a passion of hers, and she'd never had a kitchen like this to do it in.

Jonah could hear her now and then as she moved about the house, and it was distracting as hell. He wanted to see what she was doing. He wanted to see what belongings she'd brought. He wanted to see what she was wearing.

This was going to be a problem.

Monday morning, he woke early to go down to the gym, and a movement outside the window caught his eye. He peered out to see Jasper heading down the driveway. She was dressed for running, her lithe body encased in thin fabric, and Jonah felt an unexpected surge of lust. Well, not unexpected, but the intensity of it was surprising. His cock was hard within seconds. "Goddamn it," he muttered, and headed to the bathroom to take care of it so he could get his own workout in.

At 7 a.m. sharp, she walked into his office ready to go. He threw a pile of work at her and waited to see if she'd sink or swim.

Jonah hadn't been lying about how pleasant he was to work with. He was liberal with criticism and sparing with praise; he was short tempered and short on words; he expected speed and precision and wouldn't tolerate making the same mistake twice. If she asked a legitimate question, he'd answer without hesitation, but if she asked something he felt she should've known, or known how to look up, he snapped at her. Jasper learned quickly to keep her mouth shut, be thorough, and think three steps further ahead than she was used to doing. They worked at a furious pace for a full twelve hours, and Jasper found that if she didn't set reminders for herself, they would both forget to eat.

The first two weeks passed in a blur. At first, Jasper went for runs in the morning like she always had, but she soon found that after spending twelve hours chained to a desk, her brain was fried but her body was restless. She began taking off at night to run through the quiet, toney neighborhoods. Mile after mile passed beneath her feet as the stress and tension of the day slowly melted away, and she'd return to the house, shower, and fall into bed like a rock, sleeping so hard she didn't even dream until the alarm went off in the morning.

Her first Saturday afternoon off, she simply went upstairs and slept. She woke around dinner time, ate, and made her way to the theater room. She popped in a movie, but was asleep on the couch halfway through. Jonah found her as the credits started rolling. He stood looking at her for long minutes, his eyes moving over her peaceful face, studying the dark sweep of her long lashes against her cheek, her full lips slightly parted, her breasts clearly outlined beneath the thin tank top she wore. Reaching down, he gently brushed a curl back from her face. It was silky soft. He let his fingertips stroke her cheek lightly.

She stirred, and he straightened, withdrawing his hand. She opened her eyes and blinked up at him for a second, then jerked upright, startled. "Oh, shit! Sorry."

"No worries," he said easily. "Just thought you might be more comfortable in your bed."

"Thanks." Jasper exited the room quickly, cheeks burning.

Jonah watched her go with a small smile; he'd seen the color rise in her cheeks. The blush was adorable. He headed upstairs, pausing on the landing when he heard her door shut. He turned his head and looked down the hallway. Long minutes passed. Finally, he turned and went to his own room.

That Sunday, Jasper went into town, after sleeping in late. She had oysters and beer at a restaurant on the beach, then wandered around downtown, browsing through the little stores and galleries. In the afternoon she went for a swim in the pool, then went up to her room to listen to some language CDs and read. It was incredibly peaceful and quiet at Jonah's. There was zero traffic noise, and of course no constant flow of rambunctious students.

By her third Saturday, Jasper had found her rhythm. She still ended every day exhausted, but she was running a solid six miles a day, was getting sniped at less often by Jonah, and was beginning to feel more confident on the job. She was more or less comfortable with Jonah himself, too. Though his looks were distracting at times, she was so busy that they were less of a problem than she'd feared. Without quite realizing it, she'd adopted his blunt, bare-necessities way of communicating. Before long they were so in sync that they didn't need to exchange more than a few words per day. And she could even, every so often, get Jonah to grunt in amusement at something she said.

As for Jonah, he found he'd grown to rely on her a surprising amount in only three weeks. She caught on quickly, never made the same mistake twice, and didn't seem to take anything he said personally. She was utterly practical, focusing only on the mistake itself and not taking his tone or insults to heart. She was so quiet that sometimes he forgot she was there, and so fast that things often appeared beneath his hand before he started to ask for them. Her work was good to begin with and got exponentially better every day. He'd never seen anyone absorb things so quickly. He reminded himself he shouldn't be so surprised -- this girl had graduated high school a year early, spoke five languages fluently at the age of nineteen, and had earned a scholarship for an incredibly selective program. She was far from stupid and had an academically rigorous background.