BENTLEY Read online

  That’s why when any of them call me, I step away from work. I can’t emotionally connect with them the way they want me to, because I’m so fucked up, but I can give them my attention. That’s the least they deserve .

  “I’ll be there,” I tell him .

  “You know she’s going to ask…” he starts .

  I roll my eyes. “No, I’m not bringing anyone with me.” Mom does family dinners twice a month and includes Steve’s father, my “uncle .”

  I may not hang around and shoot the shit after we eat, but I do the best I can to go to the family meals .

  “I didn’t assume so,” he says with a chuckle. “See you later , cuz .”

  We hang up. I go back to my work and spend the rest of the morning as usual. The hours fly by. Samantha doesn’t come back in my office, probably because Kim is training her. I’m glad, I tell myself. The less I see her now, the more detached I can be when I’m around her later. I can’t let this attraction get the better of me .

  But then again, who am I kidding ?

  I didn’t follow this girl home last night for no reason. And I didn’t offer her a job simply to let my guilty conscience off the hook .

  Samantha’s gotten under my skin. Like an itch that needs to be scratched, one way or another …

  I break for lunch, eating at my desk as I work. Attend my usual meetings for the day. Discuss strategies with the heads of marketing and PR for a couple of large book launches we’re doing later this year .

  In the afternoon, I call Kim in, who’s trailed by Samantha. They sit down at the chairs across from my massive desk. We go over my schedule for the rest of the week, and I outline a few tasks I need them to handle .

  Samantha keeps her head down, taking notes. Her glossy hair is over one shoulder, tucked behind her ear. It’s not quite blond, not quite brown, but it looks tempting, soft. I want to run my fingers through it. Wrap the end around my fist. Tug her head back and expose her throat —

  Fuck .

  I feel my dick swelling and shift in my seat. I’m not going to get swept up in this lust that hits me whenever I’m around her. I don’t even know why the fuck I’m that attracted to her .

  Liar .

  Her lips are made to be sucked on. Her breasts are full, inviting. Her skin is soft, pale. I want to see marks where my fingers dig into her womanly hips. I want my teeth etched on her soft, supple flesh. I want to claim her as mine .

  Brand her as my damn property and make sure no other man touches her but me .

  Fuck. I haven’t felt the compulsion to be dirty in a long time. I thought that was all behind me now. But something about her makes me want to let go and give in. Explore that darkness lurking deep in me .

  I dismiss Samantha and Kim and ask them to leave me alone the rest of the day. I can’t face seeing her again, not when I’m feeling so edgy. When’s the last time I fucked a woman? It’s been a while. I’m too focused on work. It’s hard to find anyone I’m interested in taking on a date, much less to bed .

  So I burn up the hours, diving headfirst into work. Doesn’t matter if Samantha is bringing out the sexually dominant, deviant side of me. I’m not releasing it. Fuck that .

  * * *

  “P ass the dinner rolls?” Steve asks me as he holds out a hand .

  I reach in front of me and hand him the bowl .

  “Dinner is great, Aunt Penny,” Steve says as he bites a hunk out of the roll. “You really outdid yourself on the lasagna .”

  My mom beams at him. “Thanks.” She turns to me. “So how have you been, Bentley? Haven’t heard much from you.” I can see that she’s trying to sound light, not confrontational. Mom doesn’t put pressure on me to be more open, though I suspect she wants to .

  My adoptive parents couldn’t have kids. When they saw me in the home, they took a chance on an emotionally scarred, silent boy and brought him with them. Gave me their last name. They tried their best to help me open up. But though I eventually began to talk again, began to function like normal people did, I was shattered on the inside .

  None of us ever talks about why .

  “I’ve just been busy running the company,” I tell her as I take another bite of lasagna .

  “It’s not easy being the owner of a huge publishing house,” my father says with a proud nod .

  My aunt and uncle, Steve’s parents, chatter among themselves about the NY Giants and how their season is going. They’re rabid fans. I don’t really care too much about it, but one time I showed mild interest and went to a game with them. From then on, every Christmas they bought me NY Giants merchandise .

  The conversation turns to discussing my adoptive parents’ neighbors, who are getting a divorce, and how their biggest fight is over who gets custody of the dog. Dad rolls his eyes when Mom reveals they’re actually creating a custody agreement but are stuck on who gets which holidays .

  “They can’t bother to hire someone to mow their damn lawn, but somehow they can pay two attorneys to fight it out over their mutt,” he mumbles .

  Steve shrugs. “Some people view their pets as their kids .”

  “I knew a woman who took her cat everywhere she went,” Uncle Mark chimes in. “She brought it into our store one day, and it got out and knocked over our display of Tag Heuer watches .”

  With a laugh, Steve says, “That was a bitch to clean up.” He glances at my mom. “Sorry .”

  Mom doesn’t care for cussing in her house. But she loves Cousin Steve, so she gives him a mock warning look. “You’re not too old to be grounded, you know,” she teases .

  I watch my family chatter and chuckle about memories involving pets that passed on a long time ago. But I feel like an outsider. Not a part of them. I sit there in my expensive business suit, eating at their table, and I know I can never feel what they do. Connection with others .

  When I was a kid, I wouldn’t even try to get along with people. I just remained silent and closed off. But I eventually learned that to get anywhere in the world, you have to fake it. So I worked on my façade. Developed a persona .

  I’m known for being ruthless, aggressive about my work .

  I’m okay with that. When I need to fuck, I find a woman to fuck. That’s about all the connection I’ve ever wanted. And even that’s just physical, a release and nothing more .

  But that makes me think of Samantha, and why she somehow conjures emotion in me, a part of me I always assumed was dead .

  That makes her even more dangerous, definitely to be avoided at all costs .

  Dinner is finally over, and I make my polite exit. On my way home, I sit in the back of the limo and wonder what Samantha is up to tonight. Then I tell myself it doesn’t matter, and I lean back and close my eyes. I’ve already put things into place to ensure our relationship remains professional. Me in charge, her following my orders .

  It isn’t the domination I’m craving to release, but it’s the only power I can exercise right now. And wrong or right, I have to do it .

  Samantha

  T he HR rules are even more stringent for you, because you are a representation of me. Therefore, I expect you to wear clothing that reflects that status. If you are in need of an advance to fund this, we can provide one .

  My face burns with embarrassment and irritation as I reread for the tenth time the email Bentley sent right before the end of the work day. I didn’t check my new work email address until after dinner, so I didn’t see the message until about a half hour ago .

  But that isn’t the end of his demands. I scan more of the email .

  You are not to take personal calls at work. You may mingle with your fellow employees, but matters discussed in my office or pertaining to my work are off-limits as topics of discussion .

  What, does he think I’m a total idiot? Like I’m going to gossip about sensitive materials. My cheeks burn in frustration. I try to remind myself that he doesn’t know me, and maybe his previous secretary screwed those things up, so he has to be strict to ensure that
doesn’t happen again .

  I’ll prove myself. I have to. After sitting down with HR today and discussing my salary, there’s no way I can afford to walk away from this job. The money and benefits are ridiculous, way more than I would have dreamed possible. Way more than someone who hasn’t even finished college yet should be earning .

  But with that money comes high expectations .

  I review over his list of appropriate wardrobe—including colors—and mentally scroll through what I have in my closet. I’m definitely going to need to go shopping. But I’ll be damned if I take any of his money to do so .

  I’ll go tomorrow after work and see what I can get from an outlet store, at least until my first check comes in and I can buy more clothing. In the meantime, I’ll make due with staples. A couple of black skirts and pants. Simple white blouses. Practical flats. It’ll be fine, I tell myself .

  After all, I sort of had a dress code at the bar, too. Only, it was to dress as sleazy as I could to encourage male patrons to linger and drink more. Hence why most of my clothes aren’t quite appropriate for an office environment .

  I get up from my laptop and sigh, moving to my tiny room. The other bedroom is closed, indicating my roommate Callie is in there with her girlfriend. I can hear their soft murmurings as they talk. A pang of loneliness hits me again .

  When I came to New York City a year ago, I thought I was sure to make a lot of friends in a city this size. Instead, I feel more alone than ever. More aware that I’m an outsider. I want to belong, to find a place where I fit in. With people who give a damn about me .

  My room is little bigger than a closet with a mattress. I plop down on the bed and stare at the water-stained ceiling. Fold my hands across my stomach and feel my breaths go in and out .

  I miss college. I miss having a purpose, taking steps to fulfilling my dreams. I’ve been treading water since I got here, and I’m tired of it. This job might challenge me, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to quit. I’ll be able to save up a lot of cash. Then I can finish my last year of college and graduate. Go on and start my life for real, not just fumble around and hope things come together magically somehow .

  Because life doesn’t work that way. I learned my lesson after my run-in with Warren Archer. My literature professor .

  Thinking about Professor Archer makes my stomach cramp. I roll over onto my side and curl my legs up .

  Doctor Archer, as he liked to be called. He wasn’t attractive, not physically at least. He was fifteen years older than me, too. But in his class, as he lectured on the nuances of interpreting Shakespearean prose, I felt like he was talking right to me. Like he saw me. I was special, or at least I thought so .

  He was intelligent and seemed interested in my mind, in my opinions. As a girl who was a math major, a sexually inexperienced nerd, I couldn’t help but be drawn to him. He made me feel like there was more to me to be unearthed. Like he saw beneath the surface and could evoke that sensual, feminine side that I’d never experienced .

  Thank God we never slept together. Not that he didn’t try. There was a lot of groping and touching and kissing. But I could never quite bring myself to do it with him. Some part of me always pulled back from the edge .

  I slip off my pants and remain in my tank top and panties. Slide under my sheets and click off the light. The room is flooded with darkness. But it can’t shield me from the shame I feel, that I let myself get caught up in him .

  I knew being with my professor was wrong. But he seemed sophisticated and intelligent, and the fact that he showed interest in me was magnetic. Compelling .

  At least, until I found out I wasn’t the only one .

  I squeeze my eyelids shut and will myself to stop thinking about Dr. Archer. He doesn’t matter now. That’s in the past . I’ll just keep chanting that to myself again and again. And maybe one day, I’ll believe it .

  Until then, I’ll be haunted by the shame I feel over what I did—how I ran away. The look on my parents’ faces when I revealed why I left school .

  No, I can’t afford to lose this job. It’s my best chance to get my life back on track, and I’m gonna make sure I succeed so Bentley won’t regret taking me on. It’s clear to see he’s demanding, just from those emails. But I won’t let it rattle me. I’ll stay professional. I’ll rise to the challenge .

  I have to .

  * * *

  “G o print that out and have it on my desk by noon,” Bentley says as he shifts his attention toward various papers on his desk. “Not a minute later .”

  I keep my breathing steady so as not to reveal the frustration welling in me. I’m so tempted to give him a snarky “yes, sir,” but I can only imagine how he’d react to that. So instead, I just rise from the chair and leave his office, clicking the door behind me. Settle into my desk right outside, drawing in steadying breaths .

  The past week of working for Bentley has been…difficult, to say the least. He’s not just demanding. He’s ruthless, hell-bent on controlling everything he can around him. Including me. I hate it .

  Well… kind of .

  There’s something insanely sexy about the way he takes control. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. He gives me one look, and I know that I’m going to be typing that letter for the fifth time just to get it right and please him .

  I think I hate that response Bentley brings out in me .

  I hate that it vaguely reminds me of the yearning I felt for my old professor—that strange power dynamic. Wanting to be noticed .

  And yet this is a million times worse, because Bentley is fucking hot .

  It feels like the only way I can elicit some kind of emotion out of him, the only way to get him to see me as a human and not just a faceless employee, is to be perfect in every task he assigns .

  He’s cold, colder than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. Emotionless. Empty. At the top of a mountain alone, where he wants to be .

  Bentley never socializes with anyone. Ever. I watch people come in and out of his office all day, and I never hear any laughter from behind his door. He’s untouchable, and I think he likes it like that .

  Prefers it that way , even .

  Well, it’s probably for the best. Even as cold as he is, the man radiates a sexuality that makes me ache to be around him. I’m far more attracted to him than I should be. But he’s my boss—an older man in a position of authority. No way in hell am I making that mistake again .

  I’ll get over this strange compulsion, the one that makes me want to pry beneath the surface and see why he is the way he is. Why the man in control every day was so different the first night I met him .

  If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed that was him in the bar. It’s like that person never existed. And Bentley doesn’t bring it up at all. Now that I work for him, he’s in complete boss mode .

  I finish the work he asked me to do, print it out and rap on his door. Smooth my skirt a bit. His scrutiny can get intense—he always looks directly at me. Hard. Like he can see everything about me. It makes me uncomfortable, vulnerable .

  “Come in,” his smooth voice says from the other side of the door .

  I enter and school my face into a neutral expression. Put the paper on the corner of his desk—Bentley likes it there; he sorts through things on his own timeline .

  Except not today. No, he picks up the paper and grabs a pen. Scans through it and makes a few marks .

  My throat tightens, and I try to fight off the surge of disappointment. God, no wonder his previous assistant quit. He probably drove her insane with being so nitpicky. I bet she’s doing something mindless and fun now, wearing whatever the hell she wants and not missing this place for a minute .

  If I weren’t making so much money, I’d be tempted to walk out of her right now .

  But I’d be hoping he might come after me …

  “This looks fine,” Bentley murmurs as he hands the paper back to me. “These aren’t corrections, just further
additions I’d like in there. Please email this to the board. Well done .”

  A compliment. So rare, it makes my cheeks flush in pleasure. I nod and take the paper back. “ Thank you .”

  When Bentley finally looks at me, there’s something in his eyes that makes me stand in place. His sexy mouth is slightly parted, and he seems kind of relaxed—a rare occurrence from what I’ve seen .

  “Um.” I bite my lip. “Would you like me to order lunch? Your usual, or something different?” I’m having this sudden impulse to draw him into conversation. We’ve not talked about anything other than work-related topics since I started here .

  “You can choose. You’ll be eating lunch with me today,” he says. “We need to go over some figures before this afternoon’s meeting, and I don’t have any free time before then .”

  I shift from foot to foot. “Thai?” I haven’t seen him eat Thai food—I’m shamelessly trying to find a tidbit of info on him. What he likes, dislikes .

  And he knows it. Bentley quirks his brow. “Are you asking or telling me?” His voice rolls over me like warm water .

  I lift my chin. “Well, I like Thai, so I’m getting it for me. If you don’t want it, tell me what you do want .”

  His eyelids lower, and he stares at me. I can’t read the expression on his face, but it looks like he wants to say something. God, I wish he would. The tension between us has been building every damn day. What does he want from me? Is the sexual thing only on my side? It feels like it .

  That first night I met him, I would have sworn he was coming on to me. But ever since then, he’s been distant, different .

  “Chicken Pad Thai, extra sauce,” he finally says and gives me a dismissive nod .

  I leave his office and make the corrections, then send the email. Go freshen up my cup of coffee. What just happened in there? What did that mean ?

  Probably nothing, I chide myself. I’m so hyperaware of him that I’m reading into everything he says and does. Seeing things that aren’t there. Bentley hired me to work for him, that’s all. Because he got me canned from my old job and he felt bad, probably also felt guilty for losing control, drinking and fighting .