Her Old-Fashioned Boss (2 page)

“Neither of us finds the subs in the clubs attractive, even the brats are usually doing it for show. We need a woman with fire and passion, someone to love. Someone real. Because neither of us play at this. It’s our lives.”

Roarke sighed and dragged Sam close once again. He was right. Most of what went on at the club was all for play. For show. Yet that wasn’t what Sam or Roarke wanted. It wasn’t the way they lived their lives. They weren’t in a twenty-four seven relationship, but they didn’t just switch things off when they left the bedroom. There was no denying that Roarke was a man who took charge. In every aspect of his life.

“I don’t believe she exists.”

“She exists. Just you wait.”

Ava Scott bit back tears of disbelief as she stared around her small apartment in despair.

Redundant. Redundant. Redundant.

The word echoed around her head, filling her with shock and fear.

How would she pay her rent? Buy food? Pay her bills?

Swallowing back the nausea bubbling in her stomach, she took a deep breath. She’d just get another job that was all.

In this climate? What would she do? She was young. Her job as personal assistant to the Head of Marketing at Bradford and James had been her first job. She didn’t have a lot of experience. And there were a lot of other people out there looking for jobs with more qualifications than she had.

Panic welled and her hands shook as she opened the box of donuts she’d bought on her way home. She couldn’t even remember stopping at the bakery on the corner, but she must have, the evidence was in her lap.

Twelve donuts, a varied assortment.

Ava closed her eyes and leaned back against the sofa.

“No, no, no,” she muttered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I won’t do this. I can’t. I’ll get severance pay. I’ll get a new job. Everything will be fine.”

Opening her eyes, she sobbed. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”

She needed to take the donuts over to her next door neighbor, come back and cook herself some dinner. The trembling rocking her body was more than just shock and nerves, her blood sugar was low and she needed to eat.

But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t fight the old feelings.

Inadequate.

She lifted a cream-filled donut to her mouth and took a bite. She chewed and chewed, carefully not swallowing. Jumping up, she ran to the bathroom and spat out the mouthful, running the water so the chewed up mess drifted down the drains.

Ava raised her head to stare at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were too large in her pale face, the skin beneath dark and bruised.

Her face had fleshed out some. Was she putting on weight?. She had to watch herself, she didn’t want to become that fat girl she’d once been. The one who’d never been able to wear jeans comfortably, who’d been ignored and teased.

Sinking to the floor, she drew her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her body and sobbed.
Chapter One

Three months later

Ava trudged up the sidewalk, slowly putting one foot in front of the other as she tried to fight back her nerves and fatigue. She’d misjudged the bus stop and gotten off earlier than she should have. So although she’d left her apartment with plenty of time to spare, having to walk five blocks in her friend Asia’s uncomfortably high shoes had severely eaten into that time. Especially when this last block had been up a steep hill.

Panting, she reached the summit and looked down at the address she held in her hand. When she’d called about the job, the man on the other end had kindly given her not only the address, but a description of the building. And as she stared up at it, she realized he’d done a good job. The large manor was set back from the road, with a wide wrap-around porch. The wooden exterior was painted white with a dark trim. Standing three levels high, it was huge. Years ago, it must have been someone’s house but now it was a club. A kink club.

Oh bubbles.

Seriously. What am I getting myself in for?

When she’d seen the ad in the paper asking for an open-minded, hard-working personal assistant, prepared to work any and all hours, she’d been very interested. And a bit desperate. She’d never imagined the job would be located in one of the most exclusive BDSM clubs in the city. And if she got this job, she’d be the personal assistant of the man who owned this club and a number of others across Texas, Arizona and Nevada.

Oh Lord.

She knew a bit about Bondage and Discipline, she loved reading BDSM romance. But the real thing might be more than she could handle.

I’m just applying for a PA job. I won’t be anywhere close to the action.

If she felt a small sliver of disappointment, she quickly squelched it. Some dreams were supposed to stay just that.

Ava figured she could be open-minded and except for a handful of friends, she didn’t have much of a social life.

Wincing, she limped up the drive. She wasn’t used to wearing shoes this high, but Asia had insisted that if she was going for a job as the personal assistant of a nightclub owner then she had to look the part.

So she was wearing Asia’s killer black heels, Casey’s red dress and her own black leather overcoat. She’d gotten a few funny looks on the bus, but had shrugged them off. Casey’s dress was one she’d borrowed before, so she knew she looked good in it. Of course, it was sitting a bit loosely now, she’d lost some weight since being made redundant.

The cravings wouldn’t leave her. She wanted chocolate and cream buns and cake, but she couldn’t risk becoming that chubby teenager she’d once been.

The child that no one had wanted.

I’m so ashamed. And afraid.

Ashamed of her habit and afraid to tell her friends. The last thing she wanted was their pity and disbelief. They’d already done so much for her. They’d been her only friends, her only family for years. This was her problem to solve. She could do it.

Closing her eyes, she took a steadying breath and knocked on the old wooden door. Frowning, she wondered if anyone would be able to hear through such a thick door. Stepping back, she searched for a doorbell. Seeing one set discreetly off to the side, she pressed it.

God, she needed this job. She hadn’t told her friends, but she was running really low on money. Her severance pay hadn’t been much, and she’d spent the entire week after she’d finished work feeling sorry for herself and spitting up bakery products, which had cut into her money and her job searching time.

If she didn’t get this job, she didn’t know what she’d do.

How had she let things get so out of control?

The door opened suddenly, surprising her. Taking a quick step back, she teetered dangerously on her high shoes.

An arm shot out, a hand clasping her elbow.

“Steady now, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Ava glanced up at the owner of the melodic voice, her breath stolen for an entirely different reason.

My God, he was gorgeous—knock her down, steal her breath, give her heart palpitations gorgeous. His white-blond hair glistened in the sunlight, his blue eyes bright and piercing, almost dancing as he stared down at her. Tall, and muscular, he filled the doorway.

A tight t-shirt the color of his eyes displayed some very fine muscles that she’d love to run her hand over. A tattoo peeked out at her from beneath his right sleeve, tantalizing her.

“Okay now?” he asked kindly.

Ava nodded, trying to find her voice. She hoped she wasn’t drooling.

“Are you our four o’clock interview?” he prompted, making Ava blush as she realized she’d been standing there, staring, without saying a word.

“Ahh, yes, I am.” She winced as she looked down at her watch. “S-sorry I’m late.”

“Sam,” someone called out from down the hall, surprising Ava so much she jumped. “Where’s the next interview? She late?” The voice was grumpy, gruff.

Ava clenched her hands nervously.

“No,” the man in front of her called back with a smile. “She’s here, talking to me. I’ll bring her down.”

Sam winked at her and she relaxed slightly. There was something calming about him. He gestured her inside, shutting the door behind her. The hallway was dark, with wood paneling along the sides and deep burgundy carpet.

“This way, sweetheart,” he told her, resting his hand on the small of her back to guide her down the hall. “Don’t worry,” Sam whispered. “His bark is worse than his bite.”

Ava looked up at him, flushing slightly. “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous,” she told him.

Sam winked at her. “Don’t be nervous, you’ll be fine.” He suddenly frowned down at her. “Are you okay? You’re limping.”

“Oh, ahh, it’s okay. Just my shoes. I walked too far in them.”

Sam gazed down at her feet but didn’t say anything as he turned, guiding her through a doorway and into a small room with a desk. There was little else in the room except for a couple of chairs beside the desk.

A connecting door led them into a larger room. A huge, oak desk sat before her. Deep bookcases lined the walls and an old open fireplace sat empty to one side, two cracked and worn leather chairs sitting in front of it. On the opposite side, a sofa nestled in a bay window that looked out on the city.

Ava sighed. Now this was her idea of heaven.

Movement to her right startled her and she turned, gaping as a huge man stepped forward. Dark hair surrounded a masculine face. A firm jaw tensed as he looked her over. Ava immediately straightened, wishing she’d had time to tidy herself up. God, he’d probably already dismissed her as useless. There, she’d failed in a job interview without even opening her mouth.

Good one, Ava.

“Shh, calm down, honey,” Sam whispered. “Remember what I said about his bark being worse than his bite. You’ll be fine.” Then he spoke louder. “This is Ava Scott. Ava, this is Roarke and I’m Sam. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll get something for your feet?”

Roarke immediately frowned and Ava found herself taking a step back without even meaning to. Damn, he was intimidating. Those blue eyes seemed to see every secret, every imperfection. He wouldn’t be considered handsome, but he had an arresting look and an air of command.

He wore a navy blue shirt tucked neatly into black pants. His dark brown hair was tidy and cut close to his head. Deep cheeks and a firm jaw only added to his masculine appeal. A shiver raced up her spine.

“What’s wrong with her feet?” he asked Sam.

“Too much walking,” Sam said with a shrug before leaving the room. Ava barely managed not to grab hold of him and beg him to stay. Instead, she forced her gaze back to Roarke.

Keep calm. Be confident.

Roarke gestured towards the chairs by the large desk. “Please, take a seat,” he said coolly. He dropped his gaze to her feet as she walked over and sat down.

“No wonder your feet hurt. You should have worn something more sensible,” he growled.

Ava frowned slightly, even though she’d been thinking the same thing. “But they look good.”

Roarke snorted. “Women. What’s the point of looking good if you’re in pain? Don’t wear them again.”

Ava stared at him; certain he had to be joking. He stared calmly back at her. “I’ll wear what I like,” she challenged, hardly believing herself. What was she doing? She was never going to wear these shoes again, they were killing her, plus they weren’t even hers. And she was trying to get this man to hire her, if he wanted her to jump around on one foot, wearing an eye patch and singing show tunes then she should do it.

Roarke stared at her until she squirmed, dropping her gaze.

“I won’t have you twisting an ankle while working for me. You’ll wear flats at work. What you wear in your own time is your business.”

Ava’s head snapped up at that. He almost sounded like he was considering giving her a job.

“Do you-do you want to see my C.V.?” she asked.

He nodded and she handed it over, trying to still her trembling hand.

“Settle down, I’m not that scary,” he said gently.

“Wanna bet?” Ava slapped her hand over her mouth, hardly believing she’d said that out loud.

Roarke’s lips twitched. “I assure you, Ms. Scott, I can be much scarier. Ask anyone who has ever crossed me.”

Ava didn’t really like the sound of that. She’d be sure to displease him. There was no denying she could be a grouch, she had her off days like everyone else. Would he dock her pay if she said the wrong thing? Would he fire her if she didn’t make his coffee the right way? All sorts of scenarios raced through her head.

“Stop.” He said firmly.

Ava looked at him.

“You’re worrying too much.” He sighed. “And I’m coming on too strong. But you need to know who I am if we’re going to work together. Tell me, Ms. Scott, do you know what sort of clubs I own?”

Roarke looked down at the tiny woman sitting in front of him and cursed himself for scaring her. He tried to quell the stirring of arousal in his gut. His cock lengthened, pushing against his pants. What was wrong with him? She certainly wasn’t his type. He liked tall, curvy woman, not fragile little pixie’s with heart-shaped faces, large, green doe-like eyes and silky dark hair. No, not his type at all.

So why was his dick as hard as concrete?

Ava squirmed under his scrutiny and he almost smiled. Her gaze lowered to the floor.

A natural submissive. He wondered if she knew.

“I...ahh...ummm...” she stumbled over her words. So she did know he ran a BDSM club.

“Ms. Scott, if we are to work together then there are a few core things that I will insist upon. One is communication. The other is honesty. I cannot stand lies. Do you understand?”

She nodded and he worried about her being too timid. The last thing he wanted was an assistant who cried the first time he growled at her.

“Now, I will ask again and I expect an answer.” Roarke deliberately used his Dom voice and she reacted immediately, raising her gaze to stare at him with wide eyes. She nodded silently, her eyes dropping once more.

“No, look at me.” Where the hell was Sam? If he didn’t return soon to smooth over Roarke’s harder edges, she was going to flee.