Run to Him: The Full Novel: A Domination/Submission Alpha Male Billionaire Suspenseful Romance (The Billionaire's Beck and Call Book 4) (5 page)

Where Max was hotheaded, Mr. Alastair seemed cool and in control. But did that make him a cold man? Someone who didn’t tolerate any rule breaking? Maybe even someone callous and cruel?

Well, if I didn’t get my butt in gear, I was going to find out the hard way.

I slid into the back of the waiting car.

“Coffee,” I croaked.

The driver tipped his cap stoically, but I noticed the half smile on his face in the rearview mirror. Did he do this often? Pick strange women up before sunrise and take them on errands for the mysterious Mr. A?

I looked down at the massive stack of papers I’d carried with me: The Contract, still half unread and staring at me. Judging me. I groaned and slumped back in the seat.

What I had read last night seemed alternately straightforward and riddled with complex legalese. The section titled “Uniform” spelled out the types of dress that Mr. Alastair deemed appropriate for the work place, as well as his home, where it seemed I’d be living: Black slitted skirts and black blouses, high heels, and gartered hose.

Fine
, I thought.
What does it matter if I dress to his taste? Tons of jobs have a uniform…

But after that came a section on “Grooming,” which spelled out the several procedures I was required to get on a regular maintenance schedule as part of his staff—things like Brazilian waxes along with leg and armpit waxing, as well as facials, manicures, and deep conditioning treatments for my hair.

What kind of weirdo wants me hairless beneath my clothes even though he’s never going to see it?

For a moment, I pictured him standing behind me, slowly sliding a hand up beneath my skirt, inching closer and closer to the edge of my silk panties…

I shivered, and turned the page.

At the end of the sections on appearance, there was a section that was all too familiar.

Discipline
:

The Secured Party shall determine what if any disciplinary measures are to be delivered unto the Agreeing Party, subject to his sole discretion, to be acted upon immediately and without hesitation.

Such disciplinary measures may include, but are not limited to, the following: Spanking, paddling, light bondage, as defined by the Secured Party.

The Agreeing Party may veto any punishment deemed unfit, and may use a personally chosen “Safe Word,” to indicate such veto. The “Safe Word” shall be chosen and shared with the Secured Party before any such disciplinary measures are administered.

Some of the language made my eyes cross, but it seemed like Max’s little “Punishment” stipulation in my old contract. The man wanted an assistant he could spank. Was I still okay with that?

For five figures a month I’m okay with a whooole lot of things
, I thought bitterly.

Thankfully, by the time I was skimming the section after that, we’d made it through a coffee drive-thru and I was on the way to becoming caffeinated—something I desperately needed.

Further Stipulations
:

Upon such default, and at any time thereafter, the Secured Party may declare certain portions of this Agreement null and void, but the Agreement not terminated. Heretofore, the Agreeing Party acknowledges this power upon default.

I took a deep pull on my triple-shot espresso and rubbed my eyes again. Whatever the hell that just said was just not sinking in. If someone defaulted on something, the contract wouldn’t be over? Or something?

The car slowed just as I was re-reading, and I looked up, bleary-eyed.

“We’ve arrived at your first destination, Ma’am,” the driver said. “I’m going to need to collect that signed contract before we proceed.”

I shook my head, trying to clear it, and sighed. I was out of time, and it was now or never…

I flipped the contract to the last page, then signed and dated it, feeling for one stomach-dropping moment, like I was signing my life away. When I was done, the driver reached back and took it out of my hands, grinning.

“Excellent, Ms. Willcox. Excellent.”

He handed me an envelope, bursting with banded cash.

“Here’s a stipend for the day,” he said. “We’ve arrived at Enzo Day Spa, where you’ll attend to your required grooming regimen. I’ll be waiting here when you’re finished to take you to your next destination.”

  Hesitantly, I took the envelope. When my hand closed around the thick stack of cash, my mouth went instantly dry.

Boy, you think you’d get used to this kind of thing, working for a billionaire, but this is just fucking crazy.

There had to be $20,000 in my hands, in cash, no less, ready to be spent on what? Manicures? Shoes?

Holy shit, Dorothy
, I thought.
You aren’t in Kansas any more.

Or in my case, Ohio, busting my ass tending bar for ol’ Buck, hoping to make that much money in a year. And yet, to Mr. Alastair, $20,000 was only enough for a quick morning shopping trip…

I took another sip of coffee, trying to moisten my parched throat. I managed to rasp out a “Thank you,” before stepping out of the car and facing the tall, glass doors of the day spa.

I’d never been in one of those places in all my life.

I finished my coffee, and crumpled the cup in my hand.

Welp, here goes nothing.

***

Three hours later, I walked bow-legged into my first shop, swearing under my breath. My legs felt like they were on fire, and don’t even get me
started
on what was happening between those legs.

All I’m going to say is that Brazilian waxes are a product of the Devil himself, and if I didn’t let a stranger wax the fine hairs from my ass crack again for 1000 years, it would still be too soon.

My hair bounced, and my dark lacquered nails shone as I made my way gingerly through the racks, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible. It was 9 a.m., and some feverish part of my brain wondered if I couldn’t shop like the wind and still have time for a power nap before work began.

A smiling blonde woman with a tightly scraped-back bun greeted me at the door, then signaled to someone in the back. Two racks full of designer skirts, blouses, and underthings were wheeled out to me, packed to the brim with options.

I glued a smile to my face, and tried not to think about the exhaustion slowly creeping into every pore. I let the saleswoman put an arm around my shoulder and steer me toward the dressing rooms, feeling less like
Pretty Woman
, and more like a marionette just going through the motions.

When she showed me a rack with twenty pairs of beautiful heels, I swear, I almost cried.

***

I looked at the time on the driver’s dash before leaving the car for the last time.

9:52. Cutting it mighty close, Lucy!

I smoothed down my new skirt and blouse and high-tailed it as fast as I could into the building I’d been dropped off in front of, heels clacking away in the marble entryway. I stopped short by the elevators when I saw the sign with the names of several businesses and their respective floors.

Where the hell was I going?

I ran a hand through my hair angrily, and caught a whiff of fruity salon conditioner.

How could I have forgotten to ask the driver for the
name
of the place? Was it in the contract, and I missed it?

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

I scanned the sign as quickly as I could, my itchy, tired eyes struggling to focus. Finally, an “A” caught my eye in the top corner.

Mercer, Alastair, and Combs: Attorneys at Law. Suite 6900.

I pressed the elevator button so hard, I bruised my fingertip, then tapped my heels, willing the doors to just open, already! I could feel the doorman’s eyes on me, but didn’t look him in the eye. I could feel the seconds ticking away, and growled in frustration.

I heard a loud
ding
and practically danced in place, waiting for the doors. When they slid open, I tried to duck in, but a stream of people came out, all of them swinging briefcases and talking on cell phones, blocking my path. I finally wormed my way inside, waited for the last person to leave and stabbed the six button.

“Come on.
Come on
,” I muttered under my breath.

The lone man left in the elevator glanced at me, then looked away, evidently not wanting to piss off the hyper little redhead tapping her toe like she was pressing a gas pedal.

I looked over at the man’s watch and read it upside down.

9:57. Shit!

There was still time, though. Still time to make it there, if only we didn’t stop.

The elevator slowed to a halt, and the doors slid open. On the third floor.

I bit my tongue and suppressed the stream of swearwords threatening to burst forth from my professionally-rouged lips. If I could have kicked the walls right then without looking like a total nut job, I would have, but I reigned myself in, even as the slowest old woman in the world carefully toddled into the elevator, waving her goodbye to someone hanging out of their third floor office door.

Move it or die, lady!

She was on, but now she and the man from the elevator were doing some kind of politeness “You first” dance as he tried to get off, dodging around her.

I was waaaaaay too tired for this, my self-control hanging by a thread.

The elevator doors shuddered closed and we started moving again, up, up, up. I stared daggers at the buttons, as if daring someone to try to stop this thing again before floor six--the top floor. Luckily, no one dared try, so everyone lived to see tomorrow. Apparently, the old woman was dropping something off on six.

When the doors opened for the last time, she stepped back, gesturing for me to go first. I waved a quick “Thank you,” and sprinted down the hall, the numbers on doors flying past me.

6700, 6800…

6900 was the very last door at the end of the hall. I burst through the frosted glass doors and over to the high reception desk. I clung to it for dear life as the cool brunette behind the desk cleared her throat.

“Miss Willcox, I presume?”

“Yes!”

“You’re late.”

She frowned at me over Gucci glasses.

“Mr. Alastair is waiting.”

She motioned for me to follow her and took me through a door into the back offices. There was an open space with chairs and a coffee table as well as a small kitchen off to the side, across from the tall, dark wooden doors of the lawyers. Mr. Alastair’s was the furthest away; a small glass desk sitting empty in front of the doors with a nameplate that read “Ms. Willcox.”

My eyebrows shot up at that.

This guy really works fast…

The receptionist rapped on the door, and opened it when she heard Mr. Alastair call, “Enter!”

“Miss Willcox has finally arrived, Sir.”

I frowned at the way she emphasized the word “finally,” but let it go. I was here, and I was two minutes late, at most. What was the worst that could happen? I mean, it
was
my first day, after all.

“Thank you, Celeste. That will be all.”

Celeste nodded curtly and walked off without looking back at me.

So much for a warm welcome…

I entered the office and closed the door behind me. It was dim in there; the massive windows covered in roll-down shades, and low lamps the only source of light. The walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and I could just make out Mr. Alastair, sitting on the edge of his wood-and-leather desk, waiting for me, his eyes glinting in the shadows.

“You look beautiful today, Lucy,” he said. “Come here, and let me have a look at you.”

I hesitated slightly, then did as I was told, walking over to my new employer, hoping the new clothing and styling was to his liking. He motioned for me to twirl, and I did, feeling like a new car on the showroom floor, or maybe the model showing it off.

I stopped and waited with hands folded in front of me, watching him watching me. He looked incredible today, too, dressed in a charcoal grey suit and silver tie that made his icy blue eyes shimmer. He grinned, looking me over one last time.

“Exquisite.”

He reached out gently felt the silk of my blouse, making me shiver, suddenly anxious about being in his presence once more.

“Black suits you,” he said. “I knew it would.”

I laughed nervously. I could smell the subtle notes of his cologne. Feel the heat from his body, so close now, I could press myself against it.

“However, you’ve already been a little negligent, don’t you think, Lucy?”

My eyes widened, and I met his piercing gaze.

“I mean, it’s your first day, and you’re already coming in late.”