He’s not just some small-time grocery store manager. He has big time government contracts, for fuck’s sake. But then it sinks in. Of course. He’s a wealthy, powerful man. Used to getting whatever he wants.
And I’m a nobody.
Don’t even think of ever telling. No one would believe you, you little bitch. It’d be your word against mine. And who’d ever believe a little nothing bitch like you? I’m the richest man in town. I’ll fire your father and then you’ll have nothing. Nothing.
I cringe at the memory and then shake my head. This is nothing like that. I’m not a teenage girl anymore. I’m a grown woman with choices.
Choices. Right. I could always choose to walk away, knowing it could mean I lose my son.
Eighty-five thousand dollars a year.
So maybe I don’t have that many more choices than I did when I was sixteen after all.
Screw it. Choice is overrated anyway. Besides, it’s not like it’ll be that much different than working at Hooters. There was just thin fabric separating my boobs from guys staring at them all day when I worked in the restaurant.
And I already decided last night. Bryce just momentarily threw me off guard by being courteous and professional and then it was all boom out of left field, ‘take off your shirt.’ But yeah, I gotta always keep it in mind—as far as Bryce Gentry is concerned, civility is only a slim mask.
I let out a slow breath and walk toward my office. The room is decorated very similarly to Bryce’s. It’s smaller, but it has the same chrome and white furniture and ultra-modern feel—the kind of place you imagine a Bond villain would use as his lair.
Slapping the paperwork on the desk, I glance down. Naturally, the NDA packet is first. It’s not just a single page either. Nope, it goes on for pages and pages. I can only imagine what the actual work contract will be like. Glancing at it below the NDA, I can see it’s a giant stapled stack of papers as well. And you better believe I’ll go through every page of that damn thing with a fine-toothed comb.
But the NDA I want to just get over with. Bryce was taunting me. He probably thought I’d put off his request. Leave it until the end of the paperwork as some sort of passive rebellion. Screw that. This is what it is.
He’s paying for tits, he gets tits.
I read through it quickly. It’s long and wordy, with lots of scary legal jargon for all possible infractions regarding the leak of any information I might learn while employed by Gentry Tech. I sign it quickly and then yank off my suit jacket.
If he wants to make this some kind of power play, I get it. He has the power. Hope it makes him feel like a big man.
The childish part of me wants to dramatically throw my jacket and shirt at the window between our rooms. Maybe a shoe while I’m at it. Instead, I calmly walk over to a tall cupboard I notice at the back of the office. My room is smaller than his, but still impressive. All the white is frankly annoying, but it is sleek. When I pull open the door to the cupboard, I not only find hooks to hang up my shirt and jacket, I find clothes inside.
In my size. Okay, cause that’s not creepy.
Bryce’s voice suddenly fills my office. “I’ll expect you to take the wardrobe home and dress in appropriate attire from now on.”
I spin around. He’s still sitting in the chair in his office, not even looking my direction. My gaze goes back to my desk. There’s a small, sleek mini triangle tripod thingy I’ve seen on TV that must be the intercom and maybe even phone system.
But yeah. As if the glass wall didn’t give it away, it’s clear there’s never going to be any privacy. Ever.
“And I believe I said that the bra needs to go as well, Miss Cruise.”
Fucker.
I turn my back to him and force myself not to visibly react. He might be putting me in this position but really, it’s my circumstances that have me between a rock and a hard place. I smirk. No pun intended. Christ. Maybe it’s not so bad after all if I’m still making jokes.
I breathe out a long breath, then take off my bra and hang it along with my shirt and jacket on some empty hangers. I take another quick moment to flip through the rack of clothing. It feels expensive. Silks and fine thread-count wools. All skirts and low-cut blouses. Shocker.
At least Bryce’s predictable. He thinks he holds the power but apparently all straight males can be moved by the influence of a big rack and a swaying ass. I can use that. I turn around and sit down at my desk without glancing his way. If this is a game to him, I’ve just been tossed in the deep end. Now I only have to learn how to swim, and fast, or else be swallowed by sharks.
At four-thirty, I glance again at the little clock at the bottom of my computer screen. I’ve almost survived my first day of work. And it’s been, well… exceedingly normal. Except for the not wearing a shirt for the first half of a day.
But ever since we left for the meeting, Bryce was a perfect gentleman. A charismatic employer.
We greeted several of his research and development team department heads in the conference room and they talked about ongoing projects as Bryce got status updates. It was overwhelming as I tried to follow what the hell was going on and take even semi-competent notes. Yeah, I studied coding and robotics in college, but not even remotely at the level of the stuff they were talking about at that meeting. Bryce understood it, or seemed to, though a lot of what he does as the CEO is delegation at this point.
Meanwhile, I realized I’m in over my head, and way more than I thought this morning. Ever since we got back from the meeting, I’ve been googling note-taking strategies, because I’ve got to come up with something faster than trying to write down every word. That wasn’t cutting it. Writing up the notes was probably supposed to take half an hour but it took me almost two. And I still only caught maybe half of everything that was said. I need to read up more on the Gentry Tech products in general so I can keep afloat of what’s going on. They’re most famous for their drone research, but they also work in all kinds of surveillance technology. Bryce’s famously (or infamously, depending on who you ask) quoted as saying that Gentry Tech products will be the “eyes on the globe.” Whether you consider his company big brother or not, he’s doing massively ambitious work here.
And shit, am I going to lose this job because I can’t do the actual work involved? Would that make me feel better or worse than if I lost it because of taking the moral high ground?
“Miss Cruise?” Bryce’s voice comes over the intercom.
Double shit. I look over at him. I emailed him the notes document half an hour ago after lunch, but that was probably way after he expected them. He’s not looking at me. Is he going to fire me over the intercom?
“Roll your chair over to the window.”
Wait. My brain can’t follow for a second. What?
“Don’t keep me waiting.” He sounds impatient, so I do what he says even though it doesn’t make any sense. How can I finish working through the emails he sent me to answer if I’m not at my computer? I roll my chair over close to the window anyway.
“Pull your skirt up to your thighs and take off your panties.”
I blink.
“Miss Cruise?”
Right. Sex job. I follow the instructions, but simultaneously feel like I want to both laugh and cry. I can’t believe I got so caught up for the last few hours thinking about this like a real job.