Chapter 14: Rule #14: It is possible to be dressed too provocatively even when you work for a sex club. 1
Charlie
“A ll done?” Emerson is towering over me from behind as I fill out the hundredth page of boring as hell paperwork.
“Was having to rewrite my name on each page of this packet really necessary?” I joke. When I glance up at him with a smile, he glares down at me, looking mostly unamused.
“Unfortunately, yes. Now, gather your things. I can drive you over to the club, give you a tour, and introduce you to everyone.”
My spine straightens. Everyone? Club? I sort of thought this was going to be a one-location sort of job. I mean, I knew about the club being built, but I didn’t really expect to be going there. And meeting people
—kinky people. My palms begin to sweat immediately, and I glance down at my outfit.
Now I know that when dressing for a new administrative job, you should really be wearing the world’s most appropriate outfit ever, but for some reason, when choosing my garments this morning, I was out of sorts. I mean, it’s not like I put on a see-through blouse and black bra by accident, but I was still so fixated on my first encounter in this office that I sort of went for something a little more…risqué than normal.
I wanted to…I don’t know, impress him. No, impress isn’t the right word. Turn him on? Ick, no.
Please him. That’s it. I wanted to wear an outfit that didn’t just fit me but him too. Not sure how I feel about that, but it is what it is.
“Now?” I ask.
“Yes, now. Come on. I’ll drive.”
He turns on his heels, grabbing his blue jacket and throwing it over his large frame. I follow him through his house toward the garage. While he walks, I can’t help but stare at his broad shoulders that fit so well in that tight cotton shirt. It’s light gray with a subtle damask design.
My gaze drifts downward and I notice the way he fills out those deep gray slacks, tight around his butt and thick thighs. I can see a resemblance in his and Beau’s build. Beau is big too, but I’ve never seen him fill out a pair of pants like this before.
Straight to hell, Charlie. Straight to hell.
When we reach the garage, he opens the door and ushers me in. It’s a nice garage, big enough to fit four cars, two wide and two deep, but he only has one parked in here. It’s black and expensive-looking. The car beeps to signal it’s unlocked as the garage opens, and I cringe when I realize he’s about to see my car.
He takes a moment to acknowledge my beat-up Subaru sedan with duct tape on the rearview mirror.
His eyes linger for a moment on the embarrassing patch job.
“I’m not a bad driver,” I say. “My little sister and I were just playing red light fire drill and I got a little too excited.”
His brow creases as he stares at me curiously. “Red light fire drill?”
“Yeah. It’s where you pull up to a red light and someone yells ‘fire drill’ and everyone has to get out and run around the car and get back into their seat before it turns green. Well, this one time, I got out and ran straight into my mirror. It went flying and I had to crawl under a truck to get it.”
The wrinkle in his forehead deepens. “That sounds a little dangerous.”
“It was, but it was fun.” I wish he’d smile or something, but he’s so broody. Those intense dark green eyes stare at me without an ounce of humor. It makes me instantly uncomfortable.
“Can’t say I’ve ever played,” he replies, opening his driver side door. “Yeah, well I guess you just play different games.”
His eyes flash in my direction, so I quickly duck into my seat to avoid that haunting gaze. When he climbs in next to me, I swear I catch a hint of a smile painted on his face before it vanishes.
The ride is silent, and I’m a little surprised to find out the location of this new building is actually downtown. It’s not really a new building at all but an old brick warehouse that looks to be under renovation. The windows and doors are covered with brown paper and there are scaffoldings and trucks parked around the exterior. Just above the door is the company logo, sleek in black iron, a circle with the letters, SPC.
Emerson parks the car on the opposite side of the street, away from the dirt and debris of the construction site. As we climb out of the car, I try to pull my skirt down a couple inches and cross my arms over my chest to hide the bra underneath.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.