Praise (Salacious Players Club, #1)(11)

Fuck it.

“So?” he echoes, impatiently waiting for me to finish.

“So, how did I do?” I desperately want to bury my face in my hands or hide under the table or even pull the fire alarm, but if he’s going to be so flippant and nonchalant about this, then so will I. Because I’m actually dying to know now. If he lives this secretive kinky life, then I want a peek behind the curtain. It’s enticing, the idea of just dipping my toe into whatever forbidden, yet exciting, life he leads.

So, instead of hiding, I force my body not to betray me, and I keep my spine straight and expression relaxed. As if I just asked him what the soup of the day is and not how well I performed as a kinky secretary slave.

After a moment of prolonged silence and a deep exhale, he says, “You did exceptional, Charlotte.”

Wait, what?

“You seemed pretty exasperated with me,” I reply. “I didn’t do anything right.”

“Well, in your defense, you didn’t even know what you were doing.”

A laugh bubbles out of my chest. “So how was that exceptional?”

He’s pensive again, clearly at war with himself inside his head as he weighs his options, probably thinking that as the adultier adult here, he should really put an end to this inappropriate discussion. “I really shouldn’t say…”

“Oh, come on. You started it.” It takes some effort, but I manage to keep my casual tone and lazy approach.

And suddenly, there is no hesitation. The words just travel effortlessly across the table straight from his lips to my ears. “Ms. Underwood, you looked exquisite on your knees.”

Even if I had a voice at this moment, I wouldn’t know what to say. Instead, I’m rendered completely and utterly speechless, sitting across from him like a fish with my jaw hanging open, wondering how I went from a fight with Beau on his front lawn a couple days ago to this—his father telling me that I look good on my knees.

No, not just good. Exquisite. That word has lost all meaning to me now. Not a day will go by in my long life when I will hear those three syllables and not think of a man twenty years my senior, using that exact designation when referring to how well I kneeled for him.

It’s ludicrous. Ridiculous. Narcissistic and sexist and demeaning and sensuous and flattering and…so many more words I can’t seem to find at the moment.

And somehow the only words I manage to utter in response are, “I did?”

“Yes,” he replies, and it sounds hungry, like a lion growling before the kill.

Sitting here in my dumbfounded silence, I implore my brain to manifest a coherent thought outside…oh that felt nice. Finally, it settles on a question.

“And this kneeling job…is something your company hires girls for?”

“Yes, we do.”

“And you thought I was one of those girls.”

“Correct.”

“Is that the job you’re offering me now?”

“That would be highly inappropriate, considering your relationship with my son.”

“Past relationship,” I add because all of this sounds insane, it really does, but I’m not so sure I want him to exclude me from it all just yet. My curiosity has gotten the better of me.

“Still.”

“You’re not hiring me as one of your kneeling girls because of Beau…”

“No, Charlotte. I’m not hiring you as one of my kneeling girls because I need a secretary, and you seem like you need the money.”

“That felt like an insult,” I reply, and he laughs again.

“So you don’t need the money?”

“Very funny. You know I do. But why would you hire me to be your secretary? You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you lived with my son, now you don’t. He won’t talk to me, so let me help you instead. The job isn’t much. Help out around my office, bring me coffee and lunch. That sort of thing.” He glances around the rink. “And I’m assuming the pay will be better. With benefits.”

There’s really not much to think about, is there? He’s offering me a real job with undoubtedly better pay. And I’m not going to lie, this company intrigues me. It sounds a lot more exciting than being a secretary for a banker or realtor.

“You can take some time to think about it,” he adds.

My head tilts and my lips press into a thin line as if to say, don’t be ridiculous. If he thinks I really need to think about it, he’s crazy or just being condescending. As he moves to stand, I think of an important question that’s just a little uncomfortable to ask, but I have to.

“Wait,” I say, grabbing his arm. “Random question, but is your company Sal…vatious…club whatever—”

“Salacious Players’ Club.”

“Yeah,” I nod, swallowing down my nerves. “Is it inclusive?”

He settles back into his seat. “Inclusive?”

“Yeah, LGBTQ-friendly?”

His brow furrows and a sly smile lifts one side of his mouth. “Very. Why do you ask?”

“It’s important to me,” I reply, shutting down the conversation there. I’m sure he’s now wondering if I’m secretly a member of the community, and if so, how, but I don’t expand. He doesn’t need to know that I’m the world’s most fiercest ally because I have the world’s cutest little cub to protect.