Praise (Salacious Players Club #1)(12)
“Then in that case,” I add as I stand up and put out my hand…which I realize now is awkward and pretty much uncalled for. That crooked smile stays on his face as he eyes my outstretched arm and follows suit, standing up and taking my hand in his. His bear claw dwarfs my little hand as he shakes it. But it’s warm, and his grip is firm enough to send butterflies down my spine.
“I assume this means you’ll take the job,” he replies.
As we stand here, shaking hands in a roller rink, I wonder who has signed up for the weirder position here. Does Emerson Grant know what he has committed to with me? Surely by now he’s picked up on the fact that I’m not some girly-girl chick, soft-spoken and appropriate, and I’m not going to behave like a regular secretary, Mad Men style.
But at the same time, I’m signing up to work at a company that deals in freaky kinks and shit. I’m pretty sure neither of us are cut out for normal.
RULE #6: AVOID MALLS FOR THE RISK OF RUNNING INTO YOUR EX WHILE HOLDING BAGS OF LINGERIE YOU FANTASIZE WEARING FOR HIS DAD.
Charlie
“Nine a.m., tomorrow” he says, all back to business. It’s interesting, watching him change from serious to casual and back again. He seems like a man who hides himself behind a suit and his desk. It makes me wonder if he ever lets loose and relaxes. Does he crack jokes, watch trashy TV, get so drunk he says something really embarrassing? I’d pay to see that.
Beau is nothing like him. Beau is unfiltered, real, and raw. He’s rough around the edges, and maybe that’s what drew me to him in the first place. We met at the coffee shop where he held a job for a small amount of time before he went through something at home, which he never really confided in me about. He stopped coming to work and got fired.
But I stuck with him. I wanted the broken parts of him because I thought if I could love him through the storm, I would be rewarded with a love that was more intense and intoxicating. I was wrong. Instead of appreciating me for staying with him at his worst, he blamed me for little things when his life seemed to be going right. I wasn’t the glue that held him together; I was the glue that held him in his pain and reminded him of his past.
After work, I head straight for the mall, because I don’t own a damn thing a secretary would wear. I’m imagining a silk shirt and pencil skirt, so that’s what I’m going for. It’s actually a lot harder to find than I expected.
But I do eventually find something. A black polyester pencil skirt that even I have to admit makes my ass look like a million bucks. An almost see-through white sheer blouse, and then, just for fun, I pop into the lingerie store to get a smoking hot black bra with panties and those little clips that hold up my thigh-high tights. Buying lingerie for a new secretary job is gratuitous, but I’m just in that kind of mood. Also…with what I know about his business, I kind of want to feel sexy under my clothes.
As I stand in front of the mirror in the dressing room, looking at myself, I think about what Emerson said in his office. Do most people really have a hidden kink they’re too afraid to admit? It makes sense. I think most people probably do think those hidden desires are wrong and sinful, but what’s so bad about it? I mean…I never considered myself sexy before, but as I stare at my full curves and the fleshy softness of my belly, I love the way I look in this. I see something sexy I never saw before. My ass is tight and round, and the fullness of my thighs looks hot in these stockings.
What could possibly be so bad about being someone’s pet, sub, or slave? In the playful sense, of course. As long as it’s consensual and everyone has something to gain, I don’t see why it’s so taboo.
I’m not going to beat myself up for wanting to feel the way I felt on my knees for him. A man like Emerson…I could be that girl. I mean…in the fantasies in my head, of course. He’s just hiring me to do paperwork—he’d never really want a girl like me for that.
For one thing, he’s so far out of my league, he might as well be in space. Emerson Grant probably dates women who don’t live in their mother’s pool house. He’s so mature and handsome and rich, I bet they breed girls especially for him. They probably don’t bite their nails or eat fried food and definitely don’t take their little sister roller skating every Saturday night. Meanwhile, I get my underwear from Target, and I don’t buy shampoo that costs more than six dollars.
For another thing, he’s Beau’s dad. That’s weird. And wrong. Beau would lose his mind if he knew. I’m pretty sure he’d go apeshit if he found out I was even taking this job, but I’m no longer subscribing to ‘things Beau cares about.’
Wait, does he know about his father’s company at all? Surely, he does. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like him. Maybe he doesn’t approve. Makes sense, I guess.
After buying the underwear in both black and white, I spend my whole check from the coffee shop on clothes for my new job.
As I’m walking across the mall with about eight bags in my hands, I spot a familiar gait walking in front of me. Beau is crossing the aisle from the food court to the video game store. He’s with…a girl.
And try as I might to stop and turn the other way, he spots me. Then it becomes an awkward stare-off where we both wish we hadn’t just locked eyes. At this point, it would be too weird to turn around and avoid each other altogether. So I keep walking until we are standing just a foot apart.