Oliver
I’m starting to think Pippa Grooman doesn’t listen to a word I say.
I watch the new escort fidget in front of me, and I wonder if I should even bother with the interview. She
looks like a deer in headlights.
The last woman they sent didn’t even last a week, yapping on incessantly about trivial nonsense and
driving me insane.
At least this one is silent, so far. She looks as meek as a mouse. I wonder if she can speak.
Beautiful though. Incredibly so. She has an interesting face, with small features, a heart-shaped mouth,
and de ep, stormy blue eyes with distractingly long lashes. Her hair is tied in a neat ponytail down her back
and appears black in the room’s low lighting. She’s tiny, too. Easy to bend to my will, perhaps. I feel a pulse
of heat between my legs.
Interesting. “Sit down,” I say, rising from my chair. As I do so, her eyes widen. She can’t be more than
five feet tall, and I am 6’6. I tower over her, and the height difference makes my cock twitch.
Maybe Pippa Grooman isn’t as in ept as I thought. She lowers herself into the chair to the right of my
desk, and I walk slowly around to the one opposite, sitting in front of her, crossing my legs casually as I
assess her for a second time.
She looks around my office, her shoulders rounded, body on edge and tense. I don’t need another
woman to tell me how intimidating I am; I already know and can’t do a damn thing about it.
If she asks any ridiculous questions, I’ll just send her away. I don’t need to explain myself to anyone,
least of all an escort I hire to fuck.
“Your name is Melissa Davenport, correct?” I ask. The details Pippa sent over of this woman’s
credentials were an interesting read. I already have them memorized. I wonder whether Pippa has
exaggerated some of it, though. This woman doesn’t look in the least bit ‘confident’ or ‘tenacious’. She
looks as if she wants to disappear into the shadows.
“Everyone calls me Lissa,” she says eventually in a small voice. “But you can call me whatever you feel
is appropriate.”
She exhibits a total lack of confidence, in fact. Where did the agency even find her? Either she’s in the
wrong line of work, or she’s an accomplished actress.
“What would you prefer?” I ask, using every ounce of my patience. There is a little pause, then she looks
at me through those impossible lashes and picks at the cuticle of one of the fingers resting in her lap.
“I... prefer Lissa,” she says, her voice low. “Well, that’s what I’ll call you then,” I say, pushing myself
to the back of my seat. Maybe if I make this enormous body appear smaller, she’ll stop looking so terrified.
I enjoy dominating women in bed, I always have, but I don’t want anyone to feel actual fear in my
presence. The shape of her shoulders, the way she is slightly curled in on herself, is setting my teeth on
edge.
“I’d like you to relax,” I say gently. She looks up at me, eyes worried, every muscle in her body
stiffening.
Damn it. This isn’t going to work at all. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” I insist wearily. “But you
look nervous. There’s no reason to be. We’re getting to know one another, that’s all.”
“Is—isn’t this an interview?” she asks. “Of course. But I won't know whether you’re right for this job
unless we spend more time together. As far as today goes, you have the position,” I say, cursing inwardly
for giving in to those dark, pretty eyes. “We’ll take everything one day at a time, okay?”
Lissa lets out a long breath and nods, tugging at her skirt. It looks too long for her, but her skin is
exquisite, like white quartz.
Slowly, she places her hands on the arms of the chair and shifts back in her seat. The fabric is a dark
purple, a color I have always liked. It complements her coloring perfectly.
“Have you worked at a law firm before?” I ask. “This position is obviously different from a regular EA,
but Adelaide will still require your assistance with several tasks while you’re with us.”
She nods. Bit by bit, she is following my instructions to relax. Her back is slowly sinking into the chair,
and although she’s still very upright, some color has returned to her cheeks.
Mm. Yes, Pippa is smarter than she looks. “I’ve worked at a few places,” Lissa murmurs, her eyes
darting around the room as she swallows.
She is still fidgeting, tugging at that damned skirt and sliding her feet back and forth under the chair. Her
shoes are a fraction too big, with a gap at the back that shows the curve of her ankle.
“And where was that?” I prompt when she doesn’t say any more. After another interminable pause, she
sucks in a sharp breath. “I know I’m supposed to sell myself in interviews,” she says, her voice shaking.
“But I won’t lie to you, Mr. Heath, I spent several years out of work after... a break was required. Before
that, I worked at a hospital in Brooklyn, and then I was a PA at a law firm, Pervis and Hodge. More
recently, I worked as a rec eptionist at a dental practice. That was my first job since the break, but I learn
quickly, I’m efficient, and I can...”
She trails off, her cheeks flushing beautifully. What was she about to say?
I watch her chewing on her beautiful bottom lip. Not many people would lead with their lack of
experience at an interview, but there’s something oddly reassuring about it. I’m guessing she’s a people
pleaser.
“The job is simple enough,” I continue. “Adelaide handles my calendar. All meetings and appointments
go through her. If she is ever away or on vacation, she will give you a comprehensive handover. The parts
of the job Adelaide will need your assistance with are filing and matter management. She’ll instruct you on
everything, but it’s detailed and sometimes tedious work.”
She nods. “That’s not a problem.” “As for the other part of the job, what has Miss Grooman told you?”
She looks up, staring at the top button of my shirt rather than my eyes. “Uh. She hasn’t told me a lot. Just
that you’d prefer me to work slightly later hours than most.”
I resist the urge to shift in my seat as her cheeks flush again.
“Yes, your other duties will begin at 5 pm and finish at 6 pm. Nothing of that nature takes place during
work hours. This office is small, and I don’t need unnecessary rumors flying about.”
“Of course.” “The rest of the time, you assist Adelaide, and your days are your own. If you need a long
lunch break occasionally, that’s fine, just make sure she knows where you are.”
A single nod. She’s still twisting her fingers in her lap. I want to reach out, clasp them tightly between
mine, and make her stop.
“As for the other activities you will be in volved with,” I say, lowering my voice a fraction, “there is only
one thing that I need you to remember.”
She doesn’t r eply for a few seconds and then swallows hard. “And what is that?”
“You do what I say, when I say,” I murmur. “But nothing we do, and I cannot stress this enough, is only
on my terms. Do you understand?”
Her eyes are still wide and confused, but I feel something loosen in my chest as she shakes her head.
“No. I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you mean.” I hide a smile. This is promising. “Good,” I say
firmly. “If you ever don’t understand something I say, or an instruction I give, it’s imperative that you tell
me. What I mean is, the things we do together will never solely be on my terms. I have my preferences; I
use light bondage and toys. But nothing happens without your express permission, and if you should change
your mind or become uncomfortable, you must tell me immediately. If you want something to stop, it stops.
No questions asked.”
She has finally stopped fidgeting but is still staring at the top button of my shirt.
Look at me. “Do you understand what I said?” I ask. “Yes. You want me to be honest with you.”
“Exactly. This is a mutual partnership. Between five and six, we work together, not against one another. I
may be in control in this room, but you are free to tell me your preferences at any time.”
“Alright.” “I will give you, let’s say, a week’s trial. If it goes well, we can extend it, but I’ll pay you well
for anything we do together.”
“That’s fine.” I go still, ke eping my eyes fixed on that lovely, fairy-like face. It doesn’t feel as if she
truly knows what she is agreeing to.
“Very well,” I mutter, thrown off balance by the exchange. “That’s the end of the interview.”
She blinks at me. “That’s it?” “Yes.” Don’t question me, don’t ask me why. “Alright.” “Please arrive at
9 am sharp tomorrow. Being late causes Adelaide undue stress.”
She rises, a softness in her face that I wasn’t expecting. “Have you worked with Adelaide for a long
time?” she asks, surprising me.
“Almost a decade,” I r eply. She nods, looking thoughtful, but doesn’t say anything more. Slowly, she
walks out of the office, her heels making no sound on the floor, the door closing inaudibly behind her.
She hardly made any noise the whole time she was in here, other than to barely answer my questions.
It’s almost as if she has learned to fade into the background.