At His Service (The Billionaire’s Beck and Call #1)(2)
Author: Delilah Fawkes

“Ms. Willcox, come here.”

I smoothed my hands over my skirt and took a few steps toward the chairs in front of his desk.

“Did I say you could sit there? Come here. To me.”

I paused, shifting uncomfortably on my feet.

“Are you deaf? I said come here.”

His sharp tone sent a shiver down my spine. I set my jaw and walked around the desk until I was just inches away from him. He spun in his chair toward me slowly and leaned back, a smirk playing over his handsome face. For a long moment, he just looked me over, appraising me, then staring into my eyes to see if I would look away, I suppose.

I didn’t.

“Take a seat here. On the desk.”

His voice was a low whisper, his eyes intense.

I hesitated the briefest of moments, but then a little voice inside my head said He’s messing with you. He wants to see if you’re afraid. I glared back at him. I needed to show him he didn’t intimidate me, no matter how rich and powerful he was.

I hopped up on the edge of his desk, and crossed my bare legs demurely. His eyes roamed over my exposed skin, stopping at my hem line, before moving up my body to my br**sts, straining beneath my blouse. I tried to keep my breathing steady, but I felt so vulnerable this close to him, especially when he looked at me like that.

“What do you know about me, Isabeau?”

He leaned forward, and I forced myself to stay still instead of shying away. He was so close that I could smell the subtle notes of his cologne: musk and wood with a hint of leather.

“My apologies…  May I call you Isabeau?” He smiled up at me, dazzling me for a moment.

“Of course.” My voice sounded high and breathy. I gripped the edge of his desk, trying not to fidget.

“Good. What have you heard about me, Isabeau? What do you really know about me?”

What did he want me to say? That everyone said he was an ogre? Or that they all wanted to sleep with him anyway?

“I…”

“Go on. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

He was still smiling, slight dimples visible in both cheeks. The sight was destracting, to say the least.

“I know that you’re the youngest CEO and partner in the company’s history, and I know that you earned the spot by working your way up after graduate school instead of using your inheritance as a crutch.”

“Everyone knows that. What do you know about me? The real stuff. None of this press release bullshit.”

I looked down at my hands, anything not to have to look up at his face so close to me.

“Um. People say… they say that you’re scary. And that your assistants don’t last long.”

He laughed, a deep, warm sound that seemed to fill up the office. I glanced up to see him smirking at me. I relaxed my grip on the desk a little. Maybe I wasn’t being fired after all.

“What else do they say?”

Oh, God. He can’t possibly want me to tell him everything. Does he? The look on his face confirmed that he did. It was clear by the way he looked at me that I wasn’t leaving this office until I gave him exactly what he wanted.

“They say. Um… They say that you’re very, uh, good looking… and impossible to please.”

“Oh they do, do they?” He sat back, and tented his fingers beneath his chin. “Well, do you agree with them? Do you think I’m scary, handsome and woefully unsatisfied?”

My mouth dropped open, and I quickly closed it with a snap.

“Yes. I mean, no! I mean, I don’t know…”

He stood, then, and leaned in close, towering over me. “You were right the first time.”

Anxiety coursed through me, but I have to admit, being this close to him, smelling his scent and feeling the heat radiating off his body, it made me wonder what it would be like to be in his arms. To be his. To be owned by him…

His face was almost touching mine when he whispered to me. “I am unsatisfied, Isabeau. I want you to be my new assistant. Will you do that for me? Will you be at my beck and call?”

My breath left me as his words sunk in. When I finally regained it, I felt like I was trembling from head to toe. His beck and call.

“Wh-what about your old assistant?”

Mr. Drake leaned back again and took my chin in his hand, forcing my eyes to his. “What about her? I want you.”

His touch on my skin was electric.  Are we still talking about business?

“Yes, Mr. Drake.”

His thumb stroked my cheek for the briefest of moments, and then he released me, breathless, and wondering what I’d just agreed to.

“Very good, Isabeau. I’ll expect you here at 8 a.m. tomorrow, in my office, ready to work. Don’t be late.”

He turned away, effectively dismissing me. I hopped down off the desk and quickly made for the door. I didn’t want to give him time to change his mind.

“And Isabeau?”

I turned back, my hand on the knob. “Yes, Mr. Drake?”

“I don’t tolerate sloppy work. Disappoint me, and there will be consequences.”

I blushed, and nodded, then closed the door behind me.

What had I gotten myself into?

***

“Isabeau! Get in here, now!”

I jumped in my seat in front of the big, mahogany doors, spilling my cup of ramen noodles onto my blouse.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit.” If there was one thing Mr. Drake hated, it was sloppiness, and here I was dripping with cheap soup stock. My silk was stained, the material sticking to the tops of my br**sts.

“By now, I meant immediately, Isabeau! Not at your personal convenience.”

I swore again under my breath, and entered his office. Maybe a miracle would occur, and he wouldn’t notice. Please, God, have mercy!

“Sit,” he commanded.

I moved toward the chairs once again, but he stared at me, frowing, until I circled the desk and perched on the edge.

“Yes, Mr. Drake?”

“What took you so long? I need you to type these notes up for me, and…”

He stopped, sniffing the air. He leaned in, and to my horror, plucked a long, wavy noodle out of my cle**age. I bit my lip, tears of embarassment burning behind my eyes.

I had to keep it together. It probably wasn’t the end of the world, even though it felt like it, sitting here in front of my boss, who could have been a GQ model, shaking with nerves, and dripping with soup.

“Oh, my dear,” he said, placing it into his trashcan like it was a dead spider. “This is not good at all. I don’t like this. One. Little. Bit.”