Chapter One

 

 

 

 

The first thing I noticed about Joshua Black was how handsome he was. The second thing was what a gorgeous suit he was wearing, though maybe I could say that was `1A' and `1B'. His dark brown, medium length hair was brushed straight back from his forehead. He had a rugged, square jawed face softened by soft, full lips and brilliant blue eyes.

He was wearing a steel gray tailored suit. It had that Germanic flavor to it, probably a Hugo Boss, looking like a kind of civilian officer's uniform; slick and sleek and intimidating, with a deep blood red silk tie to add color. It occurred to me his suit had probably cost more than I'd made in the last couple of months.

And if it didn't, the diamond speckled gold watch on his wrist certainly did.

And then he started to speak, and he had this deep, melodious, educated voice which made something resonate deep in my abdomen. But then anxiety took hold, for it quickly became clear that Joshua Black was not a nice man!

His eyes inspected me with the cool calculation of someone looking over merchandise he was considering buying, and not inclined to pay too high a price for it, given its lack of quality.

Don't get me wrong, I was used to assholes. As an actress, you encountered a ton of them! But most of them were prissy little men. Besides, I wasn't applying for an acting job! I was applying for a hostess/assistant job. What was that? I wasn't really sure. I'd had a ton of odd jobs over the past two years, waiting to make it big.

I hadn't actually applied yet. I mean, he had called me, saying he'd gotten my name from the Catel Agency, which was weird, because if he wasn't looking for an actress then why did he need me?

His office was very modern. He had a desk which seemed made of cut marble, and steel and leather furniture. He got up from behind the desk and walked around it to me, and I felt myself flinch a little nervously as he slowly walked around me.

"It's hard to tell," he said. "But dress you up, put on some makeup, you may do."

Not exactly flattering, but you take what you can get when you're fifty dollars short of the rent thee days from the end of the month.

He had a large monitor on his desk, and he gave it a twist so I could see it had pictures of me on it. I blinked in surprise, for they looked like they were from my portfolio. I had no idea why the agency would send them to him if he wasn't looking for an actress!

He flicked through them, then paused on the bikini one. I squirmed inside a little. It was a revealing bikini and I hadn't really wanted to include it but my agent said it was necessary. But worse was - and there it was, the topless shot, with me in just a thong, posing at a pool. I felt my face color, though he certainly didn't seem to be looking particularly lecherous or even impressed.

"Good breasts," he said. "Firm stomach. I like a firm stomach. Can't stand a woman whose belly pushes out the moment she bends forward."

He looked at it again, then at me. "Nice ass," he said.

My discomfort level was starting to provoke anger.

"May I ask what sort of job you had in mind, Mister Black? It was my understanding this was not an acting job. I'm surprised the agency let you see my full portfolio."

"I gave Jason Reverie a stock tip last month which made him quite a bit of money. He's very appreciative."

I frowned in confusion.

"I'm an attorney," he said. "But I don't deal in law so much as in... arrangements. Someone wants to buy something, and someone wants to sell something. I find the one for the other and make the arrangements. Someone wants something done. I arrange for that to happen. I know a lot of people in power; from politicians to bankers to union leaders, and, yes, studio heads, actors and directors."

My inner ears perked up considerably at that!

"People hire me when they want something done, Hall, because they know I'll get it done. There's nothing I can't arrange, and I always get my way. I could probably arrange to have small countries overthrown and presidents assassinated if I wanted to get into that line. God knows I know some people ..." He broke off, his eyes flicking up and down at me.

"The risk/reward quotient doesn't make it worthwhile, however," he said.

"I'm sorry but - ."

"Do you own any business suits?"

I was taken aback. "Uhm, well, I have a few skirts and - ."

"Never mind. I'll arrange some things. I know your exact measurements, after all."

"But what will I be doing!?"

"Whatever I tell you to do. That's what personal assistants do."

'I thought this was for a hostess," I said.

"That will be one of the things you'll be doing, or pretending to do."

"Prete - ."

"Think of it as acting, Hall."

"But why... why me?" I asked.

He sat back against the edge of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. It was a very nice chest, by the way, with lovely looking shoulders.

"I need a really attractive young lady to accompany me for a variety of reasons. One reason is as a sort of secretary; to keep track of things, to take notes, make phone calls and make other small arrangements. A second reason is that I often deal with couples and the women are more comfortable with a woman there. You can also serve as a distraction for those men who are easily distracted by pretty girls, which is most of them, and help fend off those women who think because they have money I want to sleep with them."

I raised my eyebrows at the last.

"It's irritating," he said, frowning. "I have no intention of sleeping with my clients or their girlfriends or wives. The risk/reward quotient is terrible. With someone like you there most of them will stop bothering me."

He wanted me as a pussy blocker!? Wow! I wondered how I could put that on my resume!

"I know a woman. Think of her as a costumer. I want you in very professional and very sexy outfits which never go over the line into slutty."

Well, I was all for that, I thought, a bit flustered.

"But... what exactly do I do?" I asked uncertainly.

"Anything and everything I tell you," he said, eyes narrowing. "Which will include just standing around looking sexy and smiling. Can you flirt with unattractive men?"

"Uh - ."

"Think of it as acting. You've done sales, according to your resume. You've also worked as a hostess at Delogios. If you made good tips there you know what I want."

I nodded understanding. Delogio's was a very upscale restaurant. I'd smiled and been perky a lot, and yes, I'd gotten good tips.

His voice, the whole time, was very firm, very demanding, and his face was not exactly filled with friendliness. He didn't look like he even liked me!

"These are often million dollar deals, Hall," he said. "If you fuck them up you will be very, very sorry. Am I making myself clear?"

I gulped, suddenly very anxious.

"I uhm, but I don't know - ."

"Do exactly what I say, exactly when I say it and we won't have a problem," he said, looking at me through cold eyes. "Do you have an issue with obedience?"

"N-No," I said.

"Do you get airsick?"

I blinked in surprise.

"Or seasick?"

"Uhm, no."

"First, get used to saying sir. It makes a better impression on the those I'm meeting. Second, stop starting all your sentences with 'uhm'. You're not a teenager from the valley."

"Okay," I gulped.

His eyes narrowed.

"Sir."

"There'll be occasional travel, usually on private jets. And I tend to go to a lot of parties on yachts."

Ooo, I thought. That sounded cool!

*

Two days later I was standing in the same place in my 'costume', and very uncomfortable with it. It had a very thin, very tight white silk top, and a hip length black jacket which was designed, apparently, to squeeze my breasts up and out. Beneath that was a very short black pencil skirt. I was wearing five inch stiletto heels, and thick framed black glasses with clear lenses.

My blonde hair was done up, and I looked like one of those, I don't know, slutty secretaries who only needed to let her hair down and take off her glasses to look ready for wild sex. The blouse was so thin you could easily see my bra through it, though as long as I had the jacket on that didn't really matter.

Black looked me up and down, nodding, still not particularly impressed.

"Open the jacket," he said.

Flushing, I did so, and he nodded.

"I think the shirt is too tight," I said.

He snorted. "It's supposed to be tight. Your breasts are part of the deal, Hall. I wouldn't have hired you if you were flat chested"

I frowned indignantly.

He handed me a tablet with a stylus.

"You can take any notes I tell you to. Otherwise just stand around and look pretty. If you sit, arrange to sit across from the client, and don't keep your legs too tightly closed"

I stared at him in astonishment.

"You are wearing panties, I take it?"

"Of course I am!" I said, blushing.

"Good. The beauty of a short skirt, Hall, is that if you sit just right, men will imagine they can see up it, but the can't. They can see your thighs a little further up, but unless you sit like a slut that's all they'll see."

"This is incredibly sexist!" I protested.

"Tough. If it serves to distract someone it's well worth it, as far as I'm concerned."

He was wearing another of those German designed suits, this time very dark blue.

We went downstairs and got into the back of a black limousine. That was impressive, and I looked around with interest.

"Sit on the other side, across from me," he ordered.

Black didn't say please a lot, I thought in irritation, but I obeyed.

"Don't cross your legs," he said.

I opened my mouth to protest, but uncrossed them, feeling suddenly self conscious as his eyes flicked down to my short skirt. It had, of course, ridden up higher as I'd sat.

"Spread your legs a little apart."

"Mr Black - ."

"Think of it as rehearsal."

"But - ."

"Do it!"

I gulped, and shifted my knees a little ways apart.

"A bit more."

I opened them a bit more, feeling my face hot.

"Now turn your legs a little towards me."

I glared at him, but did so."

"A bit more."

I obeyed again, fuming.

"A bit less."

I muttered to myself angrily, but anger wasn't the only emotion I was feeling. The fact he was staring at my legs, looking up my skirt as I shifted positions was making my stomach fluttery. He might be an asshole but he was a really hot asshole. I couldn't help wondering what he'd be like in bed. I was sure he'd be good, and that he'd be just as bossy.

"Perfect," he said. "Memorize this position."

"So men can look up my skirt?" I demanded frigidly.

"What do you care? You'd be willing to appear in movies in a G-string if asked."

I flushed. "That's different!"

"That's different, sir," he said.

"That's different, sir," I said, dropping my eyes sullenly.

"It's not the least bit different. You're playing a role. Think of it as the sexy, but unobtainable temptress. You let them see a little, but never too much. And you make sure it never seems deliberate. Men like seeing things they're not supposed to see."

His first client was a slim, kind of nerdy guy of about thirty, who, as I came to understand, was looking for an office for his growing high tech company. I was surprised at the money the two talked about. He looked like just some.. .some guy! But they were talking about deals worth tens of millions and having the right image for his company and its two hundred and fifty employees.

We visited several buildings, all very high-tech, glistening offices with huge glass windows and stunning views. And all the while I sat across from them, smiling, and sitting in such a way that Brent, the high tech guy, could look up my skirt! I did more, of course, including taking notes and getting drinks for them from the cabinet behind me. Otherwise I just followed them around, smiling a lot.

It felt weird, to be honest, making sure the guy could look up my skirt while pretending I had no idea he. It made me self-conscious but also, well, to be honest, kind of turned on. I felt like, what was it Black had called me, a sexy temptress.

The guy was kind of cute too, and evidently a millionaire many times over! I figured Black was, as well, but he looked like a man of means. This guy just looked like an ordinary person, though a bit nerdy. In fact, he looked like a boy next to Black, even though they were both around the same age.

After that we drove to an office building and went up to the seventieth floor to meet with a middle aged, gray haired guy in an office about four times the size of my apartment. We sat on the sofa in the corner of the office, with me again sitting across, legs posed properly.

Now it was two guys in power suits sitting side by side, and they kept a lot of their conversation low enough that I couldn't really make it out. The man's eyes would flick over to me often enough, though, and I again felt that weird self-conscious flush which included a sense of slutty power, of being 'the temptress'!

What a description of a girl from Wyoming! A temptress! Ha! My parents and friends would laugh hysterically! Though they'd never seen me in an outfit like this, with my hair done up and wearing makeup.

My mother would smack me for sitting like this in a short skirt, though. In fact, she'd probably smack me for even wearing a skirt this short!

"What was that about?" I asked, as we headed back down in the elevator.

"You don't need to know."

I glowered at him.

"Don't sulk. Discretion is a fundamental part of my business."

"I wasn't sulking! And I can be discrete!'

"Maybe I'll have confidence in that one day. Right now I barely know you."

Which was fair, I supposed. He wasn't a guy to sugar coat stuff, that was for sure. He had no reason to trust me and was bluntly honest about it.

"We're going to a party this evening," he said as we got into the limo.

"We are?" I asked, startled. "But..."

"Your hours are whatever I need," he said.

I scowled.

"Your dress is back at the office."