Catching Sin, page 6
I shake my head. None of this makes sense. “I won’t fuck you.”
He laughs, but it’s slightly strangled. “I won’t touch you, Starshine. I swear.”
I meet his baby blues head-on. “Why me, Maddox? There are hundreds of girls who could do the job better. Explain yourself. And don’t you dare bullshit a bullshitter.”
“You’re the perfect person for the job. And before you start with that unqualified stuff, you’ve read more business textbooks than I have. I saw your bookshelf, remember? You’re smart. You’re street smart. You’re honest and ruthless. You’ll keep me in line with that naughty, naughty mouth of yours.”
“Focus,” I chastise with a barely contained grin. His gaze drops to my lips as his tongue darts out to wet his.
“I’m trying. It’s not so easy with your tits spilling out of that black bra and your panty-covered pussy dangerously close to my cock. Your lips are right there.” He licks his once more.
“You wanted me on your lap. This is on you.”
“True. Not my best decision thus far.” He laughs, dragging a hand across his cropped sandy-brown hair and down across his jaw.
“Not the best boss then, are you?”
He laughs—loud, sexy, and hoarse. “I will be. That’s a promise. It’s this moment of lust that’s killing me. It’s your scent and heat and the way you look so goddamn hot all over me.”
I pick up his discarded hoodie and throw it over my shoulders. It’s about ten sizes too big for me, but it’s warm and smells like him and I think I like it. “Better?”
He frowns. “Much.”
“What’s the salary?” I ask, getting back to basics.
“Eighty-five grand to start plus full benefits.”
My eyes widen before I can stop it. Jesus. His hands go for my hips, but I quickly smack them away. He smiles so wide I can see all his perfect, white teeth. God, he’s so handsome. He could easily be the hero of my life if I let him. Or the destructor.
I lean forward, my lips hovering over his ear to keep the words from the microphones. “I’m the wrong girl for you in so many ways, Mister Sinclair,” I whisper, rolling my hips. He groans, his hands clasping my waist under the large hoodie surrounding me, inching me closer to where he wants me most, yet holding me firm enough that I can’t move. “I am entangled with the wrong man. You can’t buy what someone else already owns. Don’t do this. Walk away while you still can.” I pull back and stare into his eyes, willing him to see my honesty there. He needs to know even if it kills me to say it. “I’m the girl you regret.”
“Never,” he hisses harshly, finally not giving a shit if we get caught because he grips my hips on the outside of the fabric of his hoodie. Mirroring my honesty, he sucks in a deep, resigned breath and says, “You’re the girl I risk everything to save.”
Christ.
How do I fight that?
“What do you say?” he asks, leaning back and speaking in a microphone-friendly tone. “Will you take the job?”
“Hmmm,” I hum as if I’m actually mulling this over. It’s the worst thing to say yes to. I have no idea what I’m agreeing to because there is no way this job is on the level. No way he came here tonight, the very night I get fired, out of the goodness of his heart to offer me something like this with no strings. I’m getting in way over my head, but I can’t say no. I need this too much. “I guess you’ve just hired yourself a new assistant. I hope you know what you’re doing.” And I hope I know what I’m doing.
Seven
MADDOX
* * *
“Mister Sinclair?” I drag my gaze away from the screen of my monitor over to find Mallory, Jake’s assistant, standing in my doorway. “There’s an Isabel Bogart here to see you.”
My eyebrows draw together as I sit up straighter. “Who?”
“She claims she’s your new assistant.”
I stare at her for half a beat, then burst out laughing. Isabel Bogart. I guess that’s her name. How disappointing that she didn’t tell me herself. “Yes,” I say, standing and rolling up the sleeves of my blue button-down shirt. “Thank you, Mallory. Isabel is my new assistant.”
From the look on her face, Mallory clearly has a million questions for me. Honestly, that sentence felt weird coming from my lips, so I get her reservations. In all the time I’ve worked here, I’ve never had an assistant. I’m not really the type of guy to ask someone to do things for me. Truth be told, Jake only has Mallory because she’s worked here forever and knows this business and this town better than anyone—including Jake. I glance around my office and realize I have no idea where to put her. “Is there a spare office somewhere we can stick her?”
Mallory raises a single eyebrow. “An empty office? You mean, like the one across the hall from your office? You know, the space set up for your assistant?”
Wow, it’s not even nine yet, and I’m already messing this whole thing up.
I cross the room and slap a hand on Mallory’s shoulder, surveying the space she was speaking of. “Is that where she’s supposed to go?”
Mallory nods and rolls her eyes at me. She’s entitled, and I’ve most definitely earned it.
“Okay. Then let’s put her there. And get her a laptop or tablet or something. She’s going to need an email account and a phone and whatever the hell else executive assistants typically get.”
“Maddox.” She pushes me back into my office with both her hands planted on my chest. “What are you doing with this girl?” she asks suspiciously, her voice a touch above a whisper. “Is she even qualified? I’m not trying to be a bitch and I’m certainly not judging. I mean, I’m a Vegas girl myself, but she’s, um . . .” Mallory trails off and then nods her head over her shoulder, urging me to step into the hall.
“Dressed like a stripper,” I finish for her on a groan when I catch sight of Starshine—er, I mean Isabel. I blow out a hot, heavy breath. She’s wearing a short, tight, black, tank-top dress that barely conceals her ass and tits. At least she’s wearing flats. Her long, black hair is tied back in a low ponytail, and to her credit, she’s not wearing any makeup other than maybe some mascara. She’s standing in the middle of the long corridor with people working all around her. Instead of slinking into herself, she’s standing tall, with a confidence I doubt she feels. She’s brave. I’ll give her that.
“Thanks, Mallory. I’ll take it from here.”
I approach her slowly, watching her as she scrutinizes the office. It’s bright over here, all tall windows and streaming sunlight. It makes her creamy, porcelain skin glow, giving her a sweet, angelic, and fucking young appearance, despite her attire, which is designed for catching sin. As if she senses me watching her, she swivels around, and her black eyes meet mine head-on. Out of all the times I’ve seen her, that afternoon in the grocery store is my favorite. She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup. Her hair was down, but not done up in exaggerated waves. It was soft and natural. She wore a simple blouse that did nothing to accentuate her curves, and skinny jeans that were a size too big. Her simplicity was stunning. Staggeringly so.
That was the real Isabel.
The one standing here comes off as a caged lioness.
Scared. Vulnerable. Resilient. Fierce.
I should know better than to touch a caged animal. They’re forbidden, therefore beautiful and desirable to all who look upon them. But it’s their cage that makes them desperate and unpredictably deadly when necessary.
I left the club with a serious case of blue balls and a new assistant. Whatever this thing is that Conti is doing with her, I don’t think she’s in on the scheme. At least not yet. She tried to warn me off. It was kinda cute, really. But I wasn’t kidding when I told her she was the girl I’d risk everything to save.
At least, she could be.
She could be part of my penance. Another way to try and shift the karmic tide. I’ll never be able to undo what I did—some mistakes are too big to fix and some deeds too egregious for forgiveness. But I can still help her. I can play both sides of this game. Even if I don’t come out the winner.
“Good morning, Isabel,” I greet her, catching the tiniest hint of a smirk at the use of her real name.
“Good morning, Mister Sinclair.”
“Have you met with HR already?” She nods and holds up an ID badge. “Great. Then drop your shit and come with me.” I guide her to her new office. “Don’t bother looking around, you’ll be back soon enough.” She tucks her purse and ratty, black coat into her closet, then turns, waiting on me for further instructions. That makes me blissfully happy in ways I don’t want to think about. I place my hand on her upper back—in the office-approved neutral zone—and guide her back toward the elevator.
She glances all around and then up at me, her eyes wide with surprise. “Where are we going?”
“Down to one of the shops in the galleria. It won’t open for another hour, which is perfect.”
“But . . .” she trails off as we step onto the elevator. “Wait. I thought I was going to be your assistant. That’s what you said.” Her dark eyes narrow in on me. “You never mentioned working in the stores. Those places would never hire a girl like me.”
And that just pisses me off. “What does that mean? A girl like you?”
Her arms fold across her chest. “A stripper, Maddox. A cocktail waitress. I don’t know who or what you think I am, but that’s the reality of it.”
“You know that’s not how I see you, right? That was your job, not who you are.”
She rolls her eyes at me like I’m some misguided, naïve fool. Maybe I am. The world is full of preconceived notions, the majority of which are wrong—case in point, Miss Isabel Bogart.
“You’re not working in the store,” I tell her as we step off the elevator and make our way through the resort, heading in the direction of the shops. “But I can’t have you dressed like that, either.”
Her head drops to the floor, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. Her footfalls slow as she slips farther away from me. “I didn’t have anything else to wear.”
“I know,” I reply, because I do. She tried. It shows in the flats and hair and lack of makeup. But she can’t wear that dress.
Let me rephrase, I can’t be around her in that dress.
“I went to the library on Saturday and googled executive assistants. It said professional corporate attire. I own trashy dresses that I used to wear to work and second-hand jeans with holes in them. That’s it. This was the best I could do.”
I pause outside one of the closed stores. This part of the resort is mostly empty as nothing opens here until ten. Spinning around, I grasp her shoulders, hoping to catch her eye, but she’s still not looking at me. I can’t have that. My hand slides beneath her chin, raising it up. For the first time since I met this girl, I see just how hard her life really is. This onion just showed me one of her layers and it makes me seriously want to fight the world for being so fucked.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about your dress. I understand you’ve never worked in this sort of environment before and that’s why we’re going to go into this shop before it opens and get you some new clothes. Professional clothes. Clothes that don’t make me want to rip that skimpy piece of fabric from your body every time I look at you.”
A small smirk tugs up the corner of her lips. “Then maybe you shouldn’t look at me like you’ve seen me naked.”
“You remember when I told you that I can’t help but hope?”
She nods, her smirk growing into a smile.
“Well, certain things I can’t forget. But I’m trying here, and if we’re going to make this work, we have to fix this.”
She makes a tsking sound, dramatically shaking her head. “You men are all the same. So damn easy, we hardly have to try. But according to the information HR provided me with this morning, you’re not allowed to speak to me like that. I can sue you for sexual harassment.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “That dress is sexual harassment. Now come on.”
She resists when I try to guide her in. “I can’t afford anything in that shop.”
“You’re not buying them, I am.”
She shakes her head adamantly, taking a step back and out of my reach. “I’m not letting you Pretty Woman me.”
“What?” A bemused laugh slips past my lips. “What the hell is that?”
“Pretty Woman. It’s a movie with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere.”
“Okay. I still have no idea what that has to do with buying you new clothes.”
Isabel huffs out a loud, exasperated breath, her hands fisting on her hips. “I’m not your whore. I may have accepted this job, but that doesn’t give you dominion over my life. I don’t want to be indebted to you.”
Wow. This girl really does not have an ounce of trust in her. And why should she? I’ve done nothing but touch and smile and flirt with her. The same as every other asshole she encounters. And considering how she got here, I know she’s under Conti’s thumb for some reason. She’s already owned. Or was. She told me so herself. He may say he wants her out of his life. But that remains to be seen.
“Isabel, almost every employee who works for Turner Hotels, whether here in Vegas or anywhere else in the country, wears a uniform of sorts. Everyone from the cleaning staff to the dealers to the bartenders to the pool staff. Me?” I point to my dress shirt and slacks. “This is a uniform. I hate dressing like this. And if you worked at the pool, we’d provide you with a uniform. But you don’t work at the pool. You work up in the corporate office and that requires a different sort of uniform. Does that make sense?”
She considers me for a moment as she absorbs what I’m trying to tell her. “So, you buying me clothes in this very expensive shop is your way of providing me with a work uniform?”
“Exactly. And I get a discount here, so it won’t be as expensive as you think.”
“Okay,” she finally relents, but I can see how difficult it is for her. I’m dying to ask her about her relationship with Conti. It’s something, all right. “I’ll let you buy me my uniform.”
I nod, relieved that she isn’t fighting me further on that. But first . . . I take a firm step toward her and force her gaze up to mine once more. “I don’t want to ever hear you refer to yourself as my whore again. You are not a whore and I do not own women. You are not indebted to me in any way and you never will be, regardless of what I buy for you. Am I clear?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, let’s go.”
I want to take her hand and lead her in. I want to present her to whomever is inside this shop and tell them to spoil her because I’d be willing to bet no one ever has. But this is not the time for that. She is not my girlfriend. She is not my lover or even my friend. She’s my assistant. My chess piece in a way. Except, I’m not the only one using her in this game.
“How old are you, Isabel?”
She growls under her breath. “Nineteen.” Fuck. That’s so young. Too young.
“Nineteen-year-old girls don’t use words like dominion and indebted.” Nor do they read textbooks on calculus, chemistry, history, and business. They also don’t have books on learning Spanish, French, German, and Italian. This girl is an enigma. A fascinating one.
“Maddox, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not most nineteen-year-old girls.”
I smile at that. She certainly is not. I lead her into the store and tell Paula what Isabel needs. I ask her to put it on my account and then leave. I don’t stay to play dress-up. Attraction is a unique weapon. It can be used against you so easily, has the power to manipulate the senses. I need to be focused. And from this moment on, there will be a division between us.
Boss and employee.
I text Jake and tell him to meet me in the security tower. All weekend I thought about Conti’s favor. I recounted every detail about that night Starshine sat beside him at the club after she danced. I mulled over my exchange with him in his office and then that hour at the club in the champagne room. It was a lot to go over. A lot of fine details to sort through.
I reach the tower first, give Cash—our resident security ace—a nod, swipe an unused tablet and then head for the back room. It’s the room where Gavin was waiting for Jake and me the day everything went down with Niklas Vaughn. It’s the room that’s heard more secrets than I care to think about. I take a seat in the large leather chair, swivel around to face the wall of soundproof glass and log in to the tablet. For full security access, you’re required to either have thumbprint or facial recognition and a password. If I enter the wrong password twice, it locks me out for twenty-four hours. There is also a panic password that notifies the police instantly. Another one can shut down all access to every Turner Hotels’ employee completely. Jake doesn’t believe biometrics is enough. Anyone can be held at gunpoint.
I guess he has a point.
In any event, no one else in this business has a security setup quite like ours. It was designed by Ryan Grant and Luke Walker, old friends of Jake. They’re former black-hat hackers, the best the world has seen, before they flipped sides and created an information security company. They’ve been helpful with other projects, too, and part of me wonders if we’ll require their less-than-legal services before all this is done.
Scanning through the system, I locate the store where Starshine is currently shopping. I shouldn’t be looking. But I am. The camera is in the ceiling so my angle of her isn’t the best. But I do catch her smile when she turns around, her hands full of hangers lined with clothes as she heads toward the dressing room.
That smile . . . It’s one I’ve never seen on her. It’s not mischievous or flirtatious or even overtly sexual. It’s . . . happy. Genuinely happy. I continue to watch as she talks with Paula. They appear to be laughing and having a good time while she tries on outfit after outfit. Shoes, purses, and even things like earrings are thrown in the pile. Good. Paula knows her shit, and I want Isabel to have the works. It’s a small price to pay for that smile.
