Except, I have no clue what I’m imagining, and I’m not sure how dirty I feel comfortable getting. This feels way too intimate. To counteract the sudden tension between us, I force myself to sound as casual as possible. I could tell him that I’ve already researched everything about his company, but I sort of want to make him explain it to me as if I know nothing.
“Well…do you have a lot of random women just show up in your office ready for you to bark orders at them and get on their knees for you?”
“Sometimes,” he replies confidently, as if that wasn’t the craziest thing he’s ever confessed to. Seriously, who is this guy?
My mouth goes dry.
“And you pay them…”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but that sounds a lot like prostitution.”
“Prostitution involves sex, Ms. Underwood. I don’t have sex with women for money.”
My eyes widen. He said sex—twice—and it stirs up a mixture of arousal and unease in my belly. I clench my thighs together.
“Well, then what exactly do you do with them?” I ask.
“That sounds like a personal question.” He’s toying with me again. “I told you to use your imagination, so go ahead then. If I’m not having sex with them, what do you think I hire them to do?”
I have no earthly idea. I didn’t really get that far into the website. So I gnaw on my bottom lip as I run through what I know so far.
“You can’t possibly just pay women to kneel in your office for you.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s ridiculous. What’s the point?”
“The point is I like it, and they are willing to do it.”
I’m speechless. This can’t be real. The confusion on my face morphs into a smile that pulls on my cheeks. This should really be humiliating for him, but he’s not embarrassed at all. And it really has me wondering something very wicked. “So…”
But I stop myself. I can’t finish the sentence. It’s too close to flirting, too…intimate.
Fuck it.
“So?” he echoes, impatiently waiting for me to finish.
“So, how did I do?” I desperately want to bury my face in my hands or hide under the table or even pull the fire alarm, but if he’s going to be so flippant and nonchalant about this, then so will I. Because I’m actually dying to know now. If he lives this secretive kinky life, then I want a peek behind the curtain. It’s enticing, the idea of just dipping my toe into whatever forbidden, yet exciting, life he leads.
So, instead of hiding, I force my body not to betray me, and I keep my spine straight and expression relaxed. As if I just asked him what the soup of the day is and not how well I performed as a kinky secretary slave.
After a moment of prolonged silence and a deep exhale, he says, “You did exceptional, Charlotte.”
Wait, what?
“You seemed pretty exasperated with me,” I reply. “I didn’t do anything right.”
“Well, in your defense, you didn’t even know what you were doing.”
A laugh bubbles out of my chest. “So how was that exceptional?”
He’s pensive again, clearly at war with himself inside his head as he weighs his options, probably thinking that as the adultier adult here, he should really put an end to this inappropriate discussion. “I really shouldn’t say…”
“Oh, come on. You started it.” It takes some effort, but I manage to keep my casual tone and lazy approach.
And suddenly, there is no hesitation. The words just travel effortlessly across the table straight from his lips to my ears. “Ms. Underwood, you looked exquisite on your knees.”
Even if I had a voice at this moment, I wouldn’t know what to say. Instead, I’m rendered completely and utterly speechless, sitting across from him like a fish with my jaw hanging open, wondering how I went from a fight with Beau on his front lawn a couple days ago to this—his father telling me that I look good on my knees.
No, not just good. Exquisite. That word has lost all meaning to me now. Not a day will go by in my long life when I will hear those three syllables and not think of a man twenty years my senior, using that exact designation when referring to how well I kneeled for him.
It’s ludicrous. Ridiculous. Narcissistic and sexist and demeaning and sensuous and flattering and…so many more words I can’t seem to find at the moment.
And somehow the only words I manage to utter in response are, “I did?”