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Orchid
I was one hundred percent unprepared for just how damn attractive Mr. Mitchell is. He looks like a silver fox ready to walk the Red Carpet in Hollywood. His slate gray gaze is smoldering, his shoulders are broad, and he looks like he was literally poured into his suit. It fits perfectly. Something about him draws me in, despite his outward coldness. I’m not stupid. He’s clearly calculating and manipulative as fuck—you have to be in this industry—but a part of me just aches for him to take me over his knee and spank me.
Do I want to work under him? Jesus Christ. I’m almost afraid to answer that. Something in his tone suggests that I might be literally working my way up from the bottom... and though every feminist muscle in my body bristles at the thought, I can’t deny the twinge inside me, the dampness of my panties, or the way he makes my heart race. His deep, commanding voice is sexier than I could have ever believed a voice alone could be. If he ordered me to strip, I don’t know that I could rebuke him. His presence is intimidating and his allure undeniable. And the way my name sounds on his lips? My God. How am I going to survive this?
“Orchid?” prompts Mr. Mitchell. “Having second thoughts?”
Shit. I swallow my nerves and squeeze my legs together to try and eliminate the pulsing heat that grows steadily and with increasing need with each passing second. “Ah—”
“Working for Mitchell and Associates is your dream, isn’t it?” he prompts.
“Yes, sir,” I answer. “Absolutely it is.”
“Then chase your dream, Miss Morton,” he encourages. “I’m sure your father would want you to make the most of this opportunity. I do not offer favors lightly, so squandering one like this could prove to be a great mistake.”
“Of course, sir. I know,” I answer, trying to reign in the fluster that threatens to overwhelm me completely. “Your reputation precedes you. It would be an honor to work under you, Mr. Mitchell—if you’ll have me.”
The CEO of Mitchell and Associates rises from behind his imposing mahogany desk to stand over me. He offers me his hand, and I nervously accept. In an instant I’m pulled briskly to my feet, and before I can think my soft, curvaceous body is pressed to his gloriously rock-hard form, stealing my breath away. He leans down, and I feel his hot breath against my ear. “I’ll make you work for this Orchid, mark my words.”
I hold my breath, afraid to breathe or speak, or even move a muscle. Hot shame fills my veins. What I wouldn’t give to have this gorgeous, legendary lawyer just take me right now. Visions of ripped fabric, strong hands, and the scent of his expensive cologne drown me until his words break through my reverie, swimming into my consciousness.
“You start today,” he says then, stepping back as if nothing just passed between us. “And the first thing you can do is curb your appetite, Miss Morton.”
An altogether different breed of shame fills me as his words sink in. “Sir?”
“This is a prestigious firm. Our staff must look their best at all times. Each and every member of this company represents my brand, and the trust and dignity inferred by the Mitchell and Associates name. So, you’ll purchase yourself some exercise attire, mind your intake, and from now on you’ll be joining me in my personal gym on the thirteenth floor twice a day. Exercise is as good for the mind as it is the body.”
I stare aghast, utterly lost for words. It’s my school years all over again. I’m twenty-five years old and now my silver fox of a boss is bullying me, pressuring me to be something I’m not. I could curl up into the fetal position right here and now and die. I’m already extremely sensitive about my weight. It’s something of a work-in-progress. It always has been... But for him to bring it up under the context of professionalism is humiliating to the nth degree. What he’s saying it’s utterly sexist and goes beyond any reasonable work expectation.
But he is the Mr. Victor Mitchell of Mitchell and Associates. This is his firm. And no one keeps their job here but by his grace. This is his tower, and he is the king. He has job seekers and clients waiting indeterminate amounts of time to snatch just a precious moment of his attention. If I don’t play ball, I’m as good as nothing all over again. I’ll be back at university—sans bonus credits—waitressing two restaurants just to make ends meet. My dream will be dashed. And worst of all? I will have squandered the favor my father has so jealously guarded since his youth. He’d be bitterly disappointed in me.
My shoulders slump under Mr. Mitchell’s scrutiny and I give the only answer I can. The only one that makes sense. The only one he wants to hear. I’ve survived countless bullies in my twenty-five years. What’s one more? They say women have to work twice as hard to get ahead, and I guess the stark reality of that statement is that it’s completely true. Painfully so. “Yes, sir,” I respond, my voice scarcely above a whisper. “I won’t let you down.”
Mr. Mitchell raises my chin with a single, possessive finger until I’m forced to meet his eye. “I know you won’t, Orchid,” he says simply. Turning on his heel, he returns to his desk, leaving me trembling in his wake like a little mouse who just had a close encounter with a hungry tom cat. “Dahlia will get you sorted with a company credit card and go over my regular schedule with you. I’ll see you tonight for dinner.”
“Dinner, sir?” I ask, my heart in my throat.
“A ‘welcome to the company’ celebration, if you will,” he answers, his gaze even as he looks me over one last time. “Wear something red.”
And just like that, it’s as if I’m suddenly invisible. He picks up his phone and puts it to his ear, slowly spinning in his luxurious leather chair to face the spectacular views of Manhattan behind him.
I stand perfectly still for several breathless moments before I finally manage to open the glass door and see myself out. Red-faced and dragging my tail between my legs, a deep sense of foreboding smolders in my chest.