Trent grinned but his eyes were still locked on his computer screen. “Fucker.”
It was sometimes hard to believe I worked for a man who could get away with casually calling Matthew McConaughey a fucker.
It wasn’t that I was new to this gig, because before I came to work for Trent, I’d been a personal assistant to some pretty powerful people. Okay, one pretty powerful person. After all, my father was none other than Franklin Shelton, the owner and CEO of one of the largest technology companies in the country. I had spent the two years after college—obtaining a master’s degree in business management—as his personal assistant. Well, officially, he had been grooming me to take over his company, but when he found out I didn’t want to do that, things had gotten strained between us. Unfortunately, my father and I had a falling-out, and I’d long ago stepped down from that position. It was that or sever our relationship altogether and I wasn’t willing to do that, so here I was.
“On Thursday, you’ve got the fundraiser for the battered women’s shelter and on Friday night, you’re slated to go to the club,” I informed him. That was all it said, and I had no idea what club he was going to, but I did know it was related to his Dom persona.
For a brief moment, I considered asking if I could go with him. It would be the perfect opening to discuss the fact that he hadn’t allowed me into that part of his life although I was more than willing.
“We’re still on for the fundraiser, but the club is tentative,” Trent said.
Not surprising. Trent’s calendar shifted quite often.
“Shall I move it to another time?”
“No, let’s leave it for now. I’d like to get by there if everything works out. We’ll be flying out to Chicago on Wednesday morning. I expect we’ll be back that night. Make sure the fundraiser’s aware I’ll have a plus two for the event. And if it works out, we’ll be able to make it to the club on Friday.”
“We?” I was sure I had misheard him.
“Yes, we,” he clarified.
“I’m… I’ll be going with you?”
Trent’s gaze lifted to mine. “Yeah. I think it’s time you checked it out.”
I had to make a conscious effort not to allow my jaw to hit the floor. “I … uh…” I tried to collect myself, to come off as cool and collected as he always did. “Sure.”
“If you’re interested, of course.”
“Yeah. Definitely.” Again, I attempted to appear unfazed by this turn of events. “If it’s where you need me, then I’m interested.”
His eyes scanned me briefly and he grinned. “It won’t be official business. Not all the time.”
I glanced down at my iPad. I really needed to check the thermostat because it suddenly got really hot in Trent’s office.
“We’re gonna have to find something for you to wear, though. That won’t do.”
I didn’t bother looking down. I knew what he was referring to. “I’ve got a suit I can wear.”
He leaned back, looking as relaxed as ever as he chuckled. “Save the suit for the fundraiser. I was thinking more along the lines of leather for the club.”
Me? In leather? I wasn’t sure he wanted to see that. But it did raise an interesting question. “So, do I get to be a Dom or a submissive?” I asked with a grin as I considered my options.
Trent’s lip curled up in that devious smirk he was known for, and again, I felt a stirring down deep that probably shouldn’t be there.
When he picked up his pen and began twirling it between his fingers, I felt the intensity in those eyes as they rolled over me.
“Which would you consider yourself?”
I could tell by his tone that he’d already pegged me one way or the other. I was immensely curious as to what conclusion he had come to.
“Honestly, I’ve never really thought about it.” Total fucking lie. I’d thought about it plenty over the past couple of years. Only because I’d done some research on Trent’s lifestyle, knowing it was so important to him. I wasn’t quite comfortable accepting it, but I knew I fell into the submissive category. The idea of a man like Trent dominating me…
“How about a test?” he offered, tossing his pen onto his desk.
I flinched at the sound, then tried to pass it off as a shrug. Although I didn’t know what a test entailed, I offered an acquiescent, “Sure.”
Trent was instantly on his feet, moving toward me. Although stalking was a more accurate depiction. The man moved with a grace that was quite common with wealthy, powerful men.
Feeling the weight of his stare bearing down on me, I squared my shoulders and lowered my arms. I tried to tell myself it was what I was supposed to do, but I knew better. It was a natural response to such a dominating man.
