The Employer

Chapter 5

Celeste Peters

As soon as I step through the door frame, peace and quiet overwhelm my senses. The space is so neat and tidy I'm sure someone will have to scrub the floors after I walk through it. We step past a large living room with clean and cozy furniture throughout. It looks like something out of an interior design magazine. The type of magazine where you wonder how they keep the couches so white or the lamps curved like that without them falling over.

My jaw must be open as we walk through the house toward the kitchen. I thought homes like these only existed in fairytales. Yet here I am, gaping at every single detail and finally understanding the true meaning of the word aesthetics. I shouldn't be this calm walking into what's likely a trap. Is this the start of some horror movie where rich people kill poor people for a cult offering?

We step into the kitchen and my heart stops briefly. This room is decked out with luxurious, white marble countertops I could lick, plenty of space to prep food for their cult meetings, and state of the art appliances so shiny I might go blind. If there was a kitchen heaven, I've most certainly reached it.

Kristina leads us through the space to a large dining room area with an oak wood table. I gulp down my nerves. I can't believe I even had the option to work at a place like this. My limbs feel heavy as I think about the missed opportunity.

There is no way Marc is going to hire me after the things I let out of my mouth around him.

It's probably for the best as I wouldn't be able to keep my hands to myself if I worked for him, even if he does have a wife. He's not in a suit today, but Lord please help me this man is fine. He's wearing a crisp, white button down that's rolled up, revealing tan forearms corded with muscle and roped with veins. His presence is commanding, like a metal rod directing thunder.

From what I can remember from last night, I pictured Marc's scruff against my inner thighs when that bar guy Gerald was going down on me. Heat shoots through me when I dwell on that image. Shit. I need to fucking stop thinking about any of that and how attractive this man is. I will not be sucking his cock dry, no matter how much he makes my mouth moisten, nor will I be working for him, no matter how much this damn house feels like an oasis in a desert.

"Please have a seat," Kristina gestures to one of the chairs next to the head of the oval-shaped table.

I follow her directive and instantly my ass feels like it's sitting on clouds. The chair has a cushion of the tempurpedic nature. On the table is a water pitcher and coffee and tea. I quickly help myself to the water without even being offered. Marc files into the chair across from me with a stoic tension sealing his lips, while Kristina takes a seat at the head of the table.

From the two seconds I've known Kristina she seems like the motherly type who takes care of anyone and everyone. She looks ultra classy with her small pearl earrings and wavy salt and pepper hair tied into a neat bun. But she doesn't seem snooty given her warm smile and overall calm demeanor.

Much unlike Marc who won't give a girl another fucking chance.

"So, Mrs. Peters. Please tell me about yourself," Kristina says with her back to Marc in her thick accent.

"Oh, it's just Ms," I correct Kristina as politely as I can before taking a swig of water.

"Oh, forgive me, Ms. Peters."

"No husband," he says as more of a statement than a question. "What about a boyfriend?" Marc asks and Kristina whips her head to face him. His gaze is locked on mine and doesn't even move when Kristina looks like she is mouthing something.