Help Wanted [*Complete*]

3

"2.14.7.39 After Hours House Guests: If Mr. Emery has company after 8 p.m. it's best to put on noise canceling headphones. He requests you not bring people back to your room. Should you require a hotel for relations one shall be provided if you give 24-hour notice."

Sometime around one in the morning I returned home. With a sigh, I shook away the cobwebs and slipped in my ear buds on my way back to my room. I couldn't hear what was going on upstairs exactly, but the vague noises were enough to make me feel a little stupid for getting excited earlier. Two words and a look doesn't mean someone's interested.

Pop music drifted in my ears as I lounged at my desk and turned on my new computer. There was no way I could go to sleep, my mind kept going back to the look Mr. Emery gave me on the stairs.

Is he thinking about me?

The thought made me realize that more than ever before I needed him out of my head. I did the only thing I could think of to purge him from my thoughts in my semi-drunken state. I opened a private browser, turned off safe search and started my quest for something to preoccupy me. It took a few minutes, but I found the typical unimaginative BDSM porn. A blindfolded woman was tied up and fucked by a man wearing mostly black.

Usually, it would have been enough. I'd put whatever fitness model I was crushing on in place of the man, envisioning myself as the woman. That wasn't what happened. Instead of some random hottie, it was none other than Mr. Emery who I thought of pounding into me deep and hard as I slipped my fingers past the lace of my panties. My mouth fell slack as I curled my toes against the glossy wood floor and my breathing deepened as I deftly circled my clit with my finger, toying with myself, inching closer to orgasm with every shuttered breath.

Just as I teetered on the edge the light in the hall turned on, revealing Mr. Emery standing in the doorway—and my climax crawled in itself and died. I yanked my hand out of my pants and pulled the earbuds out. My chest heaved like I had just finished a marathon.

The worst part; he didn't say a word. He stood there, eyes fixed on me for a moment before raising to something on the darkened window. I turned, finding the porn from my screen reflected on the glass with mirror clarity. My cheeks burned.

Fuck.

I swallowed.

"It's late," he spoke softly.

"I..." I couldn't think of anything to say. "I'm not tired." I finally said after several failed attempts at finding my lost voice.

"Your employment doesn't begin for another few days, but you'll find I keep strict hours. It would be in your best interest to get on my schedule sooner rather than later."

I nodded so fast I almost gave myself whiplash.

"Good night, Natalia." He closed the door, not giving me a chance to reply.

At six the next morning, after my shower I made my way to the kitchen only slightly hung over. The cook was at the stove, already making something as I walked in. She was a stout woman with bright red hair, blue eyes, and a dusting of freckles on her nose. For a few moments, she stared like she didn't know what to make of me. The door closed, and Mr. Emery entered clad in a hoodie soaked with rain and track pants with matching running shoes. Seconds later a man wearing all black followed—I guessed he was the bodyguard.

"Tara, this is Natalia, my new PA," he introduced me. Yesterday I spent most of the time hiding from the help as I unpacked.

"Chloe's replacement?" She quirked a brow.