Page 26 of Boss of Me
“C’mon, Marlowe,” he drawls indulgently. “We both know you need the money.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You made it my business when you came to me for a job. Now that I know your predicament, I’m concerned about you.”
“Don’t be,” I grit out. “I’ll find something else.”
“Better than what I’m offering?”
I scowl but say nothing. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of having the upper hand, even though he clearly does.
“Tell you what,” he says silkily. “I’m feeling extra generous today, so I’ll sweeten the deal. Two hundred thousand.”
I gasp in shock, nearly dropping my phone. “What?”
“I’ll pay you two hundred thousand dollars to be my housekeeper.”
“Are you insane?” I shriek in disbelief. “Housekeepers don’t make that kind of money!”
“Maybe they should,” he says seriously. “They work damn hard and deserve to be well compensated for their labor.”
I definitely can’t argue with that.
“I want you to come work for me, Marlowe, and I’m willing to make it worth your while. All you have to do is say yes.”
I press a trembling hand to my forehead, trying to think, trying to remember all the reasons I shouldn’t accept his offer. It’s crazy, it’s absurd . . . but God, the things I could do with two hundred thousand dollars!
“You’re out of your mind,” I half scold, half whimper.
His low laughter grates on my jagged nerves. “You’re fresh out of college, Marlowe. You’re not going to find another employer willing to pay two hundred grand for your services, no matter how talented you may be.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip. I hate him for being right.
But I still don’t surrender.
“Why are you being so stubborn? You need my money and I need a housekeeper.” He sounds both amused and annoyed. “Don’t be a brat, Marlowe. Take the fucking job.”
“I don’t want your charity,” I grumble.
“This isn’t charity. Believe me, kitten, you’re going to earn every red cent I pay you.”
A shiver runs through my body despite the smothering summer heat.
“I’m meeting some businessmen for breakfast in a few hours,” he calmly informs me. “My job offer expires the second I hang up the phone.”
My throat dries and my heart rate goes berserk.
“I need an answer, Miss Somerset.”
“I already gave you one,” I croak. “You refuse to accept it.”
He’s silent for so long I wonder if he hung up. But no, he’s still there. I can feel him as palpably as if he’s sitting right next to me.
“Will you come work for me?” His voice is low and coaxing, snaking through my veins. “Say yes.”
I close my eyes and swallow thickly, temptation eroding the last of my resolve.
“Yes,” I whisper so softly that I can barely hear myself.
