Chapter 22

AMARA'S POV****

The building was taller than I expected. 

I stood outside for a moment, staring up at it, wondering if I'd lost my mind agreeing to this. Personal assistant. Dorian. Office. Everything about it sounded like a bad idea.

I walked on anyway.

The lobby was quiet. Too quiet. I walked up to the front desk where a woman with sharp glasses looked up at me.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. Um. I'm here to see Dorian.” I paused. “Mr Dorian Wellington.”

She checked her computer. “Name?”

“Amara Harpers.”

She nods knowingly.

“Top floor,” she said. “The elevator at the right."

“Thank you,” I said.

The elevator ride felt longer than it was. I fixed my dress twice and checked my reflection in the metal doors. I looked normal. I hoped that was enough.

When the doors opened, I stepped out into a hallway that smelled like coffee and air conditioning. A man walked past me, nodded, and kept going like I belonged there.

I reached a big wooden door. It looked different from the others. I knocked. 

“Come in,” Dorian said.

I took a deep breath and entered.

He was on glasses, focused on his laptop..

“Yes, did you get the report?” He asked, without looking up.

So I decided to play along. “I couldn't find them, sir.”

“What do you mean you— Amara”

He was startled. 

“Hi.”

He smiled slightly. “Have a seat.”

Up close, he looked the same. Calm. Put together. Like nothing ever touched him unless he allowed it.

“You nervous?” he asked.

“A little.”

“Relax,” he said.

“So,” I said, folding my hands. “You said you needed a personal assistant.”

“I do,” he said. He pulled out the chair beside me and sat down. “Let's begin the interview.”

“Interview?” I asked. “You didn't say… I'm not prepared.”

He scooted closer. “It's nothing you can do.”

“What's your name?”

“I'm Amara Harpers.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” 

“Is that supposed to be part of the questions?” 

“It is,” he said.

“No, I don't have a boyfriend.” I rolled my eyes.

“Don't do that,” he whispered. 

My pulse quickened. “Do what?” I asked.

“Roll your eyes at me.”

“Or what?” I asked. Curiously. Daring.

“I’ll punish you in ways that you can't imagine,” he continued. “And you'll beg me to stop and I won't because I'll make sure you won't walk properly for 3 days.” He whispered in my ears. I felt dizzy. He was even touching me. If his words could make me feel this way, I wonder what his hands will do.

“I'd love to see you try,” I whispered back. Biting my lips.

He leaned back and smiled like he wasn't expecting me to say that.

“What do you do for work?” He asked. Suddenly serious.

“I work at a café.”

“You'll have to quit, he said. Standing up. He grabbed his blazer.

“Why?” I asked. “I need that job.”

“Being my personal assistant means you'll be working for me practically 24hours a day. I will need your full attention,” he collected his laptop. “You won't have time for the café. And you won't have to worry about your pay there because your salary would be bigger than whatever they pay you there.”

“Umm…. I'll see about that,” I said.

He tilted his head, “It's not negotiable.”

“I have a meeting now. Go to the next door just outside my office,” he moved to the door. “That's my secretary's office. She'll brief you on what your job is all about and guide you.”

“But—”

“Should you be confused on any subject, feel free to ask me but she'll answer better.” He said.

“Noted.” I said.

“You have 48 hours to learn whatever you need to learn about me and the job.” He paused. “We leave for Germany in three days.”

“What?”

Before I could protest any further, he left the office leaving me standing there alone. I didn't know what to do there so I picked my bag and left for the secretary's office.

This is happening so fast, my head can't keep up. But as long as I'm with Dorian, I'll be fine.