Under the Rancher's Firm Hand

“So, why do you need this job?”

I sighed silently, hoping he couldn’t see the emotions roiling in me, and replied,

“Ever since they said this virus thing is growing and headed to be global, my freelancing gigs have all dried up. I have been working on getting more steadily employed for the last few months, and now here I am,” the emotions bubble over and I find myself babbling a little.

“I knew of your company online, and even that was a passing screenshot on Twitter. I applied for the assistant job since it seemed like maybe something even I could qualify for. And now I got it, and I flew all the way from Missouri one week ago, settled in, and am now in this chair opposite you trying my very very best to really get this job for real and work. I need to work, Mister Johnson. I need to work.”

By the time I finished my rant, I was a little breathless. And honestly, I was just as surprised as he was by my answer. He chuckled at long last and rose to his feet, outstretching a hand for me to take.

When I clasped it, electricity shot through me. His palm was huge, dwarfing mine, his long fingers warm and thick and strong.

“Better not get used to that,” he said, eyeing the joining of our hands and slowly pulling away, to my reluctance, “But let me take the chance to welcome you to The Foundry, Miss Sawyer. I like my team full of courage. You have it in abundance and I love it. You have three days to get acquainted with Marge on how I get things done. Three days to study me entirely and get to know me better than my own mother. Can you do that?’

It sounded daunting, but I tried not to let myself be intimidated. Gathering my nerve, I nodded and said, “Yes, sir. Consider it done.”

He chuckled again, then pushed his chair back and strode to the side briskly. I watched him move with ease and haste towards the door, and then his back turned to me right before he opened the door, perhaps to another meeting.

“Don’t call me sir. Not yet, anyway.”

The last part clearly wasn’t for my benefit, almost too soft for me to hear, but I caught it all the same.

And he left me there to my own thoughts, stewing and boiling between my legs, itching for a feel of those long, strong fingers elsewhere.

Chapter 2 – Harlee

In three days I had mastered Caleb’s Wikipedia page, all of his tweets in the past five years, both as CEO and avid soccer enthusiast, his contact list, his business rivals, his dietary needs, his fitness routine, his clothes, his scents, I learned everything down to the brand and style of underwear he prefers to wear before his board meetings.

But the thing about Caleb Johnson was that he was just that; a man with a company but no real life. I combed through everything and found no traces of women or escapades in the wild with old flames.

I wondered at one point if he was interested in women at all, but then I thought of the way he’d stared at me. And it wasn’t like there was any indication that he had a secret boyfriend instead of a girlfriend or something.

His office was strictly business. There wasn’t a box of condoms hidden in his desk drawer, no phone calls that seemed anything but pure professionalism.

It was on the morning of the fourth day when he called me up to his office. I came ready with a mug of his favorite mocha and mildly browned banana. He was at his window, staring at the soft shadows cast across the city in the early morning sun.

“I am going to need you for a project, Miss Sawyer.”

I thought the lure of his voice would wear off after a little while, but so far, it still made me weak in the knees. “What kind of project?”

It felt strange, not addressing him, but he didn’t seem to enjoy me calling him by his last name, I couldn’t quite bring myself to use his first name, and he had requested that I not call him “sir.”

I hadn’t stopped thinking about that remark. What did that mean, not yet?

He turned and faced me. “There is an out of town trip that I need you to organize. You will work on a business proposal that I will supervise.”

I placed his breakfast on his desk and took a hesitant step back.

“Where will you be going?”

“You mean ‘we’. You and I will be going to New York for three days. That is how long I expect this to last.” He held his gaze on me. “That’s alright with your schedule, I believe?”

For just a moment, I was a little miffed. It seemed like he was insinuating I had no life, and honestly, he was one to talk. But I pushed that aside and nodded. “Yes, it is,” I said quietly.