The Personal Assistant

Romance:

T
he
P
ersonal
A
ssistant

Penny Ward

Romance: The Personal Assistant

Penny Ward

Copyright © 2015

Published by Run Free Publishing

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Other titles by bestselling author Penny Ward:

Romance: The Billionaire’s Pleasure

Romance: Hired

Romance: Stepbrother Lust

Romance: Owned

Romance: Her Fighter

Romance: The Billionaire’s Contract

The Personal Assistant

Penny Ward

“No!”

He’s shouting again.

“This is not good enough!”

He sounds angry.

“This is not acceptable!”

Really angry.

“You are pathetic!”

And I love it when he is angry…

I hear Caleb throw something against the wall and decide it is time to enter the room. Slowly, I creep into the dining room, hovering around the edges. The room is large and I am easily able to disappear in the shadows.

“And don’t come back tomorrow! You’re fired!” Caleb rages. “Fired!”

As I pick up a plate from the dining table, Caleb notices me.

“Emma, sorry. I didn’t know you were still here.”

“Is everything ok?” I ask innocently.

“No, Emma, it’s not. I have just been served under-cooked chicken from the new chef. Under-cooked chicken, Emma. That’s not good enough. That could have given me food poisoning.”

“You didn’t have to fire him. You could have given him a second chance.”

“Under-cooked chicken, Emma.”

“Still. It’s a pressure job cooking for the famous Caleb Hawksley. The poor guy would have been very nervous on his first night. He’s only made one mistake.”

“Emma, the chicken was still pink on the inside. I barely think the chicken even hit the pan. That’s not good enough. Not for the amount I am paying him… or any chef for that matter. Why am I hiring a chef that can’t even cook chicken? I could have done a better job than he did.”

“I highly doubt that,” I smile. “You wouldn’t even know where the kitchen is.”

Caleb stares at me with a blank face. He wants to be angry with me. He wants to shout at me for such a harsh comment.

But the smile cracks through his tough exterior, “Only you could say that to me and get away with it, Emma.”

I return his smile. “Now, do you want a sandwich? I can make one for you.”

He smiles again and I feel the anger disappear from the room, “You know me better than I know myself, Emma.”

“Yes, I do.”

But I want to know you better, Caleb Hawksley.

I want to know you so much better…

There he goes again.

On his way to spend a fortune on champagne for women he barely knows, as if money is nothing and life is one long, inconsequential party.

"Goodbye Emma," says Caleb in his silky smooth deep voice.

Caleb is my employer, looking too gorgeous in his tailored navy suit and crisp white shirt.

"Don't wake me when you get in," I say, waving and smiling, knowing that if he's alone when he returns, he will wake me for conversation and cocoa in the kitchen. I love those midnight moments together; the easy smiles, the occasional lingering glance he thinks I don't see, which never leads to the places I need them to.

Not yet anyway.

Caleb drives away in his silver Aston Martin without a care in the world, and I tell myself for the millionth time to loathe him for how he chooses to live his life, for his dislike of all things working class, for not wanting me the way I want him, but I know him too well for that.

He's a good man with a kind heart, though he does love to spoil himself like a child in a sweetshop a little too often.

Anyway, I couldn't loathe the man for whom I've longed forever.

The man I still dare to hope will one day see me as more than Little Em who grew up with him and became his housekeeper. Until that day, I keep his house in order and his shirts clean, fearing the day he falls in love, because it will be the end of me.

Despite being pleased with what nature gave me, I'm not glamorous or sophisticated like the many women he brings back for a night here, a night there. Those tittering women who offer their bodies and leave Chanel lipstick smeared over his linen shirts for me to remove. They are sophisticated, perfectly styled, wealthy, and I know I should envy them all, but I don't.

Why would I envy them when in normal, everyday ways he is mine to care for?

In my dreams he is mine to enjoy, and in my heart, he is just mine.

My mother loved being the housekeeper for Caleb and his parents while I was a growing girl.

I loved our accommodation in the grounds, and the huge yards where they let me play. I lived with my mother, the Hawksley family housekeeper, and my father, their limo driver, on their property in the Hamptons. Our family was not full of money, but that never stopped me.

It wasn’t the money that I loved anyway.

It was the freedom.

The freedom to wander and play and explore.

I spent a lot of my younger years with Caleb, who is five years older than I. His parents were never around, and a lot of the time, it was up to my mother to care for him. I loved the horse-riding, the wandering and quiet out there.

But mostly, especially from my thirteenth birthday, I loved spending time with Caleb, and when puberty hit, I fantasized about him being the one to release the full power of my lust and reveling in it.

Shame Caleb has no idea what fireworks we might light between my sheets.

Maybe one day I'll show him.

Maybe, one day, we will connect…

When I turned eighteen, I was offered a job to be Caleb’s housekeeper in his inner-city $50 million penthouse apartment. I have my own bedroom and quarters in the three level penthouse, and with my mother's training, I learned to do this job blindfolded.

It has now been three years since I’ve started this job – and I couldn’t be happier.

I have my close friends that I hang out with once or twice a week, but apart from them, this job is my life.

After attending to my many duties as housekeeper all morning, I decide to take a well-earned rest around lunchtime. Living in the house I clean and organize means I'm always on call.

Unless Caleb—my sole employer since his father died and mother moved on to her fourth husband—is out of the penthouse, of course.

Even then, he could call at any moment and order me to organize a party for twenty, including food. Experience—literally years of it—tells me Caleb will be gone until the early hours. While he manages a billion-dollar investment company during the day, he is still able to fit in hours of partying most nights.

I'll need to get a few hours’ sleep before he returns because there could be requests for one thing or another later, for him or his guests.

Peachy bubbles surround me and soothe tired muscles.

Looking after a young playboy can keep a girl busy, but this girl would never complain. I was born into domestic service just as my mother and father were before me. My school friends couldn't understand why I didn't want to leave to get my own place or a different job. They don't understand how much I love my job, my home, and my life.

We've had the good fortune to serve a big-hearted family, although Caleb's mother was a fickle one. As a live-in staff member, I'm surrounded by luxury and live in the best location in the city. I live in the heart of the action.

All I do for it is take care of my employer, and there's a definite feel-good factor about caring for others.

Mom and Dad managed to use their income to buy a place of their own, and Caleb gave her a huge leaving bonus, which helped heaps.

He's such a generous man.

The peach foam infuses the bathroom, and breathing it in, I imagine his mouth around my nipple and my fingers search beneath the bubbles—like a surrogate tongue—and apply firm and precise strokes.

Legs spread wide I sigh, stroking my clit, and racing towards my climax…"Ah."

"Emma, you there?"

"Damn," I whisper, sitting up sharply.

No. Did he hear me?

"Emma?" Caleb's deep voice booms down the hallway leading to my quarters and the thrill of it nearly sends me over the edge.

"Emma?" The door handle turns and my body freezes, apart from the hand between my legs, which joins the other one in grabbing the side of the bathtub.

When he bursts in, I force myself not to cover my breasts or close my legs, willing him to see my breasts, the triangle of hair above my sex.

Willing him to want me.

Yes.

Look at me.

I am right here.

His gaze darkens and lingers on my breasts, "Ah," his eyes refuse to stop looking even though he strains to turn his head, "Sorry to disturb your bath."

After the initial thrill of being seen is gone, embarrassment swoops in and the confidence I used to exhibit my body shrivels along with my open posture.

"Oh, Caleb, what is it?" I cover myself as best I can, wishing I could reach the towel. "I thought you wouldn't be back for hours."

He turns his head away fully now, while I stand to grab the bath towel off the rail and wrap it around myself.

"Don't be angry with me," he says, holding out his hand to help me out of the bath. "It's just…I brought a date home and she must have taken something before she left the bar. She's being sick in the kitchen."

So much for taking a break.

"What is with your taste in women?" I let go of his hand and walk into my bedroom, Caleb on my heels. "They either starve themselves to stay thin, or snort crap up their $1,000 noses."

"Yeah, yeah." He crosses his arms over his chest, and the curve of his biceps is not lost on me. "They can't all be as perfect as you, now can they?"

There's a momentary standoff.

"Can you clean her up or not?"

"It's my job. Of course I can."

"Good. And make sure she gets home. I can't deal with her bullshit right now. I don’t want her to still be here in the morning."

As gorgeous and generous as he has always been, Caleb can be such a spoiled brat.

And I can be a little abrasive with him, but we have an understanding.

He takes it because he knows I'm right.

"You
can't
deal with it?" my voice raises an octave, "Wait a minute, I am the twenty-one year old housekeeper, and you are the twenty-six-old investor, right? I didn't get us mixed up, did I?"

"Don't be mad with me."

He flutters his thick black eyelashes, and I want to kiss him and scream at him all at once.

"You can be such a child, Caleb."

"Hey," he frowns when I throw a cushion at him. "Yes, but let's not forget I am still the employer in this conversation." He catches my eye and winks, "So you better quit with the attitude."

A quick hand gesture shoos him out of my bedroom, but he hesitates, eyes resting on the swell of my cleavage.

"If you let me get some clothes on, I'll go and deal with your mess. I can't very well help the poor girl while I’m dripping on the floor in a wet towel."

He licks his lips, assessing my semi-nakedness, "Shame."

Damn him for flirting with me knowing he's way out of my league.

Ah, but I do so love the fantasy.

"Oh yeah?" I hope he is finally going to see me as more than the girl he's been flirting with since she turned sixteen.

"Aw…" he tilts his head and squeezes my bare upper arm, "What would I do without my Little Em?"

My heart plummets.

Yet again, he doesn't take the bait.

Damn.