Page 11 of Moonlit Thorns

ANABELLE

My leg bounces as I sit in Asher Voss’s office, waiting for him to come in.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, but the longer I sit, the more my nerves set in. I didn’t even eat this morning because of my roiling stomach—which got worse from the way my brother and grandmother were looking at me as I stood next to my vehicle saying goodbye. My mother didn’t even deem my departure worthy of getting out of bed. I push back my anger at her. She might not be aware of what I’m doing.

When I arrived home yesterday and explained the situation, my brother and grandmother were adamant I didn’t agree, but it’s the only way. Giving up one year of my life to play secretary or whatever to Asher Voss is worth keeping the estate in our family, and when I put it that way, neither of them could disagree, no matter how much they don’t like the idea.

The more time that passes as I sit alone in this cavernous room, the more nervous I become. I wouldn’t put it past my new boss to leave me here on my own this long just to make me nervous. Seems like something he would do. Not that I know the man, but he and his brothers are certainly infamous.

I use the time to see if I can get a better sense of the man who sits behind the desk. Dark, ornate wooden bookcases line the wall behind the desk and are filled with tomes that appear to be as old as this manor. I’m too far away to read the spines, but the bookworm in me would love to see what he has on his shelves. I don’t dare get up and make my way over, though. Instinct says that Asher Voss wouldn’t take kindly to someone snooping around his office.

His laptop is on his desk, placed in front of the deep brown leather chair. The large desk, though covered in files and papers and such, is neatly arranged so that everything is at his fingertips.

A giant Persian rug sits under my feet and covers most of the room, including the area behind me that has a sofa and two chairs set opposite a large dark stone fireplace.

When footsteps sound through the open door, outside the office farther down the hallway, I draw in a long breath and smooth my black dress down my stomach, sitting up taller in the chair. I don’t bother to turn when the footsteps enter the room and the door closes behind the person, but the hair rises on the back of my neck. Seconds later, the footsteps are muffled by the rug.

“Good morning, Miss Boudreaux,” Asher says from behind me.

“Can you please call me Anabelle? I keep thinking my mother or grandmother is here every time you refer to me that way.”

He stops on the opposite side of the desk as me, wearing a navy blue silk suit that’s perfectly tailored to his large frame. “I see our first order of business is to make it clear that you work for me. I’ll refer to you however I so choose. Understood?” He arches one of his perfect eyebrows at me, and though I want to tell him to go to hell, that could result in him ending this deal before it even starts.

“Fine,” I spit out between gritted teeth. “And what should I call you?”

“Mr. Voss is fine. Unless you prefer sir?”

My eyes widen. I’m sure it’s not intentional, but the way he says the last sentence sounds sexual, and I hate the way my stomach whooshes with the thought of something sexual between us.

Of course, how could it not? A man as appealing as Asher Voss could probably make anything sound sexual, including reading the instruction manual on how to put a cabinet together.

“I’ll stick with Mr. Voss.” There. I think I managed to inject some steel into my voice.

He sits at his desk and takes a large envelope off the pile of papers to his right, then slides whatever is inside onto his desk. “This is the contract to solidify our arrangement. My lawyer has drawn it up, and while you’re welcome to have your attorney look it over, I will not be changing any of the terms. It’s an as-is contract. Take it or leave it.”

“You’re not going to let me negotiate the contract?” I hadn’t even considered the possibility that I wouldn’t get a say and be able to have some influence over my life for the next year.

He delivers me a patronizing look, and I suddenly feel every bit of the fourteen-year difference in our ages. I must appear so naïve to a man like Asher Voss. God, I hate that.

“There’s no negotiation here. You agree, or you don’t.” When I don’t say anything, he continues, sliding the papers over to me. “Allow me to explain the gist of it… you will work directly for me for the next 365 days. Your duties will consist of whatever I deem them to be—no questions asked. I’ll pay you minimum wage and you will live on the premises so that you are always available to me. You will give up your phone as of today and not get it back until your contract is fulfilled. Anything you see, hear, or do here will be covered by an NDA included in this contract, and if you breach it—in any way—I will sue you so fast that not only will the estate be mine, but so will your firstborn. Understood?”

I nod, hands in my lap and meeting his narrowed gaze, pretending this doesn’t scare me.

He nods in return and carries on. “You will only be permitted to leave Midnight Manor on Saturday evenings.”

My mouth drops open. Part of how I rationalized making it through this next year was that as soon as I was done working for the day, I’d spend the evenings with my family.

“Do I have a curfew too?” The words slip from my mouth before I can stop them.

“Would you like one?” he growls.

I look at my clenched hands in my lap, loosening them to rid the white knuckles before he notices. “No, sir.”

The sir just comes out of my mouth, and when he doesn’t say anything, I raise my head. He’s looking at me with what I think might be surprise and… need? But before I can really be sure, the mask he always wears slips over his face, and he speaks again. “In return for following all those rules, you will be allowed to keep your estate free and clear, plus I will pay you a small salary to live off of.”

He seems to be finished, so I pick up one copy of the contract and scan the first page. I decide I’m going to read over every single word of this contract—twice. I know it’s an effort to prove I’m not as childish and naïve as he assumes I am, and I don’t know why I care. If I’m honest, I’m also hoping it annoys him. He has all the power here, and it’s apparent he likes it that way.

I find that the contract says everything the way he explained it. No surprises that I can tell.

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