Page 15 of Out of the Dark

I’ll fucking kill whoever did this.

I brush my fingers over her skin and take a deep breath, trying to control the anger surging in my veins. It doesn’t work.

"Who did this to you?"

She hesitates, looking directly at me for the first time since she stepped through the door. Her wide brown eyes glisten with tears, but the gears are turning in her head, the instinct to hide her pain fighting against the truth.

Finally, she takes a shaky breath. "My boss, Jackson. He—he tried to..." She can't finish the sentence, but she doesn't need to. I can fill in the blanks well enough.

Rage boils inside me, but I tamp it down for now, keeping my voice calm. I’ll go after that motherfucker later, but I have a feeling that Claire won’t react well if I show my anger.

"Will you tell me what happened?"

We sit down on the couch as she recounts the night, her voice trembling as she describes her coworkers’ escalating verbal harassment, Jackson's advances, the way he grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. Each word fuels the fire burning in my chest.

"I’ll get all the assholes in that whole goddamn place fired," I say through clenched teeth. How? I don’t know. But I can’t sit here and do nothing. How dare they look at her thatway, laugh at her discomfort,touch her.

"No," Claire says quickly. "I need the job. I have nothing else, and who knows how long it’ll take me to get hired at another place."

"You'renotgoing back there. Over my dead fucking body."

She cringes at my harsh tone then looks up at me, her eyes brimming with tears again. "But I need the money. I can't—"

"You're not going back there," I repeat. I can't let her go back to that place, but I also can't stand the thought of her struggling to find another job, of her living in fear and uncertainty.

An idea forms in my mind, one that's crazy and impulsive, but also makes a strange kind of sense. It keeps me from walking out of here and burning that goddamn pizza place to the ground with all those assholes in it.

"What if I hired you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if you worked for me? We don't really have a personal relationship, so there's no interference there, but it would help me out to have someone to help with cooking and cleaning, running errands, organizing things. That sort of stuff."

Her brows furrow. "I don't know, that feels weird. I don't want to impose on you any more than I already am."

"It's not an imposition," I assure her. "Think of it as a business arrangement. I'll write up a contract and everything. And if you find a different job in that time—preferably nothing involving going to strangers' houses—you can stop this at any time."

She fidgets with the sleeve of her sweater as she considers the option.

"It's a good solution," I explain. "It gives you a safe place tostay, a steady income, and time to figure out your next steps. And it helps me out too by having someone to handle the tedious household stuff. It's a win-win."

She takes a deep breath, then nods. "Okay. But only until I can find something else."

Relief washes over me, even as I wonder what the hell I’m doing. "Deal. I'll draft up a contract tomorrow."

She manages a small smile, though her cheeks are still stained with tears. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without your generosity."

"You don't have to thank me," I tell her. "Just get some rest and some food if you need it. You're safe here."

She nods then heads down the hallway to her room. As she disappears from sight, I let out a long breath, the anger I'd been holding back finally surging to the surface. The thought of someone hurting her like that makes me want to put my fist through a wall. Or his face.

But more than that, I'm struck by the realization of what I've just done. I proposed a deal that will undoubtedly force us to interact frequently and that will make her feel even more at home. For someone who doesn't like to keep women around for very long, this is a dangerous game to play.

But we’re not together, so it’s fine. This is different. Sure, she’s beautiful and sweet, but she’s clearly got a lot going on, not to mention the fact she’s so much younger than I am. Nothing is going to happen between us—she’ll basically just be like a live-in housekeeper until she has enough money to move out into her own place.

Which, ironically, is something I’d probably enjoy having a submissive do for me if I ever had a serious relationship with a woman. But I won’t, and I’m not planning to.

This is just a temporary arrangement, a way to help herget back on her feet. It's not permanent, and it's certainly not personal.

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