Page 4 of Hard Limits

Her hands balled into fists at her sides, and she glared for a second before she caught herself.

“Do you want the real reason or the one they gave me?”

“Let’s hear both.”

“Officially, I was fired after I called in sick.”

“I see. And the real reason?”

“My boss exposed himself to me in his office.”

“And that was a problem for you?”

“Of course it was a freaking problem! I reported him to HR, but he was the CEO’s son, so guess who took the fall.”

She objected to seeing her boss’s cock? This got better and better. That jackass’s loss was Brax’s gain.

“An entirely predictable result. If a man raises his son to believe that non-consensual sexual activity is acceptable, he’s going to protect him when he harasses a woman.”

Brax’s father had done the opposite—punished him for every indiscretion, real or imaginary. His mother suffered too. Brax had turned twenty by the time she finally left him, and by then, her psyche had been damaged beyond repair. Vernon Dupré might have been a pious son of a bitch, but the devil lived inside him.

The backbone of Brax’s business portfolio, his sex clubs, had been born out of that troubled childhood. When he escaped to college, he’d wanted to experience all the sins his father deemed abhorrent, in private, with no judgment. And later, as he explored the darker side of Washington, DC, he’d discovered that there were plenty of wealthy individuals who shared the same desire. Each branch of Nyx—there were eight now—made Brax a lot of money and gave others a lot of pleasure.

“So you’re saying it was my fault?” Meera asked. “That I shouldn’t have reported him to HR?”

“If you’d thought things through, you would have realised that introducing his genitals to a paperweight would have led to a similar result with infinitely more satisfaction.” Brax took another glance at her résumé. Strong academic record, little in the way of extracurricular activities. A good work ethic. “Do you make a habit of shouting at strangers?”

“Only when they deserve it.”

A fair answer. The woman tried to smother a yawn, not very successfully.

“Am I keeping you up?”

“One of my neighbours had a party last night. All night.”

“Then you should go back to bed and get some rest. I don’t tolerate laziness here. See Rhonda in HR on your way out, and she’ll provide you with a contract, a non-disclosure agreement, and details of our working arrangements.”

“I’m sorry? A non-disclosure agreement?”

“Many of our clients are high profile. We need to ensure their privacy.”

“Wait, are you offering me the job?”

“Unless you don’t want it anymore. In which case, what are you doing here?”

“I…”

“I’m sure a smart girl like you can work out how to pick up my dry cleaning.”

Those pretty brown eyes narrowed. “But—”

“That’ll be all. You can start tomorrow morning.”

For a moment, Meera just stood there. Despite the fact that there was a chair positioned in front of Brax’s desk, she’d remained on her feet, fidgeting. No doubt she hadn’t been expecting to stay long. Another moment, and she turned on her heel and marched out, leaving the door open behind her. Book smart but a tad ditzy, Brax assessed. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get lost running errands. One time, an assistant had collected several shirts from the tailor, and he’d never seen her again. He’d begun to suspect something nefarious, been on the verge of reporting her missing, when he’d received the shirts in the mail, cut into tiny pieces with a note telling him to go fuck himself.

Brax rose to close the door himself, his mind on the future as he strolled across his office. How long would Meera last? If past form was anything to go by, he gave her three weeks.

What the…?

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