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Pro

 

 

logue

One month after both of my acting jobs were finished

 

“Do you want to know what I’m going to do to you?” His voice was soft as he whispered into my ear. My legs shook and my skin tingled at the feel of his warm breath. He didn’t wait for me to answer before he continued talking slowly in a seductive voice. ”I’m going to tie you up so you can’t move, then I’m going to spray whipped cream on your breasts and then I’m going to—”

“Scott!” I cut him off, my face going red as Alice and Liv looked at me with confused and interested expressions from across the room, where they were looking at a photo album from their high school days.

“Yes, Elizabeth?” He stepped back and smiled at me innocently.

“Stop it,” I hissed at him when I saw his sister Liv and her best friend, Alice, looking away.

“Stop what?” he said with a smirk and ran his finger across my lips gently.

“You can’t do that.” My eyes flashed at him as I looked at the two girls again. What was he playing at? Was he going to expose me and the fact that we’d already met? Heat spread across my face and warmed my belly as I stood there in front of him. Oh, God, he wasn’t going to tell them about our shared past, was he?

“I think you’ll find I can do what I want,” he said casually and then leaned back down to whisper in my ear again. “And I think after I’ve sprayed the whipped cream on your breasts and down your stomach, you’ll be begging me to do what I’m thinking about doing next.”

“What’s that?” I swallowed hard, not believing I was allowing myself to question him. Like I even cared about what he was going to say. Like I wanted his lips on me. Again. I shook my head slightly, to remind myself that I certainly did not want his lips on me again. No sir. No thank you. I didn’t need to feel the incredibly hard and sensuous Scott Taylor sliding—

“Are you listening to me, Elizabeth?” He blew in my ear and I jumped back suddenly. “Or should I say, Eliza” —he paused and grinned widely— “Doolittle?”

“What do you want me to say, Scott?” I said, my tone rising as I was unable to stop myself from giving him the reaction I knew he wanted.

“I want you to say that when I fuck you the next time, you won’t be playing any games.”

“The next time?” My jaw dropped, both at the crudeness of his words and the fact that he thought we were going to get together again.

“Yeah.” He smiled and his blue eyes gazed into mine with an amused expression. “Only this time, you’ll be the one getting the shock of your life.”

 

 

Pa

 

 

rt I

The first time I worked for a Taylor brother.

There are some jobs that you should never accept. No matter how badly you need the money. No matter how attractive your boss may be. There are some jobs you should never take; not if you believe in self-preservation. And not if you have a suspicion that you wouldn’t mind sleeping with your boss.

I had to learn this lesson the hard way. Not once, but two times.

 

 

Chapt

 

 

er One

“Sex on legs,” I mumbled to myself as I stared at the photo, my heart beating fast. The man, Scott Taylor, looked like he was about six-foot-two, with dark hair and dark navy-blue eyes. There was a five-o’clock shadow on his jawline and he was glaring into the camera, his lips twisted at the corners in a slight scowl. To say he was sexy was an understatement. This man, this Scott Taylor, was the picture of a perfect man. He looked absolutely gorgeous and I knew that the photo was affecting my decision of whether or not to take this particular job.

“Lacey, “ I groaned into the phone. “They want me to dress up like a secretary and then go into his office and give him a lap dance. I just don’t know if I can do that.” I blushed as I stared at his photo and I knew I was lying. I’d have no problem giving McHottie a lap dance—if he were my boyfriend, but he wasn’t my boyfriend. I didn’t even know him. He didn’t even know I existed. And he had no idea that his friends at work were trying to pull a sexy prank on him.

“No way, are you a stripper now?” my best friend, Lacey, asked in a shocked voice. “I thought you only did singing birthday-grams and stuff like that at your job?”

“We do.” I sighed. “But my boss sometimes gets special requests and they pay more.”

“How much more?”

“Like two hundred dollars,” I said and I groaned again as I fell back on my bed and held Scott Taylor’s photo up in the air. “Is two hundred dollars worth losing my dignity over?” I asked Lacey, wishing that she were here in person to give me advice and shake me out of even considering taking on this job. The sad part was that the extra two hundred dollars wasn’t the draw; meeting Scott Taylor was.

“There aren’t many things I wouldn’t do for two hundred dollars,” Lacey said and I laughed. “And trust me, you will never lose your dignity.”

“When are you coming to visit me?” I asked her softly, trying not to sound like I was whining. Though I really was. It was miserable not having my best friend close to me.

“Soon,” she said in a cheery voice. “Just as soon as I finish my first book.”

“You can write here,” I said. “And you can stay with me. Rent free.”

“Eliza, I love you, but you can barely pay the rent. Imagine if we both got kicked out. Where would we go?”

“I miss you. I wish you would just move here already.” I moaned into the phone. Lacey and I had been friends since we were four years old. We became best friends at seven and we sailed through high school and college together, joined at the hip. It was only after college ended that things went awry. I moved away to the city to pursue my lifelong dream of being an actress, and Lacey moved back home to write a book. Or rather I should say the book. The book was going to be a blockbuster. It was going to be so fabulous that every literary agent and publisher would be dying to get their hands on it. Then Lacey would become rich and famous and take care of us until we found husbands. The other plan was for me to star in a blockbuster movie alongside Bradley Cooper and become rich and famous and take care of her. So far, neither of our plans was working. Her book had ten pages and my acting career was non-existent, aside from the roles I played for ‘Candy Canes Birthday Grams’. Candy Canes was actually run by a man named Bob Johnson and he was about as sketchy as you would expect a fifty-five-year-old man with a big beard and a closet full of wife-beaters to be. I’d taken the job because I’d been desperate to make some money, but some of the assignments I’d been given recently seemed shadier and shadier. However, this one was pushing the limit the most. What would it mean to give a lap dance to a stranger? Granted, it was a joke, but would it make me some sort of cheap hussy?

 
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