The Billionaire's Bitch

One

                                                                       *Dedicated to my Master*

*~*~*~*~*

The job seemed too good to be true.

And in my experience, when something seemed too good to be true, that's because it freakin' was.

Nevertheless, I was flat broke, sitting on a mountain of college debt, with a string of interviews behind me that I kept seeming to bomb.

Since I wasn't quite ready to be a hooker, I found myself clicking on the sketchy classified ad online while I sat at my sister's kitchen table.

The job description read as follows:

Personal Assistant Wanted. Housing provided. No previous experience required. $180K a year. Email cover letter to to apply.

Like I said, too good to be true.

That was one helluva salary for a humble personal assistant. Just what was I going to have to do? I wondered.

And the person hiring, whoever they were, didn't even want my resume, just a cover letter. They wanted to know who I was more than what I had done, I supposed. And they clearly planned to "train" me.

In this day and age, I couldn't help but assume the worst.

But I was tired of crashing at my sister's place with her two kids, and I had a feeling she was getting a little tired of it, too. I didn't make a very good babysitter, as it turned out.

So after I'd finished my cereal, I touched up my meager cover letter; going on about my overpriced college degree in the Cultural Study of the Arts, and some jibber jabber about volunteer work I had done.

It could seriously be better, but I wasn't even sure what this mystery employee was looking for, so despite my reservations, I hit Send.

To my great surprise, it was only noon that same day and I was enjoying a hearty sandwich after walking Lyndsey's dog, Bonehead, when I got a call from an unknown number.

Normally I don't answer unknown numbers, but since I was actively in the job market, I answered.

It was a woman's voice. She seemed pleasant and lucid enough.

"Evelyn Mathers?"

"Yes?"

"We just received your application for the position as Mr. Kingsley's personal assistant. We'd like you to come in for an initial screening, if you don't mind."

I gulped and nervously doodled in my notepad. "Uhm, sure? What's the address?"

She gave me the address and it gave me pause; I knew that address. It was the tallest, shiniest, most phallic-looking building in all the great city of Chicago.

"Your appointment is at 2pm tomorrow. Be prompt. Best of luck to you, Ms. Mathers."

I swallowed and hung up, then quickly wrote down the time and date, then added the event to my phone's calendar.

Okay, now I was prepared. I think.

###

Mr. Kingsley.

I knew that name.

Nothing a quick Google search couldn't solve.

I found him easily enough, there was only one CEO at the top of Kingsley Core International.

The man owned...everything.

I expected him to be old, white, fat, and gently balding.

As it turned out, I was only right about one of those things.

Adrian Kingsley was white, in his early 40s; not old at all, even if he was nearly 20 years my senior, and he had a full head of thick black hair. He also had blue eyes that could pierce bulletproof glass, but that was neither here nor there.

The man was handsome.

My own blue eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Much, much too good to be true.

What was the catch?

*~*~*~*~*

So what do y'all think? Does the job seem sketchy so far or what?

Thanks for reading!

HRH