Dirty Promotion

By Sky Corgan

She thinks she's up for a promotion to manager, but I have a different kind of promotion in mind.

When I'm offered a special promotion with a pay increase that can clear up all my debts, I barely think twice before accepting. Being a billionaire's personal assistant can't possibly be that difficult, can it?

Except my boss doesn't just expect me to make him coffee. Ignoring my strictly religious background, it's like every day is a game to him to see how far he can push my limits before I quit.

Xan Sanderlin is a complete pervert—a sinfully handsome pervert with an amazing body that he likes to tempt me with. I'm convinced that he's the devil incarnate. He threatens to fire me if I don't obey his every command. He punishes me for things that no rational woman would endure. And despite all my resolve to remain pure, I'm starting to cave.

A girl can only handle so many sexy glances and seductive whispers. And when he puts his hands on me…I fear that my soul is lost.

This is a standalone romance with an HEA and NO cheating!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sky Corgan
• Release date: Jul 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386970859

Book preview

Dirty Promotion

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SKY CORGAN

Text copyright 2017 by Sky Corgan

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author.

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

CHAPTER ONE

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There he is, my co-workers say in hushed whispers.

Not to me. No one ever talks to me. I have no friends here. They're a hard commodity to come by when you seem strange to everyone. I try not to let it bother me because friends don't matter here. This job does. It's all that matters—all that I need to focus on when I'm at work.

Of course, I know who they're talking about. Mister Xander Sanderlin, CEO of Checkmarks Scholarly, is walking the building for the first time since he took over the company three months ago. I've been working here for a little over six months, but I was out sick the last time he came around. Not that it matters.

He's handsome, no doubt, but I'm not the type of girl to make a fuss over a good-looking man. I'm not clamoring to get a closer look like my co-workers. They gawk at him from afar as if he's some kind of anomaly to them. I see their rosy cheeks and can only imagine the dirty fantasies going through their heads—the sinful thoughts of the modern woman. To me, he's just my boss, the face I've seen on the wall in the hallway hundreds of times made flesh. And beyond being my boss, he's just a man. There's no point in treating him any differently besides giving him the respect he deserves for heading the amazing company we work for.

I may be the only woman in the lunchroom not staring at him longingly—not imagining what it would be like to have him as my husband. I doubt that's all they're thinking about, but that's as far as I'd let my fantasies go.

I'm a devout Christian, many would say fanatically so. I've done my best to keep pure in all regards to honor my Amish heritage. Though my mother was excommunicated for having me out of wedlock, we still try to stay true to as many traditions as possible, which is a lot easier said than done in our predicament.

All the other women in the room are staring at Xander Sanderlin and his wealthy colleagues as they sit together several tables away. It baffles me why they didn't go out for lunch. I can only imagine that he must want some attention. Vanity is a sin, a derivative of pride. I've heard it's not the only sin that Xander Sanderlin is guilty of. But I have more important things to worry about than his wrong-doings. What he does is none of my business as long as he keeps me in his employment.

While I stare at my sandwich, my appetite wanes as I think about my future—or lack thereof. On most days, I try to be positive—to see all the good in my life—the things I should be grateful for. An image of my mother in her hospital bed flashes through my mind. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, whispering to myself, You have a good, stable job. You have a roof over your head. You have Dorothy and Ruby to help take care of Mom. God has a plan for you. He would never give you more than you can handle. Everything is as he wants it to be. Everything has a reason.

By the time I open my eyes, I feel better. Faith will get me through another day, as it has so many. I just need to put myself in God's hands, and he'll take care of the rest.

And I need to eat my sandwich. I'm blessed to be able to afford this food, and I shouldn't let it go to waste.

Lunch is over faster than I like, and it's back to the production floor. I grade tests for a living. It's not an exciting job; not particularly difficult either. Most of the work is processed by computers. I just check the marks that the computer can't decipher; figure out if the kid bubbled in A or B when they scribble outside the lines. It's a far cry from the manual labor I feel like I should be doing to keep more in line with my religious background, but jobs are hard to come by, and it pays a decent wage. I'm also next in line to be promoted to manager of my department, but only because my current manager is about to retire and no one else wants the position because the hours are crazy long. All-in-all, I can't complain. It's the first job I've ever had with potential for growth. Before this, I worked for a small ranch tending to the animals and helping in the garden, but the pay was minimum wage and the hours were spotty. As soon as my mother fell ill, I knew I needed more than what they were willing to provide.

Ruby applied me for this job without my knowledge or consent. As soon as the call came in for the interview, she did her best to convince me that I needed to set aside my beliefs long enough to pay off my mother's medical bills and help with the expenses of housing. We share a small two-bedroom apartment with two other women, and with my mother out of commission, I needed to pull the financial weight of two people. There seemed like no other choice at the time, so I sucked up my distress and went in for the interview. Thankfully, no experience was required. I was brought on almost immediately, and the rest is history.

The job is miles away from what I'm used to, but I can't say I don't enjoy it. Sitting in front of a computer all day is a lot easier on my body than cleaning stables and pulling weeds. Originally, I had thought that when my mother got better, I would return to manual labor, but with a promotion looming on the horizon, I'm not so sure that's a good idea. This promotion could change my life. This job has changed my life. And if everything happens for a reason...then maybe this is what God wants for me.

Mister Sanderlin walks the floor while we work. He strolls through production with several other men in suits, taking leisurely steps and pausing every now and then to talk amongst them. They stop at my desk, and when I glance over my shoulder, dark green eyes are staring straight down at me. I give my best polite smile before returning my gaze to my monitor. My cheeks flame unbidden as I think again about that framed picture of his visage in the hallway and realize it doesn't do him justice.

I see it now—what the other women have seen all this time but I've somehow missed. Worse than that, I feel it. The first tremor of something forbidden.

I can't look at him again. My fingers tremble slightly as I try to concentrate on what I'm doing. It's an A. It's definitely an A. I take a deep breath and nod to myself before selecting the correct answer and moving on to the next.

I don't understand what's going on. Looking at a man has never made me feel this way before. There was so much power behind his eyes. In the confident way that he stands in his fitted suit with his hands tucked into the pockets. It's odd how in a fraction of a second you can commit so much to memory. His perfectly carved jawline. The five o'clock shadow of dark hair that made him look just off-kilter of pristine.

Wow. Just wow. He even made Miss Goody Two Shoes fluster, one of my female co-workers pokes at me.

I do my best to ignore her, refusing to admit the truth—that I felt something when I looked into that man's eyes. Something that I can't wait to forget about.

I'm haunted for the next several hours. Every time I close my eyes, I see Xander Sanderlin staring down at me. His deep voice is silently beckoning. I squirm in my seat, feeling the darkest parts of me awaken. Then I open my eyes, and I see nothing but the screen in front of me and the task at hand.

This will be gone by tomorrow. You just need to let it fade.

Christiana. My manager has to repeat my name twice before I finally respond to it.

Hm? Oh, yes sir? I look over at him.

Mister Sanderlin has asked to see you in his office. He's still holding the desk phone receiver in his hand as if he's just as shocked to be delivering the news to me as I am to be receiving it.

Me? I point to myself stupidly. It's not like there's another Christiana on the entire production floor.

Does Mister Sanderlin even have an office here? I think to myself before my manager offers to escort me.

I wonder what he wants, I say absentmindedly as we take the elevator up to a floor I've never been on before.

I don't know.

There's a hallway lined with offices. We stop at the very end. There's no placard on the door to indicate who is inside, but when my manager knocks, the question is quickly answered.

The door opens, and everything I felt earlier that I tried to stifle down is brought back to the surface. I can barely meet Xander's gaze before he thanks my manager for bringing me and then dismisses him back to the production floor.

Come in. He holds the door open for me.

I clasp my hands in front of me, taking apprehensive steps into the massive office that's empty of everything except for a desk and a few chairs. It's obvious that this is a spare office. There are no pictures on the walls. No papers on the desk to make it look used. There's not even a computer. The plainness of it should make me feel right at home. But instead, it just makes me feel vulnerable.

Did I do something wrong? I trail him with my eyes as he rounds the desk to sit.

No. He gives me a grin that can only be described as wolfish. Sit.

I do as I'm told, my gaze immediately falling to my hands as I begin to fidget. Just being here with him is so intimidating, and I don't even know why.

Do I make you nervous? His voice is like dark silk, so deep and smooth.

No, I respond automatically, though I know it's a lie.

He chuckles. I think I do make you nervous.

What's this about? I force myself to look at him and then immediately regret it.

While he may intimidate me, the feeling definitely isn't reciprocated. He stares at me as if he could devour me whole. What's that look he's giving me? It's not professional. At least, I don't think it is. It seems like something else entirely. Something I saw when I was a teenager selling bread on the street one day when my mother was ill. These men grabbed me and pulled me into an alley. I'll never