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need to punish her for lying.

FOUR

 
 
    BELLAMY

 
    Questions swarm my mind, mixing together in a slurry of confusion and excitement.
    What just happened in there?
    And what did I just agree to?
    And what kind of company has these types of jobs?
    Is it legal?
    On what planet is any of this normal?
    And why do I not feel as if I’ve just been sexually assaulted?
    At least I’ll be paid well. Twenty-thousand dollars a month well.
    I tuck my shirt back into my skirt and smooth my hands along
the buttons until I no longer look like I’d been hot and bothered two minutes
ago.
    I’m blushing. My cheeks fill with red that radiates straight
down to my core. When Dane almost kissed me, I thought I was going to lose it.
It’s a miracle I stayed as composed as I did because all I could think about
was the way he would feel inside me.
    The intoxicating bite of his expensive cologne still lingers
in my lungs. I want to bathe in it and never forget the way it swept me away
for a small portion of my young life. His cologne makes me feel fancy. Sophisticated.
    Like there’s a whole other world out there waiting for me to
explore.
    A world like I’ve never known and in which I undeniably
belong.
    My mind is stuck on Dane like it’s on a loop, replaying the
last hour over and over, the good intensely dominating the bad.
    I walked in this morning thinking I’d be filing papers and
typing memos all day. Never once did I ever imagine a scenario in which I’d be
agreeing to sexually submit to some arrogant suit.
    The hunger in his eyes and the way he subtly licked his lips
as his gaze dripped down me slow like honey melted my concerns and strengthened
my resolve. Sex with a very handsome man might not be the worst thing I
could’ve stumbled into.
    But I didn’t love the restraints.
    At all.
    Sigh .
    “Laurie?” I knock on the door with the H.R. sign hanging
next to it. “I’m Bellamy. Dane sent me here to sign some paperwork.”
    She looks up over her red-framed glasses, her pearls pooling
into a puddle on her desk.
    “Yes. I’ve been expecting you. Come in. Have a seat.”
    I took a human resources management class at college once. I
don’t remember much about it besides the fact that H.R. is meant to protect the
company from certain liabilities. Most people think the H.R. department is
their personal liaison, someone to turn to when they’re having troubles with
their superiors or an unfair policy.
    Laurie’s job is to serve the best interest of the company,
which is exactly why the first document resting atop the stack of paperwork is
a non-disclosure agreement.
    She knows.
    How many have come before me?
    “This is standard,” she says, sensing my reluctance. “Feel
free to take it to your office and read it over. There’s a consent form in
there that you and Mr. Townsend need to complete together. If you have any
questions, I’m a phone call away. The insurance forms are pretty
self-explanatory. Don’t forget to sign and date the background check
authorization and complete the emergency contact form.”
    I gather the stack of papers in my hand and nod toward the
door. “Dane said my office is next to his. Would it be unlocked?”
    “Everything’s ready for you. Your key is on your desk. I.T.
has set up your computer. There’s a company directory in your top desk drawer.”
Her words are short and curt, like she’s telling me, “You’re a smart cookie.
You got yourself into this. You’ll figure it out” in not so many words.
    I suppose she’s exactly right.
    When I leave Laurie’s office, I bump into a group of women
standing around the reception desk laughing and chatting idly with fancy,
enameled mugs in their manicured hands. The conversation ceases as soon as I
approach, but one of them offers me a kind smile.
    “I’m Bellamy.” I stop and introduce myself. Humanizing
myself always seemed to work with the mean girls at school. People tend to be
kinder in their judgments when they realize