Crispin heads for the door before I can bring up the pros and cons of various ropes. This will not do!

What kind of billionaire leaves his onboarding to an assistant? Does Crispin have more important things on his agenda? Shouldn't he tell Raquel to cancel all his appointments for the afternoon and take me out on his fifty-foot sailboat for kinky fuckery? With ropes! I was a Girl Scout and mastered several maritime knots I'd like to demonstrate on him.

I mean to him.

Well, you know what I mean.

Honestly, sometimes I feel like I'm living someone else's life.

I clear my throat and push my hand against the door, blocking his exit. "Mr. Shades," I say in my most professional tone.

"Miss Jones?"

Do I even need to tell you he's knitting his brow again? At this rate, the guy will need Botox by the time he's thirty.

"Are you sure we're finished? Because I don't feel at all finished." I stamp my foot. "Sir. We. Did. Not. Finish."

He leans in close, and I inhale his musky scent. "We'll finish later," he whispers in my ear, all husky-like, his breath hot. It's a promise. My blood sizzles and my inner goddess does some kind of backflip followed by a couple of cartwheels and ending in a straddle sit. Then she goes limping off. I don't mention she overdid it, but she knows.

I bite my lip. On purpose. "But, um, Mr. Shades, don't we need to discuss compensation? Hours? Benefits package?"

Crispin stares at my bitten lips and shakes his head. I can tell it's affected him. "We can work all that out later. I'm sure you'll be pleased." He winks.

I clear my throat. "Yes, sir," I reply, also huskily.

With this, he scratches Bella's ears, digs around in the pocket of his tight jeans, and locates a treat. "Sit."

She sits.

I stay.

My heart sinks. I know this treat isn't for me.

Crispin tosses the treat to Bella, who catches it and gulps it down without chewing.

Then Crispin digs around in his other pocket. Is this a treat for me? I can barely breathe. But he lobs it toward Raquel. He sends it in a high, awkward arc, yet she catches it easily in her hand. The whole thing happens so fast, I struggle to follow the motion. She holds up the treat, which turns out to be another skeleton key. "In case," he says, mysteriously.

"Yes, Mr. Shades," Raquel says.

Something odd is happening here. Something I will figure out.

"Um, Miss Jones?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you let me pass?"

This is when I notice I'm still blocking the door. "Uh, sure," I say, frozen in place.

"Thank you. And good luck, Anesthesia," he says. I love hearing my name on his lips. But he's giving Raquel a strange look, almost as if he's wishing her luck and not me. What, am I a problem or something? He's the one who's leading me on, escorting me to his pink room of shame, and abandoning me here in my inferior dress, which, I may add, he did not unzip despite my clear desire that he should do so.

"Good luck with what?" I ask calmly. When you're dealing with a guy who can tell what you're thinking based on stomach gurgles and pulse rates, you must maintain control over your bodily functions.

"Your training, of course." With that, he nudges me aside, struggles with the doorknob, and exits the room, leaving me alone with Raquel.

"Congratulations, Miss Jones," Raquel says.

"On what?"

"You seem to have Mr. Shades rather flustered. I've never seen him quite like this."

"Flustered?"

"Yes. What did you say to him?"

"Nothing much. Just asked him about his sexuality. Tried to get him to take my clothes off. The usual billionaire interview stuff."

"Hm, nothing there sounds off. Who knows? Perhaps it's because you're a brunette."

"I thought he preferred blondes."

"Oh, no. Blondes are for work. Brunettes are for sex."

If I'd been drinking water, I'd have spat it out. Apparently, Raquel is extremely direct. But here's what's worrying me. Yeah, she has perfect blonde hair, swept up into a tight bun, but she has dark brown roots! Why would she dye her hair blonde if Crispin was into brunettes? Do they have a secret past or a secret present?

And where does this leave me?

Must I dye my hair blonde to take the job? Or keep it brunette if I want him to unzip my dress someday?

This is all too confusing. Plus, what about people with red, burgundy, raven, caramel, or ombre hair? How do they fit into his scheme?

Sorting women into groups by hair color is bizarre. A weird billionaire sorting hat.

Could it be that there's something in his childhood that has led to this odd behavior? Like an older woman with blonde hair abused him? Or maybe his mother had brunette hair, and she was a drug addict or something, and Crispin has been trying to take out his maternal disappointment and anger by having sex with women who remind him of his mom.

But this is so creepy, I dismiss it. No one, not even a weirdo like my billionaire, would do that. Yuk.

My phone buzzes. It's Clarissa. I need to talk to her; I'm so confused. Do I want to have sex with Crispin or not? Now that he's not here acting all sexily at me, I can think a little more clearly. When he's close, all I want to do is yank down his pants and climb him like a spider monkey on a tree. And am I safe here? They're keeping something from me. Then there's the question as to whether I can even work in a highrise. Plus, I should ask Clary how she's feeling. "Is there a restroom I could use before we start my training?"

"Certainly," she says, arching a brow and holding up the skeleton key. "Mr. Shades' private bathroom is closest. Right this way."

***

I'm alone in his bathroom, sitting on a massive gold toilet, trying hard to get control of my breathing. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. I'm freaking out. And it's not because of the massive gold-framed mirror in front of me mocking my ordinary appearance. I'd call Clarissa, but Raquel might be lurking on the other side of the door. I'd better text.

          Clary?

          U okay? It's been over an hour.

          Not sure.

          What's going on? Did you get the job?

          Yeah, but something strange is going on.

          LOL. He is a 28-year-old billionaire, so he can't be too normal. But his bank account compensates. Right? U still mad about the penis building?

          No, I'm not upset about that anymore. I have way bigger things to worry about.

          Bigger than the tallest building in San Francisco?

          Yes!

          Oooh, sounds fun. Did he unzip your dress and mangle your panties?

          No. Why would you ask?

          Oh, come on, Ani. You must've guessed by now that this whole thing was a set-up by your brilliant roommate. You can thank me now.

          Huh?

          Weird, that didn't sound like a thank you.

          Now I'm more worried.

          I would never dog sit. Fish are enough work. And I already have a summer job interning for an architect. I got this gig for you. You need to get out in the world. Get laid. I saw photos of that hottie, Crispin Shades, and decided he'd be perfect. A summer fling!

           Clary! I'm in his private bathroom, and the walls are gouged out by what look like claw marks. From really enormous claws.

          Maybe it's a new billionaire design trend?

          You're unreal. No! His art is of bloodstains. He moves unnaturally fast. He sniffs me a lot, and he can tell what I'm thinking through my scent. And his canines are large.

          So?

          So... Crispin's a werewolf.

          LOLOLOLOL. Werewolves are as real as vampires.

          You know what? I hope you're even sicker.

          Joke's on you. That was an act. I'm totally healthy.

           I'm getting a new roommate.

          Love you too.

***

And there you have it! What will happen next in the adventures of our innocent veterinary student and her hot werewolf? When will he finally mangle her panties? Play her moody music on the piano? Stay tuned!

Don't forget to vote and comment!!!

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Chapter dedicated to JJthatsall for her amazing comments, which make me sooooo happy! xoxoxoxo