Rules of Engagement Read online

  Whoever was filming stood up and moved forward.

  A man came into frame from the left. Darting a glance and a quick smile at the camera, he approached the woman at the bar. The cameraman stood back just enough to keep them both in the frame and catch their conversation. The man talking to the woman bought her a drink.

  Bored, I skipped to the next video.

  The same man and woman were now leaving the bar together, the cameraman trailed a short distance behind. He helped the woman into a car before rounding the back. Flashing another wicked grin, the man grabbed the camera from who I assume must have been a friend and climbed into the driver’s side. The phone was in his lap, the frame filled with only a view of his head. The conversation between the couple became more flirtatious, promises being made that forced my lips apart on heavier breath.

  I shouldn’t have kept watching, but again, I was curious.

  They arrived at an apartment building and he made a point to film the back of her body while she dug through her purse for her keys. Pausing on a shot of her ass in a slinky red skirt, he only moved the camera away when she opened the door. I couldn’t tell if she knew he was filming or not.

  Up the stairs they went. Her apartment was so much nicer than mine. Decorated in a silver and blue motif, the space was open and airy, not a cramped box, like mine. Comfortable couches were positioned near a wood burning fireplace in the distance, the grey rugs beneath the sleek glass and chrome coffee table still with vacuum lines.

  The woman’s high heels clicked across the stone floors, her head twisting back once or twice to smile at the man who followed. It wasn’t hard to see by her unsteady gait that she’d had a few too many drinks. Entering the bedroom, she smiled shyly when she turned around and sat on the bed. The man set the camera on a nearby table facing her just before she looked directly at it.

  So, she does know this is all on film.

  My breath was heavier, anticipation dripping in to mix with the curiosity already clogging my mind.

  My thighs tightened together when the man approached her, slowly unbuttoning his shirt to strip it off his broad shoulders. I stared at the ridges of hard muscle across his back. The woman stared at the naked side of him that I’ve couldn’t see. Her eyes widened just slightly, her hands shaking softly over the surface of the bed.

  She was nervous. So was I. It made me question my fascination.

  The man stepped closer, his hands running over her shoulders and up the back of her neck. She peered up at him from beneath sinful lashes just as her hands reached for the buckle of his belt.

  The video cut off, bold white lettering filling the screen that said, “Third video for paying audience members only.”

  Swallowing down the feeling of unease that had formed into a fetid lump in my throat, I clicked the browser closed and lay my head on the surface of my desk.

  While I should have been focused on finding a job, I was wasting my time stumbling through a website that would become my greatest, and most sinful secret.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rule No. 2: Choose your fantasy wisely. You have one chance to change your life.

  “I’m sorry. Repeat that to me again? There’s no way that’s even legal.”

  Rachel sat opposite me at a small cafe table. Seated inside, we were near a large picture window that looked out on the city streets. People rushed by dressed in their finest, completely ignoring the bums and obvious drug dealers sitting on benches or standing around near the corner between Broadway and Ninth Street. The cafe wasn’t located in the best part of downtown, but it was close to the office where I had a job interview at one. I’d practically begged Rachel to come and keep me company until it was time to go.

  We hadn’t seen each other in three days, not since she walked me to my car after I was let go from my former job. I’d spent the next seventy-two hours applying for any employment I could find and popping back on to the strange website that held me in fascination.

  “It’s some kind of reality porn site,” I explained, “From the videos posted that can be viewed by non-members, it looks like strangers hooking up on film.” I shrugged. “It’s kind of cool, actually. People can live out their fantasies and -”

  “It sounds disgusting to me,” she scoffed, her coffee cup clattering against the table, the dark brown liquid sloshing over the rim. “People actually agree to fucking a stranger and letting it be filmed and posted on the internet?”

  “In some fantasies, yes.”

  Flipping her red hair over her shoulder, she leaned back in her seat and crossed one shapely leg over the other. She was a vision in a turtleneck shirt that clung just enough to reveal her body. Her pencil skirt didn’t do much to hide her bare thigh with a slit that practically ran to her panty line. “What about the other fantasies?”

  “They have sex with multiple people on film.”

  Her jaw dropped. She had a habit of letting that happen. “That’s … I don’t know what to say about that. Don’t they care that videos are out there of them having sex?”

  Shrugging, I sipped my mint tea. I would’ve chosen espresso, but I didn’t want to be wired for my job interview. “I guess not.”

  Reaching up, I checked to make sure my hair was still a neat twist at the back of my head. Unlike Rachel, who was tall and thin, but curved in all the right places, I was petite and small breasted. The only curves on me were my butt and hips; a little too much of a curve, in my opinion. I couldn’t pull off tight tops and pencil skirts, so I’d chosen to wear a loose white blouse and black slacks instead. Rotating my ankle over my black pumps, the heel jammed tightly against the floor.

  “There are other fantasies, too, but I haven’t looked at them. They’re locked away on a page called the Dark Room. I’ve been too afraid to peek.”

  “You should be too afraid to go on that site at all. Places like that have viruses and you’re not exactly in a position to buy a new computer.”

  She was right. I had one shot to pay my rent by the end of the month. If I got the new job, I’d receive a check within two weeks. My landlord would grant me the extension since I’d never been late before. It was just enough time - as long as I didn’t screw up the interview.

  “Plus,” she added with a flip of her hand, “I can’t believe people actually give sites like that their billing information or credit card numbers. One minute they’re enjoying all the porn to be had, and the next, some creepy hacker is clearing out their bank account.”

  Laughter bubbled from my chest. “The hacker can have my account. It’s in the negative anyway. Maybe he’ll feel sorry for me and deposit a twenty.”

  Her full lips pulled into a sad smile. “Aww, honey. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll land a job today. Whoever is interviewing you would be an idiot not to hire you. You’re smart and educated, and you’re a hard worker. They’ll see that.”

  My gaze slid outside and I watched a food vendor calling out to a crowd walking by. His arm raised in the air, his face stretched by a broad grin. He looked as desperate as I felt to make money.

  Rachel wasn’t wrong in her assessment of me. I was smart. I was educated. And I was a hard worker. The problem wasn’t that I didn’t try. It was that I’m shy around other people, and I can’t handle being touched.

  My industry is all about putting on a show and making people want to gravitate to you, to know you and listen to your pitches. But I was just a low rent batter stuck inside the batter’s box, warming the bench until last inning. Rachel had the same credentials as me and she’d already landed a top spot in a fast growing company. Whereas I was only able to find jobs where I answered emails and fetched coffee.

  “I should go,” I breathed out, my phone flashing to remind me of my appointment. “My ten minute warning is flashing.” Holding up the phone, I offered her a small smile. Her head jutted toward the door. “Go ahead of me. I need to answer a few texts before I leave.”

  Pushing up to my feet, I slipped my purse over my shoulder. “Thank
s for buying me the tea. One of these days, I’ll pay you back.”

  She waved me off, her eyes already directed at the screen of her phone. As her thumbs flew to type whatever message she was sending, she answered, “Don’t worry about it, Mia. Good luck.”

  Five minutes was plenty of time to walk down the street and round the corner to 801 Ninth Street. A three story building, it wasn’t polished or dazzling. The front doors were glass, but they hadn’t seen a window cleaner in months. The building itself was a sickly brown that caged square windows evenly spaced along the side. Sadly, the shadowed entryway was more appealing than the exterior facade. I didn’t need to see the state of the interior to know the job wouldn’t be high paying, not if the office was housed in this atrocious dump.

  Desperation smothered me.

  Walking inside, I noted the out of order sign taped over the elevator keypad. A sigh blew over my lips, and I hiked the strap of my purse up my shoulder to climb the stairs to the third floor. By the time I reached the upper level, I was huffing and puffing. I waited a minute or two to get my breathing back to a normal rhythm, found suite 315 and opened the door.

  While I took the time to stare at the plastic seats arranged in the dingy waiting area, a man stood behind the desk silently studying me. I almost jump out my shoes when I finally turned and noticed him.

  With one hand splayed over my chest as if that would somehow prevent my racing heart from busting through, I blinked in the man’s direction.

  Taller than me by at least a foot, he wore grey fitted slacks and a black button up Oxford shirt. He stood motionless, his blue eyes penetrating from where they studied me. It was impossible not to study him back, not to notice the way his black hair framed his square jaw, or the small dimple that sat at the center of his chin.

  “Um,” I stammered, still glancing back and forth between his face and his body, “Hello, my name is Mia Jennings. I have an interview at one.”

  He dropped the manila envelope he was holding down onto the desk. Without saying a word of greeting in return, he lifted an electronic tablet from the right corner of the reception area and held it out to me.

  His scrutinous gaze never released mine the entire time I walked forward.

  Taking the tablet, I looked down to see a blank screen, then back up to him in question. He had a matching tablet in his hand, his thumbs working over its surface.

  My tablet beeped, drawing my attention.

  You’re a minute late.

  My eyes returned to him and found a dark brow arched over one eye. I feared I’d blown my chance at this job already. Beyond my concern with the irritated expression on his handsome face, I was also thoroughly confused as to why he was talking to me through a tablet.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally blurted out. “The elevator is out of order and I had to climb the stairs. It winded me.”

  His thumbs flew over the screen of his device. Mine beeped a second later.

  Then try working out every once in a while. Three levels isn’t a long way to climb.

  Pulse stuttering with anger, I forced my expression to remain blank. If I’d had other employment options, I would have turned and marched out after the rude comment.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again, willing myself to remain professional when I should have been telling him where he could stuff his tablet.

  Stop apologizing and follow me to my office so we can get this over with.

  Moving away from the desk, he opened a plain wooden door between the reception area and the waiting room. Instead of waiting for me to walk through, he released the handle, giving me just enough time to run up and catch it before I was locked out. I hated him already, the stray hairs around my face lifting from the hard sigh I blew out.

  Damn you, money, for making me follow this man.

  Not that the view didn’t make it somewhat worth it. From behind, he was as lovely as he had been facing me, the fitted slacks doing nothing to hide the rock hard cheeks of his butt. I trailed my gaze up to peruse his thin waist and broad shoulders, his arms that were three times the size of mine. Why did the pretty ones always have to be such jerks?

  After leading me to a dimly lit office at the end of the back room, he took a seat behind a desk loaded with electronic equipment and stacks of paper. He didn’t instruct me where I should be, so I took a seat facing him and tried to ignore the rough feel of the cheap material that bound the armrests of my chair. This was, most assuredly, a low paying job.

  What are your skills? a message asked before I finished my assessment of the large room. The beep of my tablet pulled my gaze from a framed photo on the wall of the man and a beautiful woman.

  It occurred to me that the man hadn’t introduced himself or spoken to me at all.

  Could he talk?

  Chancing the glaringly obvious fact that the man interviewing me was most likely mute, I smiled inwardly to think that I could earn brownie points with one particular skill.

  “I know sign language,” I answered, hooking my ankle over the other. “I took three years of it in college so I could be an effective communicator even with people who are-”

  Is that supposed to impress me? I asked for your skills. Not what languages you speak.

  His brows pulled together between his steely eyes. I couldn’t see his hands where they were dropped behind the desk, but my tablet beeped with his message, letting me know he was holding his device at his lap.

  Instead of brownie points, he was giving me shit for trying to be friendly. I took a steadying breath. Apparently this guy wasn’t going to be nice.

  Nervousness shook my voice. “I worked for five years as the executive assistant to the lead marketing executive of Cole Scott Enterprises.”

  Kicking his feet up on the surface of his desk, he leaned back in his chair, the springs beneath his seat squeaking from the movement.

  It had always been a nervous habit for me to lick my lips when people stared at me, especially men who glared across empty rooms, picking me apart with nothing more than their hawk-like stares. Uncomfortable was a sorely inadequate description of how I felt with this particular man staring at me. I needed something stronger - darker - to explain how he made me react.

  When his gaze tracked the movement of my tongue to lock on my lips, I fidgeted in my seat and gripped my hands over the tablet.

  Is that a skill? Having worked for someone else? You’re making this interview last longer than it should. Just tell me what you know how to do.

  My words stuttered over themselves. Flustered and red faced, I rushed to list my skills, my thoughts completely tied up and humbled by the rude brevity of his responses.

  “I can type and I’m proficient in every word processing program out there. I have a degree in marketing, not that I’ve had an opportunity to do anything with it. But I’d like to correct that lack of experience with your company. Hopefully, you’ll give me the chance to prove that I’m an excellent team player, and I have ideas -”

  He held up his hand to silence me and I blew out a breath. His thumbs were a blur over his tablet.

  The man had to be mute. Whether it was a condition he was born with or something that occurred due to sickness or injury, I wasn’t sure.

  Skills, Ms. Jennings. That’s what I inquired about. Tactile skills that can help me manage my office better than the chaotic mess its in. Did you read the wanted ad before applying? I never said anything about marketing.

  I finished reading the annoyed message just in time to look up and catch him staring at my legs. His gaze slid up to mine as he raised his brows to silently state I’m waiting.

  Clear blue eyes zeroed in on me, holding me in their angry sway. Perspiration broke out at my temple, the muscles of my body rigid over every bone. If I weren’t being studied so damn closely, I would have cried. Even if I refused to release the tears at that moment, there was no doubt they would start falling as soon as I left his office.

 
Clearing my throat, I fought to speak with a steady voice. “Like I said, I can type. I’m proficient with word processing and lightweight accounting. I can file papers and documents, I know how to use the Internet. I’m professional on the phone and in writing. I know how to keep a schedule and I’m a multi-tasker. I don’t easily fall apart under pressure-”

  But yet you so easily lie down and roll over when you feel cornered? The beep of his message interrupted me. I’d barely pulled my eyes from the screen when it beeped again. I need someone stronger than that. My industry is full of liars and thieves.

  A third beep excused me from his office. Thank you for taking the time to come in. Have a good day, Ms. Jennings. Please place the tablet on the reception desk when you leave.

  I glanced up to see he was no longer looking at me, his eyes trained out his office window. The alleyway below must have been more interesting. My shoulders wilted with defeat.

  “Thank you for the opportunity,” I blustered as I left his office.

  Just having rounded the hall, my fingers were still wrapped over the tablet when it beeped again. You should assert yourself more often. The diatribe about your education was impressive until you sank beneath the rude way I’d cut you off. The sharks will eat you alive, Ms. Jennings, especially in my particular pond.

  After reading the unhelpful message, I place the tablet on the reception desk, wiped a tear from my cheek and stalked off.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Rule No. 3: Prey are paid by the company. Predators are paid by the number of audience watching. Make it entertaining.

  I was a pathetic mess by the time I crawled home. My shoes were no longer a steady beat against the concrete; instead, they were a slow shuffle. My makeup was smeared and my hair stuck out in all directions from how hard the wind blew through the open windows of my car. Normally, the lack of air conditioning wasn’t a problem, but today was incessantly hot. Since everything else about me was a sad sight for the eyes, I didn’t care much about the sweat stains blooming over my blouse.