The King

My body stiffs, a lump gradually forming inside my throat and I can feel my hands shivering as my eyes slowly adjusts to the sudden explosion of light. His figure stands right in front of me, firm and powerful. This man is so tall that he towers over me, and my scalp barely reached his chin and I'm five feet and six inches tall. He is topless and I can smell the fresh and manly scent of his perfume mixed with the sweat that makes his body seem to twinkle under the lights. He has broad shoulders—so manly and powerful, and so are his chests. The man is well-built, not typically bodybuilder-looking male but a male model. And now that his face has a better lighting, he's even more attractive than I first anticipated. He's handsome—no, handsome is an insult. He's beautiful. He's the epitomy of male beauty. He's so freaking gorgeous that the heat I've felt in the elevator and the humidity in the air rises to a stifling proportion. 

He rubs his eyes and for a moment he tries to focus on me. Then he looks down at my body, gaze penetrating my brassiere. His eyes grow big and so does mine. We stare at each other's body for a long moment before realizing that were both topless and I am completely unaware of what I desired until it finally explodes in my femininity. 

He is not touching me but my body is overwhelmingly conscious of his, as if my body has been asleep for so long and he somehow brought it back to life. Don't get me wrong, I've met countless attractive males before, but nobody has an aura that ignited my female desires and fantasies such as his. Now I'm suddenly hungry—no, I'm starving. 

Self-consciousness brings me back from my reverie and I immediately cover my chest with my arms. I Drop my gaze down, figure in a protective stance, cheeks warm and stomach concealing butterflies. I twist my body and turn away from him. Oh shit! This is embarrassing! Not only did he saw what's inside my clothes, he also summoned a mysterious itch between my legs. 

“I…I'm sorry,” I squeak, embarrassed. He doesn't reply. I suddenly feel uncomfortable by his silence.

“I…I uh…” he says and clears his throat.

“Put on your sleeve and jacket. I won't look.”

I peek at my shoulder. He turns his back at me, facing the wall. I collect my discarded piece of clothing and cover my top in a hurry. I button my sleeve and put on my jacket then tie my hair. 

I hesitate to look back at him. Out of the corner of my eyes he has already put on his sleeve. I slowly twist my body and so does he. We remain silent for only a while, but for me it feels like an eternity. I swallow hard. This is the most embarrassing thing in my life but I bet this isn't his. I know he's not embarrassed. I know he has seen more woman's body underneath their clothes than I did to myself in my whole life. I know a womanizer when I see one, and this man is the perfect fit for that term. 

The elevator door opens and I step out first. Then just as I am about to rush out, he calls me.

“Hey.”

I turn to look at him.

“What’s your name?” He climb out of the elevator and stop right in front of me. I'm suddenly suspicious by his sudden question. 

“Kiela Taylor,” I reply. He nods his handsome head. 

“Do you really think a man like Jordan Crown needs the thing you call love, Miss Taylor?” Our eyes locked.

“Yes…” I answer.

“I believe it's what he truly needs.”

He responds with silence and stares deeply into my eyes. Then his lips contorts into a smug. 

“It's nice to met you, Kiela Taylor.” His voice is deeper than it was before.

“I’ll see you in my office.”

* * *

So this is what he meant by 'I’ll see you in my office'. I should have known. I watch him nervously as he is seriously reading my resume and application letter, sitting in his throne with a sign in his table that says,

“President/Chief Executive Officer

Jordan Crown”

He shots me a doubtful gaze several times and I'm slowly comprehending where this will lead. I should have known. I should have known that the person I've been talking to about this Jordan Crown and things I've only read from newspapers about him is no other than Jordan Crown himself. 

It's weird. I have seen him so many times in television and magazines and newspapers, but this is the only time I recognize the billionaire. Perhaps because he looks different in TV than in real life, or perhaps because of his new haircut. Crap!

“There is nothing interesting about your resume, Miss Taylor,” he says candidly that no longer caught me off guard because I know it's the way he is. Crap!

“You don't have that particular experience I look for a secretary. Sure you have a handful of experiences here in your resume, but even teenagers these days are able to do this already,”

“What do you mean, Mr. Crown?” There's a slight worry in my tone.

“That you're not the person I am looking for. That you're not capable of handling the job.” He is so straightforward.

“Mr. Crown, when you said that I don't have the particular experience you've been looking for a secretary, what did you meant by that?”

“Positions I guess. Here in your resume, you used to work as a manager at a local restaurant, project supervisor at small-time construction firm and an admin manager at a hotel.” He takes his gaze from the paper and looks at me.

“I mean sure, quiet impressive for someone fresh from graduate, but I'm looking for somebody who knows exactly what it means and needs to be an executive assistant. I'm looking for someone with long-term experience.” 

I roll my hands into a ball. After having the struggles and efforts just to pursue the job that had been fought by others, I will only end up being rejected?

“Then sir, if you're looking for that person with long-term experience, apparently, you're not looking for that one person who knows what it means to be an executive assistant,” I protest.

“What do you mean, Miss Taylor?”

“What I mean is you can have a long-term experience without learning much at all,”

“And you think you're different, Miss Taylor?” he simply says.

“I do,” I answer.

“You do?” Mr. Crown giggles.

“You don't even have the kind of experience I need.”

“But I have the knowledge of what makes a good executive assistant and I believe I can learn from it as time passes by in your company.” At this point, I no longer know where my answers will lead me.

He lean his back against his chair and rub his chin.

“Interesting. Now let's what kind of knowledge you have.” He grins.

“Tell me, Miss Taylor, what really makes a good executive assistant?”

He stands up from his chair. 

I erect my spine, nose in the air. I breathe deeply. Whatever his challenge is, I need to be up for it. 

“Adaptability,” I reply. He walks around from his table, arms crossed.

“And by that you mean?”

“A good personal secretary should be able to adopt in her environment. Whatever changes of how the company flows, whatever the changes of her workload, she must be able to adopt those changes, thus making the job simpler for his boss,” I say with a great confidence that has sparked in me. He wander around his office with no specific direction.

“Is that all the trait a secretary should harness?” I hear him from behind. 

“Excellent communication skills,”

“I'm listening,”

“A good secretary needs to have a good communication skill. Most of the time an executive assistant's work is to use her mouth. She has to speak in way that will give the company and the executives she represents a good image,” I explain. 

“Major part of a secretary is to draft letters and write memos, and she must have a good grasp of grammar, spelling and punctuation in order to do those things. Being able to use your mouth correctly and properly is a great advantage.”

“Is that so?” He gives me a lascivious grin, leaning an arm against the table, next to me.

“Tell me, Miss Taylor, how good are you with your mouth?”

For a moment, I thought he meant something else but I guess I was too affected by his aura to think of something deeper than what he mean. 

“I'm pretty capable of speaking to people, Mister Crown,”

“How so?”

“If I wasn't then you would have kicked me out of your office minutes ago.” He looks straight into my eyes and I look straight into his. I am staring deep into those blue eyes and he is staring deep into mine, and I can feel the shivers running down my spine the whole time we look at each other. 

“Next is?” He stands erect and continues walking. I take a deep breath. I need to finish this as soon as possible. Anytime soon I'm going to collapse in embarrassment. 

“Next is a great collaborative skill,” I continue. He nods his head as he wander around. 

“Simply because a competent executive assistant is an excellent member of the company. A good secretary should be able to compete, cooperate and make an impact to the company. A good EA considers the company's success and accomplishment as their own and will work tirelessly with her executives to meet deadlines, manage projects and produce results.”

He stops right in front of his wide window and stares at the overlooking Manhattan. 

“That’s all you have in mind, Miss Taylor?”

“Lastly is the willingness to learn,” I continue. I should have proceed to elaborate further, but he cut me off.

“Are you willing to learn from the person you find arrogant and self-centered, Miss Taylor?”

I keep my answer inside my mouth. That's right. I am so preoccupied with the subject that I almost forgot I insulted him a few minutes ago. Now that I think of it, why haven't he rejected my application yet? Shouldn't he turn me down because of what I said before? Besides, I was just being honest wasn't I?

“It depends if you're willing to teach the person you find noisy and annoying, Mr. Crown.”

“I not only find you noisy and annoying, Miss Taylor. I also find you a bit intrusive,” 

“I wasn't being intrusive ten minutes ago, Mr. Crown. I just stated what I think you're lack of.”

His eyes drop to mine and for a long moment, we just sit here, staring at each other. His eyes are full of thoughts but there is no mistaken that he has a clear spectacle of me. 

“Do you have plans after this interview, Miss Taylor?” Mr. Crown suddenly ask out of the blue.

“No…why?” I grow suspicious.

“Let me show you something.”

He takes off his jacket, revealing his obviously masculine figure beneath his sleeve. Then he hangs his jacket on his chair. He leads me out of the door, and then out of his building, and we head straight to his vehicle.

It is a mix of black and navy-blue Bugatti Chiron and though I'm not actually expert when it comes to these kind of luxurious cars, I know just from the sight of it that it's way more expensive than the value of all of my properties combined. 

“Get in,” he orders as he puts a sunglass between his ears.

“Where are you taking me?” I demand.

“You'll know once we get there.” He climbs inside his vehicle and gestures at me to hop in. Hesitant I am, yet I still obey, left without much of a choice. 

* * *

After driving for five minutes, we arrived at a local harbour. He climbs out first and I follow. Speedboats and small yachts are floating around, some about to sail towards the depths. The afternoon sun bathe both Mr. Crown and I with warmth and I can feel the satisfying sensation of the warm breeze of the sea waffling against my face. The afternoon is beautiful, blue sky stretching across the horizon where under it are seagulls soaring around mid-air and the giant white clouds drifting across the circumference of the blue dome above us. It's beautiful, and though I'm still buffled by Mr. Crown's plan, I'm glad he takes me here. 

“Hurry up,” he orders, walking down the wooden bridge, a soft thump responding to his footsteps. 

“Where are we going?” I demand, taking few hesitant steps, tailing him.

“Too many questions, woman.” 

A man smiles genuinely at Mr. Crown as he comes to a stop right in front of him. He has a look of a fourty years old fisherman with hairs that are turning gray and wrinkles forming on his face. Despite his aging face he has a look of a ready smile.

“Good afternoon, Mister Crown,” the man greets.

“Good afternoon, Steve. Is the yacht ready?” Crown simply replies. 

“Yes, sir. Yacht's ready. Captain is waiting for you,” says the man.

“Good.” Crown turns to me as the man climbs up to the yacht right in front of the dock. 

“What are you waiting for? Let's go!”

“On the yacht?” By this time, my confusion rockets. Crown responds with a nod.

“Why? Where are you taking me? I thought there's something you want to show me?”

“There is. So hop in.” His tone is less than inviting. 

I look at the yacht double-heartedly. Whatever this guy has in mind, this is absolutely out of the idea that I basically just want a job.

“Let me tell you something, Mr. Crown. I know you're a very wealthy and a man with connections, but whatever you are planning to do, just know that—”

“Lady, you absolutely have a mouth,” he snap. He grips my wrist and I gasp involuntary in response, and he pulls me through the wooden plank that linked the yacht and the dock.  

“Sit,” he commands. I watch him take the steering wheel. After the man collected the rope, the yacht comes to life and Crown maneuvers it across the water, heading straight to the extension of the sea. I sit there next to the man, silent and bewildered by the situation. 

* * *

I'm starting up at the sails, bulging in a direction in response to the winds collision against it. I have never been in a yacht before, and I'm glad that Crown actually takes me to a trip on one. The sun is setting, painting the sky with hues of orange and red and blue and indigo and tiny dots begins to reappear as the night is approaching. I feel so comfortable, laying down, staring up at the sky, unaware of where this arrogant man will take me—but I'm comfortable. 

“Hey, lady,” Crown calls. I quickly stand to my feet, my eyes following the direction of where he is pointing. I rush next to him, leaning against the railing. 

An island appeared long before I even realized. At first glance it look inhabited, but when I narrow my eyes to look, I realized there is actually a dock and a mansion in the middle of that island. 

“What is that?” I ask, jaw hanging loosely in astonishment. 

“I call it Crown Kingdom,” he respond.

“You call it Crown Kingdom?” I giggle.

“Do you often make this habit, mister Crown? Naming random places you don't even have the authority to?”

Laughter in my eyes, I look back at him, seeking for an emotional connection and falling at first hardle. There is no connection. No answering smile, and I begin to comprehend.

“Wait, don't tell me…” I cover my mouth in shock. 

“That island is one of the few lands under my name. In other words, I own it.”

Silence takes captive of my words. I knew long before I met him that he's a wealthy man, but to think that he actually owns an island is something that will hunt my pride forever. 

“It's one of the many properties and wealth I own, miss Taylor. Everyday I sit on the throne of my kingdom. Never in my life I suffered financial problems and never in my life I envied people. I wasn't expecting that these facts are not sufficient enough for you that you even believe that I don't have everything. That I lack of something.” He inches closer to me and I make an instinctive retreating steps until I am cornered by him. His eyes and mine are locked, face and body dangerously close to each other.

“I can have everything I desire, miss Taylor. Things, foods, cars, women and attention. I can even have you if I want to.”

His last word startle me and I can feel my cheeks burning, lump forming in my throat, panic surging, and I can feel my heart begin to beat in haste that I might actually suffer difficulty breathing.

“Now, what is it that I lack of again, Miss Taylor?” His voice holds the clear indication of his masculinity. So powerful and authoritative. I brainstorm for something to answer and I only come up with an embarrassing one.

“Me?” I reply and regretted it immediately. A lascivious grin then shapes his soft manly lips and his eyes pierces through mine in shared understanding. 

“You’re hired, Keila Taylor.”