The Contract

Mia decided to treat herself to some Chinese takeout since she’d gotten the job and could theoretically afford it. Eating out was something she rarely did since she was on a tight budget, but under the circumstances, a little fun couldn’t hurt, could it?

            When the doorbell rang, she assumed it was the delivery guy with her orange chicken, but when she pulled open the door, she saw a courier standing there. “Hey. You Mia Eaton?”

            “Yeah….”

            He shoved a thick manila envelope her direction and then a clipboard. “Sign here.”

            Pulling her eyes away from the agitated expression on his face, she scrawled her name across the line, wondering what it was about life in general that had this guy so put out. “Thanks,” she said clipping his pen back on.

            “Yep.” He turned and headed back toward the stairs, leaving Mia wishing she could do something to make him have a better day. It was too bad that some people were never happy when there was so much to be happy about—especially on a day like today.

            Before she could close the door to take what she assumed was her contract back over to the couch and have a look at it, she spied the delivery guy with her celebratory dinner coming her way. “Hi!” she said, finding a smile.

            “You Miss Eaton?” he asked, also with a grumpy disposition.

            “I am.”

            He thrust the bag in her direction and then turned to go without so much as a, “Have a nice day.” Mia stared at his retreating form, wondering what in the world was wrong with people. Why couldn’t they just be nice?

            She carried the bag over to the couch and dug her food out, thankful they’d remembered chopsticks and her fortune cookie. Knowing she would likely get orange chicken sauce on the paperwork if she tried to eat and read at the same time, she set the contract aside and turned on her little TV to watch a sitcom while she ate.

            It had been a long time since she had enough of a free schedule to watch anything on a regular basis. Before her mother died, she’d always been working or taking care of her. Now, she was always searching for a job. When she saw a rerun of an old show she used to watch with her mom before the illness, it made her smile, and she decided to watch that while she devoured her chicken. It was a little spicy, just the way she liked it; not everything in her life could be as bland as the skirt she’d worn to her interview.

            Thinking of that skirt reminded her she would have to go shopping the next day. That was a little intimidating. When was the last time she’d bought a new outfit for herself? She couldn’t remember. And she knew she’d never bought nice work clothes. She wasn’t even sure where she should go. She’d have to do some research before she set out tomorrow.

            Finally finished with her cuisine, she set the mostly-empty container aside and wiped her hands on a napkin before she opened the envelope.

            The contract was thick, which was surprising. It would take at least an hour or two to read through it. A handwritten note slipped out and a smaller envelope. Setting the contract down next to her, she picked up the note.

            “Welcome to Whitaker and Whitaker. I look forward to getting to know you better—much better. If you need anything, this is my personal cell phone number. See you Monday.”

            It was signed S. Whitaker. Mia flipped it over in her hands a few times, feeling slightly embarrassed that she wasn’t even sure what the S. stood for. She had heard a few stories about the Whitaker brothers, but she didn’t really know anything about them, other than the fact that they were very good at everything they did—especially marketing. She didn’t know what they looked like or even their first names.

            Except one of them started with an S.

            She opened the envelope to find the prepaid credit card Ms. Smithy had told her about. It wasn’t apparent how much money was on it until she flipped it over. Her mouth dropped open. “Ten thousand dollars!” she exclaimed, her eyes bulging. That was more money than the limit she had on her actual credit card.

            Thoughts of everything she could buy with that sort of money flooded her mind. She’d have to remember that it wasn’t hers for six months, so it didn’t make much sense to go spending it all right now. What if she blew through the ten grand and then hated her job? She’d have to endure it because she wouldn’t be able to pay it back. No, she needed to be cautious when she went shopping the next day.

            Mia picked up the contract and flipped through it. Reading a few sentences here and there, she started to realize why it was so thick. It was very specific, even telling her where she should buy her clothes from. “Well, that will save me some time.” She read descriptions of what she should wear—how long a skirt was permissible, how tight it needed to be, about the slit. Her blouses had to have so many buttons and be undone so far. It even spelled out the sort of underwear she could and could not wear.

            It suddenly occurred to Mia that this job was more than secretarial.

            Who was this S. Whitaker person, and what exactly did he want with her?

            Mia put the contract down and picked up her Chromebook. It took it forever to reconnect, but when it finally did, she searched for S. Whitaker.

            “Sam Whitaker,” she murmured. He was hot—there was no denying that. At thirty-two, he had the face of a man who’d seen much of the world—and eaten it alive. His dark hair and green eyes, his chiseled jaw and athletic build, all made him a package she would imagine would get a lot of attention even if he wasn’t a billionaire. She imagined S. Whitaker could have any woman he wanted.

            “So why does he need a contract like this for his secretary?” she wondered aloud. It made little sense to Mia.

            Setting her Chromebook aside, she read through the contract again. Basically, she would be agreeing to do whatever he asked and could never accuse him of anything, which got him around any sexual harassment laws. Was it harassment if she liked it, though?

            She wasn’t sure where that thought had come from. She was a good girl, always had been. The only base she’d ever been to was first, and that was with her college boyfriend. Why in the world would Mia want to work for a man who could make her do things she had never done before?

            “Because he’s hot… and I’m bored?” Mia asked herself. Would she finally have time to explore what she wanted out of life?

            Signing the contract seemed like a bad idea in so many ways. Not just bad—naughty. Couldn’t she just go get a different secretarial job? “Not that pays this much,” she reminded herself. “Not one with these benefits, either.” She didn’t just mean healthcare and dental. The image of Sam Whitaker stayed in her head. It couldn’t possibly be that bad, could it? After all, it was a place of business. It’s not like she was walking into some sort of a sex club.

            Rolling her eyes at her own silliness, Mia grabbed a pen from the coffee table and signed her name and dated the contract. It was probably all a bunch of precautionary measures to ensure his firm kept up a certain image. It would all be fine. Besides, if Sam were really after a hot secretary he wanted to do things to, there were plenty of other gorgeous girls in that waiting area who were already dressed the part. She thought about the girl who’d been sent away. She seemed like she was exactly up Mr. Whitaker’s alley and she hadn’t even made it through the door.

            “All so strange,” Mia muttered. She’d made up her mind, though. She would be Mr. Whitaker’s secretary—and according to the contract, anything else he asked for, too.