DISCLAIMER:
I wrote this a LONG time ago, when I wasn't very sure about my writing. The first few chapters are not my best work, but please continue on to the more recent ones that are written well. Thank you, and happy reading (:
A new story plot was tugging at my mind! I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 1:
A Few Black Boxes
The man dropped the big, paper filled beige folder onto the dark wood desk.
"He's been taken care of, Mr. Wayland," he said, setting his long, muscular arms back towards his sides, standing as straight as a stick. Jace propped his long longs onto his desk, leaning backwards in the big leather chair. He drew out the cigar and let a big puff of smoke cover his face.
"That's good," he responded, nodding approvingly. He opened the portfolio with his free hand, glancing over the dozens of photos of the man he had sent his men off to kill. He closed it, using one finger to push the paper cover over. "On a more serious matter, you said you had something to tell me?"
He leaned back, arms lazily propped on the sides of his chair, waiting for an answer. The other man nodded. He passed him yet another portfolio onto the desk.
"You had asked for a new maid, for the manor." He crossed his arms, looking at it. "Clarissa Morgenstern. 23. Medium experience. Doesn't know who she's working for, yet. And fairly attractive, if I do say so myself, sir." He watched his boss slide his fingers down the images of a redhead, with emerald green eyes. She had freckles light covered her pale face, adding to her look.
"Mhm. Call her up as soon as you can," he said, taking the girl's résumé into his hands. "I'll expect her tonight, six o'clock. Oh, and be sure to do the background check," he added.
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you, Dominic." His boss watched as the big man stepped out the office of the old manor, closing the door quietly behind him. Let's hope the maid wouldn't be too much trouble.
Two men stood in front of the pool room, making sure Jace Wayland was safe. Of course, with a job like his, the risks were huge. Running a sneaky assassin company can sure have its downs.
He watched as Sebastian's pool stick pushed the white ball, hitting the red one with a quiet thud. He lifted his stick back up, standing triumphant as well.
As it was his turn, Jace bent down over the pool table, extending his long arm across the green fabric. He pushed lightly, and the white ball bumped into two, making them both fall into their holes.
He stood up, putting the stick back on its stand.
"Sorry, Brother, but I had a new maid to attend," he walked towards the glass case over all his books and trophies. He readjusted his tie nicely, flattening it down with a swipe of his hand. "Maybe we could finish this another night, perhaps?"
Sebastian nodded, putting away his stick right next to his brother's.
Jace took off his suit jacket, making sure to show off his muscles through the slightly transparent white button down.
If he was going to make an impression, he was going to make a damn good one.
He rolled up the white sleeves a bit, being sure to flash a huge part of his very muscular forearm, flexing at the touch. He nodded at his reflection.
He passed a hand through his gold hair for a final touch. He walked past the two guards, his stride confident.
He settled into his office, propping his legs back up onto the desk. He glanced through the redheads portfolio, gazing at his agents' "scoop" on her.
Single.
No family remaining - father and mother died 7 years ago. No siblings on record.
Frequently spotted at the Pandemonium night club.
He liked a girl that could party. A single girl that could party. Hopefully it wouldn't end like it did with his old maid, Aline, who he had had a slightly sexual relationship with.
He sighed, and suddenly heard the two big wooden entrance doors creaking open and a small, smooth voice muttered "Thank you". He heard a knock on his office door.
"Come in," he called. He put the folders lingering on his desk top into his desk drawers. He looked up. The real version was certainly more attractive.
A small, thin girl stood in front of his desk, her red hair flowing down from a high pony tail resting on her head. Rogue curls and strands squared her face, dripping down like tears of blood. Her figure was squeezed into a dark green mid-thigh dress, stopping at her elbows, and crowned with a slight v-cut. Pale skin flowed down her body like moonlight, giving her an ethereal sparkle. Her thin, but perfectly toned and shaped legs were covered with black tights. Black heels slipped onto her feet.
What was most surprising though, was her small emerald green eyes. The way they sparked in interest just by looking at him. The way they spelled out mysterious for him.
"Mr. Wayland?" She asked, her smooth, light voice filling the room despite her quiet noise level. "Clarissa, or Clary, Morgenstern." She extended out a small hand towards him. He's shook it, taking in the warmth her body spread.
He scanned her up and down. "So you're the delightful redhead they speak of," he said, grinning at her with the most womanizer charm.
"Glad you feel that way, sir," she responded, still smiling like nothing had affected her.
"So, the job. You seem quite qualified."
"I aim the please, sir."
"Mhmm. Good. As you see, this is a very old and expensive manor. I expect you to treat it as your diamond, delicate and very special." She nodded. "I also expect you to respect me as your boss." Another nod. "As for your lodging, I had it be arranged that you stay here overnight, with your own room. It is right next door to mine, and I would be glad for a quiet atmosphere before I slip into bed.
"House rules. I do not mean to sound like your father in any way, but please do not bring anyone back for the night. If you are to go clubbing, I expect you staying at your partners house. No loud sounds before 6 A.M. You will also be in charge as the chef, as I have seen your culinary experience. If you have any questions, I would be delighted to answer now." Once he had finished his droning on, he sat relaxed, waiting. "Your pay check will arrive every Sunday, around 130 per day, depending on your behavior. Your uniform will arrive tonight. If you are in need for a car, ask anyone in the house, and they'll get one to you right away. No need for groceries, it's covered. Enjoy."
She stood there, wide-eyed, as if she had just seen an alien. Should he have given her more? "Wow," she breathed. She suddenly perked up, standing straight, probably hopping to look professional. "Do you have any preferences on cuisine or how you would like your house cleaned, sir?"
He shook his head. "A manual will arrive with your uniform, specifically telling you what to do. Is that alright?"
"Yes, sir."
"I would bring you to your room, but I have work to do. You may cook the meal for tonight, as well." He brought his attention back to his work, opening folders, scattering papers along his desk, observing them.
"Definitely." With that, she walked out, the click-clack of her pumps following her. She seemed more then okay.
.w.W.w.
All that Mr. Wayland had just told her ran through her head. Wow. This was luxurious as hell. As
She let one of the butlers, she assumed, lead her up a big, round, red carpeted staircase to her room. He stood to the side and opened it.
Oh my damn.
A huge, circular room lay right in front of her, lit by the shining chandelier hanging from one of the high ceilings. All the way to the back was a grand four-poster bed, crimson red fabric running down the top and the sides. The same shade of red carpet was laid out perfectly on the floor, black, swirly patterns running all over it.
Over to her right was a big, white vanity with a red wood, oval mirror staring back at her. A fluffy stool made of velvet or silk stood in front of it. To her left, was a long, round couch, forming a sort of U around a black coffee table. Paintings and black floral designs floated around her red walls.
This was spectacular.
By the time she was finished gawking at her room, the butler was gone. She set her hand bag down onto a small dark wood table close to the door, taking it all in.
Then she suddenly remembered. She had left all her clothes at Pangborn's house before he cheated on her with this skank, and she had no intention of going back and getting them. Besides, her whole closet probably didn't even cost as much as the black velvet pillow, laying on her bed.
She quickly walked down the stairway, sliding her hand down the wide polished wood railing as she stepped down it. She made her way down to Mr. Wayland's office, knocking quietly. She heard a grunt, taking it as a sign she could come in. She slid in slowly.
"Sorry to bother you, sir-" she started before he cut her off.
"It's fine, but hurry up, I have work to do," he said, still looking and working on his papers. "Now, what's the issue?"
"Uh... Well, I don't exactly have any clothes. I'll have nothing to wear," She muttered, looking at her feet.
"My fondest wish," he said, his voice low. He glanced up at her, smirking sexily. "Anyways, we filled your closet with clothes appropriate for this job. Of course, we had a woman pick out the rest. We guessed your size," he said, shrugging. He shuffled papers back into a beige folder. "If you need anything else, you're welcome to ask the staff. I am very busy, lately."
"Okay," she said, smiling. "Thank you, sir."
"Good luck, Clarissa." He said her name so perfectly, like the word rolled off his tongue, enhancing it even more past his full, pink lips. He smiled one more time before glancing back down at his work.
She walked out, closing the door almost soundlessly. She hurried up to her room, excited to see what clothes would appear in her closet. She almost ran to it, practically tripping in her heels.
She grabbed the wooden handles and yanked the door open.
Dresses on dresses hung neatly across the walk-in closet. Long, blue dresses, short black ones. A whole variety. Over to the right was the skirt section. Mostly black, white, red and gold. A dark brown leather one caught her eye. Mm. That was her thing.
Over to the left, she spotted the tops. Deep v-necks to thick turtle necks laid assorted on the shelves. A couple of pants sat neatly folded beneath them. Just below that, lay a small black box. She looked closer.
It was tucked in the shelves. Without resisting temptation, she opened it. Black lace, cheetah print and red silk all touched her hand as she dug deeper. Underwear varying from innocent to skank were all thrown in. She peeked at the similar box neighbor to it. Bras. It was expected.
She threw herself on her bed, sinking deeply into the mattress, the fluffy surface almost swallowing her full.
She was exhausted.
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