DEBT Read Online Free PDF Page B

pissed because I was bored.
    And my feet felt like they were throbbing and burning at the same time. I kept lifting one up and out of its shoe, flexing it around for a moment, before putting it back in and repeating the process with the other foot. It didn't help. But I kept doing it anyway.
    All I had done with my day was fetch five cups of black coffee and stand in the hallway to be gawked at.
    It was humiliating and a waste of freaking time.
    After St. James finally emerged from his office that evening, doing so because he had company of the female variety for dinner, I got to serve them three courses and stand by the wall and watch them eat meanwhile I had nothing in my system save for the muffin I'd forced myself to eat that morning.
    His woman/ girlfriend/ fuck buddy/ whatever the hell she was looked exactly what a woman a man like Byron St. James would date. Meaning first and foremost, that she was stunning to the point of it being obnoxious with long creamy legs that she showed off in a short black dress, a thin waist, an impressive and bouncy and, therefore likely real, chest, long silky blond hair, and sultry deep green eyes. Standing there, even in my sexy uniform undies, I felt very much like the dumpy band girl standing next to the hot cheerleader in high school.
    By nature, I wasn't insecure. With a father who never stopped telling you that you were pretty and smart and perfect all the time, it was hard to develop any serious self-esteem issues. But that being said, I had no delusions. I had that girl-next-door thing. Some guys dug it, some didn't. Either way, I was pretty comfortable with my appearance.
    But... yeah, his Barbie-like date made it really hard to not start to wonder if maybe my thighs would benefit from a couple thousand extra squats per month. Or day. Or hour.
    I snapped back to the present, cringing at my growling stomach, when I saw St. James stand, help his date out of her seat, and start moving toward the door. I hung back, not sure if he was walking her out to her car which I knew from experience myself, generally meant some necking. But then he barked over his shoulder at me,"My six," and I moved to follow, slowing my pace as I realized he was leading her and, therefore me, upstairs. I sucked a deep breath as he went down the hall and he moved inside his bedroom door, leaning out to remind me in case I was indeed too simple-minded to remember, "You know your place." With that, he shut the door, leaving me standing in the hall.
    And, well, yeah.
    Everyone who had a brain knew what happened next.
    There was some soft laughing (from the girl), some rumbled words (from him) and then the bed squeaking and moans and grunts and, yeah, well... one can fill in the blanks.
    At first, I was seething. I was tired, sore, and starving and he was making me stand there and listen to him screw his woman?
    But as the moans from the girl got louder and more desperate-sounding, I maybe felt that weird biological response again. Biological. I was only human. It was like porn. No woman in her right mind liked it, but, well, sometimes if it was on and there was the groaning and flesh-slapping sounds and the curses from the men, well, the body responded no matter how much the mind didn't want it to. That was all it was. It was real life porn. And my underused lady bits just weren't listening to my mind which was telling them that, one, Byron St. James while hot and alpha, was a bastard, and two, making an employee listen to you boink your woman was beyond seedy. So I stood there and pressed my thighs together as I tried to distract myself by naming off the states and capitals as the moans hit an ear-splitting level, culminating with a choked call to the lord as I ignored the fluttering in my sex in response to the very intense-sounding orgasm going on behind the door to my right.
    It was less than a minute later that I was startled by the sound of the door jerking open, making me scramble away from the wall as my