Read the 1st Chapter of His to Master and Enjoy Free

Paige Palmer had only glanced at the online vacancy before moving on. However, bubbling curiosity had tempted her to return to the agency ad and study it in more detail. It was the sheer simplicity and the economical use of words that had drawn her back. 

International businessman requires an executive personal assistant.

The successful applicant will hold the necessary qualifications needed for this challenging role. Live-in position near Colorado Springs. Must be willing to travel.

A live-in position in a beautiful part of the country seemed too good to be true, and she wondered if the whole thing was a scam. After all, there were plenty of those on the Internet just waiting to catch out the unwary and the unworldly, but the agency offering the vacancy seemed legit and above board, and there was no mention of any up-front fees. So, without too much expectation, she e-mailed her CV. The very next day a lady by the name of Maisy Collins telephoned, and offered her an interview, and now, some five days later she found herself putting a face to the voice on the end of the line.

Maisy looked over the top of her reading glasses and smiled. “Well, Paige, your résumé is certainly impressive. One of the best I’ve seen in fact.”

“Thank you.” It was strange how deceiving the voice on the end of a telephone could be. Before seeing Maisy in the flesh, she’d have laid odds that the lady now interviewing her, or should that be interrogating her, was at least fifty years old and weighed about three hundred pounds. In fact, she couldn’t have been more wrong. Maisy Collins was barely thirty, about the same age as herself, and not only that, she was stick thin, too.


Maisy shuffled the pages on her desk. “Well, you’re certainly keen. It’s a two-hour flight from your home in Los Angeles to Colorado Springs. Is there anything holding you in LA?”

“No.”

“Nothing?” Maisy raised her brows in surprise. “Family, friends, boyfriends?”

Paige took a deep breath to compose herself. She disliked interviews, and the inevitable explanations that came with them. “My parents are both dead, and I’m an only child.”

Her interviewer leaned across the desk and patted her hand with genuine concern. “I’m real sorry to hear that, honey.” 

“They were killed in a car crash three years ago.”  

“Oh, honey, that’s too bad. That’s just plain awful.”

“It was. It was a very traumatic time for me, but I’m over it now.” She spoke the truth. But that still didn’t stop her from occasionally shedding a tear or two when her parents entered her thoughts. They were lovely, caring people, and she missed them immensely.

Maisy shifted uneasily in her chair and nervously cleared her throat. “I don’t like having to ask you this, Paige, because I don’t think it’s any of my business, but are you currently in a relationship? I mean, you wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve interviewed potential candidates, who have assured me they have no ties, only to find out later they have a wife and three kids back home, and they couldn’t handle a live-in position after all. It’s just that I don’t want to waste your time, and I’d appreciate it if you don’t waste mine. The vacancy is for a single person. No ifs, no buts.”

“Thank you for being so candid, Maisy, and let me assure you right here and now, that I am single with no ties, and no immediate family. Leastways, no one who’d miss me.”

Maisy placed her fountain pen on the desk, linked her fingers together in front of her, then slowly nodded her head. “You know what, Paige, I believe you.” With those gratifying words, she suddenly straightened up in her chair. “Right then, with the preliminaries over, let’s get down to business. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting my client, and your potential employer, on a couple of occasions now, and let’s just say that although undeniably charming, he can also be extremely demanding.”

“I see.” She figured people needing a live-in personal assistant were often demanding.

Maisy Collins’s face took on a look of bemusement. “You’re obviously an intelligent woman, Paige, so I’m surprised you haven’t inquired as to who my very important client is.”

Wishing to appeal to her interviewer’s egotistical side, Paige replied, “That’s because I knew you’d tell me when the time was right.”

Her psychological approach seemed to work, because Maisy said, “Uh-huh. You’re perceptive, too. I like that quality. Well, the right time is now. Does the name Leonardo Caparelli ring any bells?”

Ring any bells? That was the understatement of the decade. As soon as the sexy-sounding name tripped from Maisy’s tongue, she heard a chorus of bells, many of them sounding a warning to steer clear, but she needed this job, so she kept her response deadpan and muted. “Yes, I know the gentleman in question. At least I know of him. Who doesn’t?”

Maisy couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, Mr. Caparelli does seem to come with a certain reputation.”

Leonardo Caparelli was the autocratic boss of Caparelli Motors. She wasn’t big on company details, but she knew his workforce produced high-end supercars for handpicked customers. Rumor had it that a fully specced Caparelli could cost its new owner well in excess of five million bucks, making each one far more exclusive than any McLaren, Bugatti, or Zonda. She’d never have the means to own one. Not even if she lived to become a very old lady, that was for sure. From what she’d read, most of the cars were exported overseas, the United Arab Emirates being particularly keen customers. As for the man himself, well, a picture was worth a thousand words, because any woman who’d ever flicked through a glossy, celebrity-obsessed magazine couldn’t help but find his strikingly handsome face staring right back at her. Thinking about it now, she’d lost count of the times her eyes had feasted on his godlike image. Strange thing was, she couldn’t once recall him being photographed on his own, and she figured he was probably too vain for that. Whenever a camera flash lit up the sky, he always seemed to have a leggy blonde by his side, or more sickeningly as far as she was concerned, draped seductively over him.

If the media were to be believed, he liked his sex rough and kinky. She wasn’t adverse to that, quite the opposite in fact. In the past, her sex life had been adventurous to say the least. That was until… No, she wouldn’t revisit those times again. The memory was still far too raw and painful. Instead, she directed her thoughts back to Leonardo Caparelli, which in truth wasn’t the most arduous of tasks. 

There was one unforgettable tabloid picture, showing him punching a paparazzi photographer full in the face, breaking his nose, when he’d been snapped with yet another unfeasibly beautiful girl while leaving a fet club in the early hours of the morning. He certainly didn’t suffer fools gladly, and his strident, uncompromising nature made him as many enemies as friends. Just thinking that this towering personality could be her new boss frightened and excited her. Oh, yes, he turned her on. He’d turn any woman on. It was those eyes of his. So incredibly dark, they possessed an almost satanic power. 

Paige felt herself shiver in the seat before concentrating once more on Maisy Collins, who smiled knowingly. “Yeah, he had the very same effect on me when I met him for the first time.” She smiled again. “Still interested in the job, now you know who your new boss will be?”

Paige nodded. “Yes.” This could be the start of a new life. A new life far away from her hometown of LA, which she’d left in a hurry just six days before.

“Would you be willing to sign a confidentiality clause? Mr. Caparelli insists on one for every employee.”

“I don’t have a problem with that.”

“Excellent, and moving on, how much notice are you required to give to your present employer.”

“A month.”

Maisy sucked in a sharp breath. “That could be a sticking point. Mr. Caparelli insists that his new executive personal assistant start on the first of the month. That’s less than three weeks away.”

Shit. I need this goddamned job. 

For her own safety, she’d needed to be as far away from LA as possible. Nolan, her ex-boyfriend, had absconded from Coalinga State Hospital almost a week before, and she knew the first thing he would do was come looking for her. 

Again. 

She didn’t trust the cops to protect her. Why should she? They hadn’t helped her before. In fact, they didn’t give a shit when, frightened for her own life, she’d dialed 9-1-1. 

When she’d found out that Nolan was on the loose, she’d immediately headed straight for a motel, believing it to be far safer than her apartment, and that was where she’d been for the past week. Biding her time, and hoping that he would be arrested sooner rather than later. He hadn’t, but maybe now she didn’t have to worry anymore, because if she got this job, she’d be a thousand miles out of his reach.

She smiled at Maisy and said, “Would two weeks be okay?”

Maisy held out her hand. “Two weeks will be just fine, honey. Do you want me to inform Mr. Caparelli that I’ve found him a new personal assistant?”

Knowing that a weight had been lifted from her mind, Paige took hold of Maisy Collins outstretched hand and shook it enthusiastically. In two weeks time she would be safe, and Nolan would never find her. “Yes please, and thanks for everything.”

Leonardo Caparelli lowered the hood on his own personal hypercar and lovingly clicked it shut. He then stroked a soft cloth over the curvaceous carbon-fiber bodywork, enjoying the sensual thrill it gave him. As the owner of the company, he didn’t need to be so hands on, but he enjoyed the tactile feel of his own creation pulsing beneath his fingertips. A Caparelli wasn’t merely a car. Each one was a fire-breathing dragon or raging bull with a personality all its own. People with a passion for cars understood this. The Italians understood this best of all, and he was proud to have Italian blood coursing through his veins. It had been this way for generations. Sadly, some people didn’t share his all-consuming passion, and to them, a car was simply a means of transport. A way of getting from A to B with as little fuss as possible. He pitied such people, because in his mind, they had no soul.

The car wearing his personalized license plate ACCELR8 was the first Caparelli Apollo to roll off the production line, and he’d equipped it to fit his personality. The metallic, graphite paintwork glinted impressively in the afternoon sun, and that color would remain unique to this very car. That was the thing about a Caparelli. Each one was as unique as its owner.

His company, which was founded by his long-dead grandfather when he came across from the old country in 1946, now consisted of a handpicked workforce of one hundred and seventy-three employees. The purpose-built factory, which Leonardo designed himself almost five years ago, was located deep within the picturesque pine forests of Colorado. 
An additional factory, which manufactured engines and gearboxes, employed a further fifty-three people. It was situated in the idyllic wine-growing countryside of Tuscany, some twenty miles south of Florence, Italy. His work often required him to travel between the two. Leonardo grinned as he admired the thousand-horsepower supercar for a final time. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it. 

Leonardo looked at his hands, which were covered in oil, and then glanced at his watch. Why couldn’t there be thirty hours in each day? The rotation of the earth needed to slow a little, because twenty-four hours simply wasn’t enough. He needed to wash up, because his new executive assistant would be arriving in about twenty minutes. Her name was Paige Palmer, but other than that he had little information to hand. He was a busy man, so he let Maisy Collins at the employment agency deal with such things. Anyway, so long as the girl turned out to be competent at her job, then they’d get along just fine. If not, she’d go the way of the others.

What was it with personal assistants anyway? He’d had four in the last eighteen months. 
Checking his watch again, and with time lessening with each heartbeat, he made his way from the garage to the house. He then climbed the stairs and headed for the bathroom. Thinking about it now, the last three assistants had been a complete disaster. Some had left before they’d even settled in, making him wonder if Cherise had played a hand in their sudden departure. She was a spiteful bitch at the best of times, especially when it came to other women, and he was glad their relationship had now ended. He put it down to her supermodel mentality. She’d never done a hard day’s work in her life, and success had come far too easily for her. To Cherise, a broken fingernail constituted a tragedy, and it wouldn’t surprise him to find that she’d taken out her tantrums, of which there were many, on the nearest available female—his personal assistant. Cherise hated other women even sharing the same room with him. Crazy bitch. Leonardo figured he was well rid of her, and he’d never forgive her for her abuse of his trust.

As he dried his hands, he heard a car pull up on the drive, and he guessed his new employee had arrived early. That was a good sign. However, he wouldn’t rush to see her. She’d just have to wait. He remembered his father’s words of wisdom from when he was a small child. Carlo Caparelli would hunker down and whisper in his son’s ear, “Leon, remember this if you remember nothing else. It is always a man’s place to be in charge of a woman, especially in the bedroom.” He adored his father, and was devastated by his sudden death at the age of thirty-seven when he himself was barely ten years old. He didn’t fully understand the implications of his father’s words back then, but he certainly did now, and had done for many years, readily practicing and enjoying his father’s philosophy. 

With curiosity getting the better of him, he eased open the bathroom window. What he saw didn’t exactly inspire him. A well-used beige Ford with a U-haul trailer attached to the rear fender lay slumped in the driveway—a dull car, in a dull color. He just hoped its driver showed a little more vitality than her lifeless means of transport. When the door to the geriatric Ford creaked open, he was pleasantly surprised to see a slender, yet well-formed calf make an appearance. Hmm, interesting. When the rest of his new employee came into view, he saw no reason to change his opinion. From the restricted angle of the bathroom window, it was hard to get a good look, but as she walked across the graveled driveway, he noticed her gait was distinctly feminine and possessed a certain poise and elegance.

When he heard the doorbell chime, he decided to take a shower. His housekeeper, Marie, would show his new assistant around and keep her entertained until he was ready.

While pulling on a fresh white shirt and strapping on his Breitling watch, Leonardo heard the faint sound of voices below. Marie’s quietly spoken words and compliant, friendly nature were familiar to him, and as he made his way down the stairs, the other feminine voice became clearer. It possessed a slight huskiness, which he found sexy. When he pushed open the double doors to the living area, the mystery woman immediately rose from her chair. He liked that. A show of respect was always welcome.

Leonardo held out his hand, and he felt warm tiny fingers slide into his palm. He squeezed them with just enough energy to leave her in no doubt who was in charge. 

“Leonardo Caparelli. Good to meet you.”

“Paige Palmer. Good to meet you, too, Mr. Caparelli.”

He liked the formality of her response, vigorously disapproving of employees who became too familiar. If they did, they only did it once. Leonardo’s first view of her through the bathroom window really didn’t do her justice. His new personal assistant was a very attractive young woman. Relatively petite, she stood about five three, and weighed, he guessed, about one hundred and twenty pounds. Stunning, emerald-green eyes held his, making him hold onto her hand a little longer than necessary. Glossy chestnut hair fell about her shoulders, and he liked the way it shimmered slightly as she spoke. Her clothes fitted perfectly, but were clearly off the peg, and not made to measure like his own. Still, what the fuck did he expect? Although he was paying the top rate for a personal assistant, maybe even slightly above, that still meant she couldn’t afford to wear Gucci, Versace, or Jimmy Choo. Now, on the subject of feet, he noticed hers were tiny, and although covered by sensible working shoes, he figured that sexy little toes wriggled in anticipation beneath.

He turned to the housekeeper. “Thank you, Marie. You can go now.”

She deferentially nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Caparelli.” Almost silently she left the living area and unobtrusively closed the double doors behind her.

“How was your trip?”

“Fine, Mr. Caparelli.”

“I see you have a trailer with you. Is that all your worldly possessions?”

“Yes. My rented apartment in LA came fully furnished.”

He nodded. “I see. I’m sure you must be tired after your journey. I’ll get Marvin, Marie’s husband, to show you to your personal accommodation. It’s separate from the main house, allowing you total privacy.”

“Thank you.”

Although appearing confident, Paige also seemed to possess a demure, almost submissive side to her personality. He checked his watch again. This was something he’d investigate further when time wasn’t so pressing. “I have an important business meeting forty-five minutes from now, so I’ll leave you in Marie’s capable hands. Prior to your arrival, I gave her instructions to show you your office and the work diary. I trust she did as I asked?”

“She did, Mr. Caparelli. I didn’t have long to familiarize myself with everything, but I believe I’m almost up to speed.”

“Excellent. Now I suggest you get a good night’s sleep, because business at Caparelli Motors begins early each morning. I take breakfast at six thirty sharp, and I expect you to take it with me.”

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