No, the worst thing would be taking it.
I can still turn him down. Tell him no thanks and that I don’t work for grumpy billionaires who own resorts and live in the mountains.
His gaze flinches. “I won’t block your number if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’d be reporting to you,” I say, staring up at him. How does he not see this as a problem?
“Good. Someone needs to keep your ass in line. And anything you post has to be sent to me first.”
That isn’t the worst requirement. He’s probably hiring me to make sure I don’t post anything else negative about the resort, although I never posted the original video, either. I run a hand through my hair and he grabs my arm, pinning it to the wall.
“Don’t be nervous. Unless you have something to hide,Sunshine.”
I inhale a sharp breath. He hasn’t called me that in quite some time. It doesn’t feel quite so fitting, with anger bubbling at the surface. It’s like a game of cat and mouse. And he’s ready to pounce.
I’m just not sure if I’ll be eaten or ravished.
“Like I told you, that video, the one on the vlog, isn’t mine.”
“Good. And you should know, if you work for me, and you will,” he says with confidence like he’s already drafted the papers and waiting for me to sign on the dotted line, “everything you film becomes property of Luxenberg Enterprises. All of it is accessible to me and you will only be allowed to film using a company phone.”
That doesn’t sound horribly unreasonable. “Everything I film will be with the company phone,” I say.
“Everything you film, period. If you take a shot of my tattoos, my face, a clip of me getting coffee, it belongs to me. I decide what gets released and what gets destroyed.”
I exhale a shaky breath.
Is he being unreasonable?
“I never said I accepted the position.”
“But you will,” Logan says with self-assurance that leaves me weak at the knees. His gaze is latched on mine. The man is smug. “One other thing,” he says, and drops his hold on my arm, letting me free but not giving me space to move without pushing physically past him.
The wall seems to be the only thing holding me up at the moment.
“The contract will stipulate that you are to live on the property, but you aren’t to bring anyone home with you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You will be focused on your work, Ms. Sinclair. I don’t need you chasing after the next hot young ass that interests you. That’s not what I’m paying you for.”
He’s not technically paying me anything, yet.
“Is that a problem?” He stares at me, and the air leaves my lungs before I can answer.
Wordlessly, I shake my head.
“I need verbal confirmation, Ms. Sinclair.”
“It’s not a problem,” I say. My voice is shaky and unreliable. Damn him for having the power to make my knees like jelly and my insides toasty.
I clear my throat, trying to gain some semblance of control.
“But I haven’t accepted the position yet, Mr. Henderson,” I say, using the same formality he’s using. However, nothing we’re doing is quite formal. I’m in my pajamas, and he has me trapped against the wall, his breath caressing my skin.
“You wouldn’t have come all the way to New York unless you were desperate.”
I refuse to acknowledge his accusation. “You can have your office send me over a formal offer, and I will decide what is in my best interest.”