Free Under His Control by Lynn Richards

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER ONE
    “ Damn, damn, damn .”
    Rebecca surveyed the damage she had caused. Oh, not to her beat-up, dented-in, on-its-last-legs Nissan, but to some over indulgent, brown nosing executive’s midnight black BM W. She could have sworn she had enough clear ance before backing out of the parking space in the underground garage. The long white streak down the perfection of the beamer’s paint job said differently.
    “ Damn, damn, damn .”
    She sat in her car , tapping her fing ers against the steering wheel. What should she do? Leave a note? Run away – that’s the one she voted for – or go to the security bo o th on the bottom floor like the law-abiding , good-girl citizen that she was? Taking extra care to continue backing up (fat lot of good that did her now!) she cleared the space and put her car in drive. As she drove around and around the parking structure heading toward the exit, she thought of the money she had just earned. It wouldn’t even begin to cover the repair bill . She sighed, kno wing she would have to report the accident to her insurance company and face the higher premiums down the road. She just didn’t have the cash right now to pay for the damage.
    Rebecca worked as a free-lance typist for one of the larger law firms in downtown Atlanta. She’d worked there as a legal secretary for a year before deciding it was time to take charge of her life and go back to school to earn her teaching degree; something she ’d always wanted to do. At least that’s what she told herself and anyone else who asked.
    Luckily , the firm allowed her to work around her class schedule. I t was dif ficult continuing to work there , but it was a necessary evil. Even with student loans it was proving harder and harder to keep up with her bills. If she lost this job, she would be living on ri ce and beans and the occasional peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
    Reaching the security booth, she pulled over to the side and exited her car.
    “Hi, darling,” the man behind the glass greeted her. “What’s shaking?”
    Rebecca smiled. There w as no point taking out her crapp y day on him. “More than I want to, Larry. I, um, had a little a ccident on the top level .”
    The man’s brow crinkled in a frown. “ Are you okay, Becky ?”
    “Yeah, I’m fi ne. Not even a scratch on Horace .” She refused to give her car a feminine name. I t continued to let her down, just like a man. She chewed on her f inger nail before continuing. “Uh, umm, there’s a black BMW that might not have fared so well.”
    The man’s eyes widened. “Well, shit.”
    “My thoughts exactly.”
    “I’m going to have to call this in. I’m sorry.” His voice was so sympathetic it almost made her cry.
    “ I know. I’ll just wait over here.” She walked a couple of feet away and sat on the curb feeling like a convict waiting to be transported to jail.
    Quinto n Sanders pressed the pause button on his d ictaphone when his intercom sounded.
    “Sir, security is on the line for you.”
    He frowned, hating to be disturbed in the middle of composing a brief . His secretary knew that. But then again, she also knew when someone, or something, needed his personal attention. Unlike one of the other partner s in the firm , he had a cordial, if not friendly relationship with his secretary . She didn’t cause him to erupt like Mt. Vesuvius at the drop of hat. But then he’d actually hired a woman who could spell ‘ brief ’ instead of dressing that way .
    “Sanders,” he barked into the speaker phone.
    “Sir, this is security in the parkin g garage. I’ve got a small situation here .” The man hesitated as if he didn’t want to say anything more.
    “Spit it out, Larry , I don’t have all day.” He wanted to complete the brief before he left for the weekend . Not that he was in any hurry to get ho m e to his empty apartment. Damn, what was the point in making mone y hand over fist when you had no one to share it with? His