Werebeasties by Lizzie Lynn Lee

of her father who would have to spend the rest of his life in jail just because he was naive enough not to know that helping his friend recover access to some misplaced bank accounts was equal to larceny.
    Her father had been duped. With the evidence in their hands, the syndicate had threatened Anna. If she was unwilling to do their dirty job, they would turn her father over to the Feds. Those bank accounts her father had hacked belonged to the US government. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that kind of crime carried a hefty punishment. And getting a job at the Martel design house was the only way to buy her father’s freedom.
    Now, how was she supposed to get her hands on that formula if she couldn’t get close to one of the brothers? Anna unconsciously twisted her fingers until they were all white, thinking that perhaps she might still be able to salvage the situation. “If I may ask, sir, what kind of qualification do you expect for this personal assistant vacancy?”
    That earned her a wolfish smile from Justin. If he looked like a reserved young businessman before, now he looked like a big, bad wolf that couldn’t wait to eat her whole in one bite.
    He drummed his long, tapered fingers on the glassy surface of his desk, and his gaze bore down on her with such intensity that all of a sudden, she felt the air around her thinning. She felt as if she were falling under the spell of his hypnotic eyes.
    “Let me ask you something. How did you find out about this job anyway? As I recall, my brothers and I were just joking to our colleague that we need our own personal assistant.”
    “From Marian Bancroft’s secretary, sir.” Bancroft was the Martels’ publicist. The syndicate had ordered her to approach Bancroft to see if she could get Anna close to the Martels. When Bancroft’s secretary mentioned that the brothers needed a personal assistant to manage their busy schedule, Anna jumped on it as her chance to get into the Martels’ lair.
    “Ah.” Justin leant back in his chair. He glanced at his brother, Raphael, who was sitting near the window, and traded a conspiratory grin.
    Unlike Justin, with his clean-cut hair and meticulously crisp expensive suit, Raphael was the true personification of the bad boy image. His onyx hair fell just below his ears and the muscle tee he wore revealed the perfect body underneath.
    Anna had seen him dressed only in his underwear in one of the gossip magazine’s shots. His sex appeal made her dizzy. Rumour had it he could make a woman wet in five seconds flat.
    “Actually, we’re looking for a different type of personal assistant,” Justin announced.
    “Oh, for God’s sake, just tell her the truth.” Raphael rose from his seat and stalked over to her with the gait of a predator. He sat on Justin’s desk and cast her a smile that rivalled his brother’s. “We’re looking for a fuck doll. A plaything. Someone to manage our personal life and also warm our bed.”
    Fuck doll? Plaything? Warm their bed? Those words! Were they even possible to be strung together in the same sentence without sugar-coating the perverseness in their actual meaning? Fire burned in her cheeks when Raphael’s words fully sank into her brain.
    “Of course, we’re prepared to offer the right candidate a generous compensation,” Justin added, slipping into his businessman’s persona again.
    Anna gulped hard. “How much money are we talking here?”
    “Two million dollars for a one-year contract. All expenses paid. Wardrobe and accessories to polish your image to fit our standard would also be provided. Also, medical benefits and the possibility of a generous year-end bonus if your performance meets our expectations.”
    Good lord. That was a whole freaking lot of money. Her father had been promised fifty grand to help his friend-turned-syndicate, and he’d done it because she was having trouble paying off her student loans. College was so damned expensive nowadays. “I-I really need this